abjectdragoon

I am a war addict, I just realized that recently. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, nobody ever does. I am a tall, skinny bastard who mostly has his head in a book, and tends to be pretty quiet around other people only speaking when actively engaged, and even then not for very long. I don't beat my chest, try to overpower people with my personality, try to pickup women constantly, or act like your stereotypical alpha male. But sitting alone like I usually do one night, the thought finally hit me. I miss Iraq, I miss my war, and that is why I am going back soon. My family, and friend's have been trying for months to persuade me otherwise, even going so far as to wish me bad luck so that I didn't pass my new job interview with the Department. To bad for them it was all for nothing, I passed with flying colors. The new training is flying by in a flash, room clearing, motorcades, driving, shooting, its all new to me and at the same time things that I seem to be made for. I don't think there is a single class mate that would willingly go to a bar with me, but they all want me on their team when we work, because I do my job.
War is something I was exposed to at nineteen, running through the streets of Al Quaim Iraq with my brothers in arms. It has given me confidence, nightmares, strength, sadness, shown me the worst horrors, and at nineteen I learned how to inflict them on others and revel in the feeling it gave me. After I got out my life seemed to take a turn downhill, I tried to go to police academy and promptly quit halfway through for no reason other then not wanting to do it anymore. I held a job as a minimum wage security guard at a casino, and went to school for no reason. I can honestly say I was depressed in Florida, most day's I felt like there was nothing going for me, and that I was headed absolutely nowhere.
I am bitter to, even just at the simple fact that I know my place is back in a dangerous environment. I wonder whether I never adjusted to being back home, and hate the fact that some of the guy's I served with came back and effortlessly managed to slip back into society. While I struggled with the simple fact of walking around a college campus, or hanging out in a club or bar without trying to bolt for the exit because the crowd was getting to close. My closest friends have even seen me break down completely, because I only seem to remember the really bad times when I get way to drunk.
But I know that I wouldn't change a thing in the world, I love what I do. I love the feeling of adrenaline when we are kitting up to run another extraction scenario, the way I can feel the blood rush through me, and how simple life can be when your going toe to toe with someone who want's to kill you. Life and death are so much simpler in combat, the worries of everyday life and the long list of things that seem to be on everyone's plate don't matter anymore. I still remember a journal entry I read in Iraq, that seemed to sum it all up for me.

When I'm out there at night, I feel close to my own body, I can feel my blood moving, my skin and my fingernails, everything, it's like I'm full of electricity and I'm glowing in the dark--I'm on fire almost--I'm burning away to nothing--but it doesn't matter because I know exactly where I am.

I am looking forward to the new adventure, because life as I know it would be way to dull without it.