Over the years I have been asked a similar line of questions a good number of times, things like how were things over there, did you do anything you regret, did anything bad happen etc. Most would consider this a strange line of questions, but for a Soldier coming back from Afghanistan this was completely normal. When asked I would just smile and tell them I sleep well at night, but the reality is that this is just a facade and the reality is far worse.
Every time I pulled the trigger I would tell myself that it was something that I had to do, that it was for a good cause and with it there would be an accompanied pat on the back to reaffirm that I had done the right thing. But truth of the matter is that I'm not so sure, perhaps this would all be easier had I been Neurotypical and could blindly follow the ideals that I am supposedly defending in the name of patriotism. But no, I regret every life that no longer stands today because of my actions, and I regret the lives of everyone of my friends that died in defense of this same ideal.
Maybe it's my objectivity to everything, or my urge to question everything, but whenever I would see a life lost I didn't see them as the person they were. Every time a life would end at my hand I wouldn't simply see them as the monster that our government would paint them as, or the enemy that the Soldiers to my left and right thought them to be. Instead I saw past the individual to see the infinite web of memories shared with others and the experiences leading them to the point where they stood before me, and all of the possibilities that could have been but never will be because I snatched them from existence. It's at this moment I am filled with dread, and the thought of what I have done goes through my mind.
I suppose I should take this as a sign that after everything my conscience is intact, but in reality I almost feel like my life would be better without it. I try to keep a brave face about it when people thank me for my service. I wish I could tell people what I have done and get it off my chest in the hopes that it would lighten my burden, but the reality is I fear the loss of friendship if people really knew the horrors I committed.
A soldier I served with once told me that our job was like sausage making, that the process was horrible to watch, but people liked the result. I never really thought about it until very recently, but I realize he was right. The majority of Americans seem to blindly follow this ideal in the name of patriotism as if it were a religion. They do this because while people like the result of what we do they want to be left in the dark to act like the bad doesn't happen, and let us carry the burden so they don't have to.
I used to be able to speak about it in vague terms without much trouble, but as time goes on I have trouble even with that. Every time I find myself in a conversation even hinting at it I begin to feel everything close in around me until it's hard to breathe, and my mind races through my memories as if offering me a second chance to do it over again, but the opportunity for change never comes. I try and tell people that I sleep well at night, but the truth is that when I lay down my head and close my eyes I can still see the blood, bone and sinew, that I can still smell the blood, the gunpowder and smoke.
Someday I will have to face my demons and try to find a way to be at peace with my own soul.
Every time I pulled the trigger I would tell myself that it was something that I had to do, that it was for a good cause and with it there would be an accompanied pat on the back to reaffirm that I had done the right thing. But truth of the matter is that I'm not so sure, perhaps this would all be easier had I been Neurotypical and could blindly follow the ideals that I am supposedly defending in the name of patriotism. But no, I regret every life that no longer stands today because of my actions, and I regret the lives of everyone of my friends that died in defense of this same ideal.
Maybe it's my objectivity to everything, or my urge to question everything, but whenever I would see a life lost I didn't see them as the person they were. Every time a life would end at my hand I wouldn't simply see them as the monster that our government would paint them as, or the enemy that the Soldiers to my left and right thought them to be. Instead I saw past the individual to see the infinite web of memories shared with others and the experiences leading them to the point where they stood before me, and all of the possibilities that could have been but never will be because I snatched them from existence. It's at this moment I am filled with dread, and the thought of what I have done goes through my mind.
I suppose I should take this as a sign that after everything my conscience is intact, but in reality I almost feel like my life would be better without it. I try to keep a brave face about it when people thank me for my service. I wish I could tell people what I have done and get it off my chest in the hopes that it would lighten my burden, but the reality is I fear the loss of friendship if people really knew the horrors I committed.
A soldier I served with once told me that our job was like sausage making, that the process was horrible to watch, but people liked the result. I never really thought about it until very recently, but I realize he was right. The majority of Americans seem to blindly follow this ideal in the name of patriotism as if it were a religion. They do this because while people like the result of what we do they want to be left in the dark to act like the bad doesn't happen, and let us carry the burden so they don't have to.
I used to be able to speak about it in vague terms without much trouble, but as time goes on I have trouble even with that. Every time I find myself in a conversation even hinting at it I begin to feel everything close in around me until it's hard to breathe, and my mind races through my memories as if offering me a second chance to do it over again, but the opportunity for change never comes. I try and tell people that I sleep well at night, but the truth is that when I lay down my head and close my eyes I can still see the blood, bone and sinew, that I can still smell the blood, the gunpowder and smoke.
Someday I will have to face my demons and try to find a way to be at peace with my own soul.
