A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.
I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.
Read more: I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War. - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/essa...#ixzz2NcLkadRO
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This is an amazing article. Talking with my Battle's, a lot of us feel this way too.
Afghanistan was the only time I really felt like a Soldier - kicking down mud walls, being the #2 man through the door, sprinting for all you're worth to your truck on QRF because your buddies lives depend on it... Just something you can't replace. Being a Soldier means something completely different to the Specialist/Corporal who went downrange to Iraq/Afghanistan than the 3yr Specialist who never deployed, especially what it means to those career E6/7s who deployed 5+ times.
And talking about it amongst our Battle Bretheren is our therapy. Posting about it here, with a lot of military vets who understand, is therapy for me too. It's also trying to spread the message to others who might not have heard it, so they can decompress about it too.
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