So, maybe I can keep this one short. Should be able to.
It's my continuing struggle. My everlasting internal fight. I was out with friends again last night, but this time with the mindset of just goofing off and having fun, which I have to admit I did, with minimal alcohol (two beers and a scotch over a four hour period) and lots of singing! But I found myself constantly people watching, observing with an internal monologue. How many of these people really try to look around, really try to see the world, not just their world? How many of them understand the evils that are out there, have looked that far into hell, only to travel to it?
It's these thoughts that keep my distanced from the world. Keep my separated. Alone. This is my single greatest fear, to end up like my father, alone. I kept sitting there thinking to myself, will anyone ever look into my evils and accept them? Will anyone ever actually wander into my hell with the intention of figuring it out?
But just then, I realized that there are people who went there with me. I wasn't alone in hell, I wasn't on my own through the evil, I wasn't by myself when death punched me in the face. So I texted the one person that does know me... Jordan. He was my gunner when we were blown up. He was there through the gunfire and the explosions. By my side everyday for 15 months, and always looked at me the same. I am the god father of his daughter now, he is my best friend. No matter what, he is someone that I don't feel the need to pretend to fit in with.
Through the fun texts, we started talking about this little problem, and he said something I will never forget. "It's like, you know it's home, but it's not, and never will be the same." It's such a hard concept to come to terms with. I have been told this for so long, but it's too difficult to accept. My life, from now on, will be me completely disconnected from most of the world. Forever. Ninety eight percent of people don't join the military. Of the two percent that do, only seventy five-ish percent go to war. Of them, only about fifty percent see combat. So fifty percent of seventy five-ish percent of two percent of the population of this country can relate to me. And how many of them are in my area? How many of them can I hang out with on a daily basis?
Try as I may, I still fight these thoughts, these monologues, whenever they arise. Well, whenever I'm with people. Here at home, I'm starting to let it out, bit by bit. Yesterday, I told mom what I was diagnosed with. Last week, I told her about my struggling fight with alcoholism. Though she doesn't much discuss, I don't mind that, she just accepts and never views me any different. Unlike my father, who still tries to somehow make me feel better about it all. "It was either you or them" or "you were protecting your people" or some standard shit like that. I don't need someone to try to talk to me about it, they don't understand. I need people to accept me. I need to share myself, face to face, gauge the responses and find who truly listens, understands, and accepts... me.
This is why I'm in love with Dexter. Watching that show, makes me feel like I'm not alone. Though I'm nowhere near as badass as he, his constant search for acceptance and acting normal is something I deeply relate to, and to know that people are able to think about and write it, there are people who can understand that emptiness. And furthermore, he actually does find someone, every season, that accepts him for him. Accepts all that he is, sometimes without knowing the full truth. Makes me think, I won't have to go into all the details of my past for someone to understand me, and I can keep this weight on myself if need be. I've been holding it for so long, but only for the past few months have I been really opening myself up to it.
Before, I was still unable to connect, but I never really put forward the desire to. It was almost as though I just did not care, and being that way for so long, I completely forgot how to do it. I don't even know how to start conversations about ANYTHING. It's so difficult to sit there and think of something people would say, or to even just say something. Anything. I don't even know how to introduce myself to people, I can't even tell them my name without someone else making the progress. I want to work on this, but with people I go out with, I don't care to meet others or anything. Pretty much anywhere I go, meeting people is not a priority. Not a necessity, or even a concern. It's just... whatever.
I'll keep working on myself, and with those who really seem to give a shit about me. But other than that, those who don't have anything to contribute to my life, well I won't cast them out, but I won't try to bring them in any closer. They are where they are because of who they are. Those who are close, well, I'll work on bettering myself as far as a friend. I need to deserve the position I'm given by these friends of mine.
It's my continuing struggle. My everlasting internal fight. I was out with friends again last night, but this time with the mindset of just goofing off and having fun, which I have to admit I did, with minimal alcohol (two beers and a scotch over a four hour period) and lots of singing! But I found myself constantly people watching, observing with an internal monologue. How many of these people really try to look around, really try to see the world, not just their world? How many of them understand the evils that are out there, have looked that far into hell, only to travel to it?
It's these thoughts that keep my distanced from the world. Keep my separated. Alone. This is my single greatest fear, to end up like my father, alone. I kept sitting there thinking to myself, will anyone ever look into my evils and accept them? Will anyone ever actually wander into my hell with the intention of figuring it out?
But just then, I realized that there are people who went there with me. I wasn't alone in hell, I wasn't on my own through the evil, I wasn't by myself when death punched me in the face. So I texted the one person that does know me... Jordan. He was my gunner when we were blown up. He was there through the gunfire and the explosions. By my side everyday for 15 months, and always looked at me the same. I am the god father of his daughter now, he is my best friend. No matter what, he is someone that I don't feel the need to pretend to fit in with.
Through the fun texts, we started talking about this little problem, and he said something I will never forget. "It's like, you know it's home, but it's not, and never will be the same." It's such a hard concept to come to terms with. I have been told this for so long, but it's too difficult to accept. My life, from now on, will be me completely disconnected from most of the world. Forever. Ninety eight percent of people don't join the military. Of the two percent that do, only seventy five-ish percent go to war. Of them, only about fifty percent see combat. So fifty percent of seventy five-ish percent of two percent of the population of this country can relate to me. And how many of them are in my area? How many of them can I hang out with on a daily basis?
Try as I may, I still fight these thoughts, these monologues, whenever they arise. Well, whenever I'm with people. Here at home, I'm starting to let it out, bit by bit. Yesterday, I told mom what I was diagnosed with. Last week, I told her about my struggling fight with alcoholism. Though she doesn't much discuss, I don't mind that, she just accepts and never views me any different. Unlike my father, who still tries to somehow make me feel better about it all. "It was either you or them" or "you were protecting your people" or some standard shit like that. I don't need someone to try to talk to me about it, they don't understand. I need people to accept me. I need to share myself, face to face, gauge the responses and find who truly listens, understands, and accepts... me.
This is why I'm in love with Dexter. Watching that show, makes me feel like I'm not alone. Though I'm nowhere near as badass as he, his constant search for acceptance and acting normal is something I deeply relate to, and to know that people are able to think about and write it, there are people who can understand that emptiness. And furthermore, he actually does find someone, every season, that accepts him for him. Accepts all that he is, sometimes without knowing the full truth. Makes me think, I won't have to go into all the details of my past for someone to understand me, and I can keep this weight on myself if need be. I've been holding it for so long, but only for the past few months have I been really opening myself up to it.
Before, I was still unable to connect, but I never really put forward the desire to. It was almost as though I just did not care, and being that way for so long, I completely forgot how to do it. I don't even know how to start conversations about ANYTHING. It's so difficult to sit there and think of something people would say, or to even just say something. Anything. I don't even know how to introduce myself to people, I can't even tell them my name without someone else making the progress. I want to work on this, but with people I go out with, I don't care to meet others or anything. Pretty much anywhere I go, meeting people is not a priority. Not a necessity, or even a concern. It's just... whatever.
I'll keep working on myself, and with those who really seem to give a shit about me. But other than that, those who don't have anything to contribute to my life, well I won't cast them out, but I won't try to bring them in any closer. They are where they are because of who they are. Those who are close, well, I'll work on bettering myself as far as a friend. I need to deserve the position I'm given by these friends of mine.