tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9033699789045064142024-03-15T20:10:04.162-05:00the Madness of the Combat MedicThis is where a simple, often deranged medic can air out everything. Judges be dammed.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.comBlogger474125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-7228251579437627942017-10-20T02:49:00.003-05:002017-10-20T03:20:22.331-05:00The Flashback<span style="color: yellow;">Eyes dim, and I'm not here anymore,<br />I am in the heart of chaos, of war,</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">My hands move as they once did </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">so long ago when I was a kid.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232;">I want to scream and let out an anguished cry, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">But I know the end that comes soon, </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I can see with these old eyes and know who will die,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Oh to forget! What a prayer, what a boon!</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">The blood never washes away,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">The screams never fade in my ear, </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">The bullets always elicit fear,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I live it again. Even though I've seen this play.</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Before me a man takes his last breath, </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">And I, there to save life, am followed by Death. </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Stalking me, mocking me with that cruel laugh,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">leaving me only this tear streaked epitaph. </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">This time, THIS TIME I think, things might change,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">but I can not alter what has transpired,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">and it leaves my soul so utterly tired,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I know, you who have not been, think it strange. </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">War should never be gotten over, </span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">It should scar and the pain should be searing,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">The innocent should know of the broken bodies in Dover,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">so that MAYBE caution would be used when war is nearing.</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I fight these battles endlessly, like a warrior Sisyphus,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I do it so the dead might live for a moment more,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Not by choice, but as a cost of war,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Do not think me a weak victim, nor bold and chivalrous.</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">In the endless nights I will go back,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Until the dawn comes and lights the day,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">Until finally I join the dead in the endless black,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;">I will have to learn to live this way. </span></div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com170tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-16322438429685759652017-07-17T23:05:00.000-05:002017-07-17T23:10:29.972-05:0010 Years After War <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "san francisco" , , , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: -0.24px;"><span style="background-color: black; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">Oh my friends. 10 years gone now,</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">Burned in the bloom of age,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">I will carry on your memory, this is my vow,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.24px;">No matter how it saddens or fills me with rage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">We lived as few will know,</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">But those left have scars they do not show,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">What would you say if you were still here,</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">I don't know, and I fear.</span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;">Now I grow old and grey, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;">You would not recognize me any more, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;">There's so much we wouldn't need to say,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;">Between old soldiers that have been to war.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">I raise a glass to you fallen friend,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">I toast you as you were in distant memory,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">No matter what my life's trajectory,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.24px;">I shall hold onto you. Until the end.</span></div>
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<br />The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-91167504835508838902017-07-03T20:00:00.000-05:002017-07-04T04:35:25.974-05:00For Want of SleepI've come to accept that, like it or not I have classic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There are a lot of things I do in my daily life that are affected by the reality of PTSD. Often I am easy to irritate, certain phrases or sounds leave me twitchy, and when I have angry outbursts they are often more extreme than the situation warrants. <div>
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I've learned coping mechanisms for most if not all of these symptoms, much like a person with Crohn's Disease or Phenylketonuria (PKU) have learned to deal with their chronic conditions. The one symptom that vexes me most, and at times makes my life nearly unbearable is the poor sleep quality. </div>
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I do have nightmares, but not often. Those, while they suck are not the worst part. The worst part is being utterly exhausted and not being able to drift off to sleep. It's going to work and trying to function through the fog that envelops you because you kept waking up at night. It's fearing that the cumulative exhaustion will hit you while you're driving. It's not being able to think straight because you've gotten 6 hours of sleep in the past two days. I haven't even gotten to sleeping through alarms and missing work yet. </div>
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Sleep is my Achilles heel. As much as the old barracks saying goes "sleep is for the weak," lack of sleep will act like a hemorrhaging wound sapping your strength, and leaving you open for infection. It is maddening, like a buzz in the background that makes everything harder to do. Steps are slower, weight is heavier, and conversations are more difficult. </div>
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It's not like I haven't tried every trick in the book. I've tried medications, meditations, and a pretty much everything you can think of. The problem is that any of the zen/yoga type things get disrupted by life, and all the medications either don't work or have side effects that are unacceptable. </div>
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I've lived with this for almost 13 years now, sometimes it's so bad I think it will destroy my life. Other times I notice almost no effect, and can live my life much as I did before. Sometimes you can tell how tired I am and sometimes it's obvious that I'm suffering through with only a few hours of sleep. </div>
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I feel sorry for my romantic partners too. To say I toss and turn is an understatement. I've woken up some times with my sheets completely off my bed and a pillow kicked clear across the floor. Imagine worrying about kicking your significant other, or accidentally elbowing her. It seems even if I do not remember my dreams, they are wild ones. </div>
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Tonight I'll lay my head down. I'll try to sleep. I'm not optimistic that I'll get to sleep at a reasonable time. I'm even less optimistic that I'll wake up rested. This is my life, and I'll just have to deal. Good night, I'm off to sleep, perchance to dream. </div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-49773299779875218232017-06-24T07:40:00.001-05:002017-06-24T07:40:38.457-05:00The Legacy of 2-16 (My Reaction to "Thank You For Your Service" Trailer)Washington Post writer David Finkle wrote two books about my unit during the Iraq Surge. One, "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Good-Soldiers-David-Finkel/dp/0312430027" target="_blank">the Good Soldiers</a>" was during the deployment. It took me a long time to even attempt to read it. Even then, I got as far as the chapter that Harrelson's death is described and got no further. I have the rather odd distinction of being the only person I know that is quoted in a book about historical events, and actually reading something that I said, and remembering why I said it was sureal, and gave me many sleepless nights. <br /><br />If you haven't read it, or "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surge-Journey-General-Petraeus-Remaking/dp/B00G9EMW0C/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1498305877&sr=1-1&keywords=the+surge%3A+my+journey" target="_blank">The Surge: My Journey With David Petraeus and the Remaking of the Iraq War</a>" I highly recommend that you do, it really does help people understand what happened during the Iraq War. Understanding is sadly lacking, especially with the rise of ISIS, and the current state of affairs in Afghanistan. <div>
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David's second book, "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Thank-Your-Service-David-Finkel/dp/0374180660" target="_blank">Thank You For Your Service</a>," was if anything even harder to read and often left me in tears. Danny Holmes was a good guy, and I was shocked when I heard he had hung himself. The last time we talked was when his daughter was born. Reading how he did it. . . It left me so despondent that I became deeply depressed. Talking to Amanda Doster, and hearing how SFC Doster's loss has ruined her life was harder still. I can close my eyes and see the wound, the pale skin, the desperate efforts of the medical team on Rusty. I <i>knew</i> he would die. I told SFC Mays as much when I left. Then there's Aieti. Reading about how his life fell apart after the deployment. . . I felt like I had personally let him down by not being there for him. He was one of my guys. </div>
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Now there's a movie. I feel 20 different types of emotions about it. From the outset the trailer makes it seem like Aieti and Schuman were in the same platoon, which makes me wonder what other things were changed for the sake of the script. I also really REALLY hope this isn't a war movie with some stupid ass message. I am so sick to death of Hollywood trying to impart messages or depict every soldier as either broken or retards that love America so much they use a flag to beat off. It's pretty hard to tell a complex story in an hour and twenty minutes, I get that. </div>
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I don't know how I feel about this. Should I be angry at a studio cashing in on our experiences? Should I be hopeful that people will acknowledge the high price that is being paid to secure America from the kind of mentality that is ripping apart Aleppo? Should I acknowledge my own pain and give license to express it? What about a simple joy that we are not forgotten?</div>
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Still to this day I feel protective of my platoon. The lengths I would go to to help them can not be understated. They are my guys and I'd have done anything for them to get them back alive and whole. More than that I know what they faced, I know what they went through. A lot of these guys really do deserve a happily ever after. I still kick myself for missing Aieti's broken fibula in my assessment of the casualties of 2-2's destruction on 17 July 2007. I completely missed that and many other things.</div>
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I have not done well since I got out. I can freely admit that. I am barely getting by, but I am functioning which is a lot more than I can say for other folks. Still, as bad as the WTB was for me, it was a lot worse for other folks. As bad as the war was for me, for guys like Emory, or Schuman, or Aieti, it was worse. To this day I still can't listen to Sweet Home Alabama without being reminded of Harrelson's death, or the utter sense of failure I felt afterwards. As much as the war has colored my relationships with friends, lovers, and family, I know I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. </div>
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I don't know if I'll watch this movie. If I do, I can almost guarantee that tears will flow. That I will not sleep for at least a day afterwards. I don't know if this will help heal old wounds or make them worse. Either way it has been made, and it will soon be here, so I'll have to deal with it. </div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-54788147871461667422017-06-23T10:30:00.000-05:002017-06-24T08:19:41.570-05:00Better Men Than I<span style="color: yellow;">Let me tell you about a man that died in June,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Too young to die, with a life not yet lived,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I tried to help, but could not be revived,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Just like that he was gone. Far too soon.</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">I close my eyes and I am there,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Stay with me. Hold on. Don't Give up.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">But each breath poured him more to Death's cup,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I'm still here. Why? This isn't fair.</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">Let me tell you of a man who died in July.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">He smiled and laughed as young always do,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">A life planned, that he'll never go through,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Oh my friend, 19 years old is too young to die.</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">It was a bomb that blew his truck sky high.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Some said he was dead before it landed,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Others say she screamed as it burned. Awful images are branded,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Why not me? Why you? Why?</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">Let me tell you of a man that killed himself in May,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">He was full of wit and sarcastic remarks, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">A battle buddy for any day, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Without bitterness or its marks.</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">He had a new baby and a fiancé,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">but wars stark image filled his brain, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">He must of felt it was too painful to remain,<br />How do I respond? What am I supposed to say?</span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">These were better men than I,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Yet they are gone and I am here still,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I can not understand just why.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Is it worth? I have nil. </span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;">Better men have gone before me, and go even now,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I want to make it right, but I don't know how,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">There's a question I have to ask, but I fear,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Why am I still here?</span><br />
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<br />The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-24746180678542742902017-06-22T06:46:00.000-05:002017-06-24T06:53:39.648-05:00Why I Do (and Do Not) Support President TrumpI'll be honest, Donald Trump was not my first, second or third or fourth choice for the Office of President of the United States. I personally don't like his style of speech, and his leadership style seems very chaotic. In a time of peace, he might actually make a good chief executive, we do need some serious business sense to correct some of the truly insane notions that crept into the running of the Federal Government.<br />
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I Do think it will be interesting what happens when we have a president that is so rich he doesn't really have to care about getting reelected, or even maintaining popular support. It is also interesting to see the populist movement and how it is shaping the country. Purely as a function of political science and sociology no matter what the Trump administration actually does, it will be the subject of great study for decades to come.<br />
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At best my personal opinion about the President could best be described as "neutral." I want to judge him, and his administration on what he actually does, not what media, and elitist political leaders tell me. So far every "forest fire" that has been touted as proof positive that he should be removed from office has been tantamount to a "matchbook." His ability to send his opposition into complete and utter irrationality is amusing, and to be honest horrifying.<br />
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Seeing people without a hint of irony, calling themselves "anti-fascists" acting like poorly dressed Black Shirts and conducting political intimidation and violence is informative. Trump has acted like a lightning rod for both extremes of this country, indeed the West as a whole, and it really does let us see just how ugly our "tribe" that we associate with really is. People are starting to build bridges and there's been a move for more centrist attitudes.<br />
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He is unpredictable. Wildly so, and that may not be what America or the world needs right now. A stable figure, with a good head on his or her shoulders would have been a better choice. Nearly all of the dozen GOP leaders attempting to gain the nomination were capable, and had the temperament better suited to the Chief Executive. I don't like the joy he takes in antagonizing his opponents, nor do I like when he obviously panders to special groups. I despise even the suggestion of nepotism, and I truly hope that the people he has surrounded himself with are the best at their jobs, not just people that he likes (or relatives).<br />
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In the end, my support for President Trump will be conditional, like my support for all politicians. So long as they are on the side of the law, and are genuinely working towards the best interests of the United States I will support them. I will always have my own political views, and many of those are quite strong. I will criticize, lampoon, and lambast, but at the end of the day I <i>want</i> them to succeed.<br />
<br />
I disagreed with pretty much all of President Obama's actions while in the presidency. Indeed I would argue had the Legislature more jealously guarded it's sovereign powers, he very well could have been removed from office. That is not to say that I did not want him to succeed. I did. I wanted him to do well and genuinely lead the country. He did not, but that is a criticism for another time.<br />
<br />
I won't go to any Trump rallies, other than to see what happens. There's always some sort of spectacle at those things. If the President is speaking near me, I will take a trip and listen to the event. I'll defend him when the attacks against him are ridiculous, unfounded, or outright slanderous/libelous (which many if not most of them right now are). If he has a policy I agree with I'll be sure to tell you, but more importantly, tell you why. In that very broad way, you could call me a tepid "Trump supporter." <br />
<br />
But let's be honest here, the real beauty of the Trump us the Lulz that follow him.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-32340114176772689082017-06-15T18:59:00.001-05:002017-06-17T05:23:40.960-05:00Speech, Rhetoric, and Violence.<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13.2px;">In the wake of a nut job deciding to try to shoot up a practice for an annual Democrat Vs Republican charity baseball game, there has been a lot of finger pointing. There has been a lot of blame thrown around about the toxic rhetoric of the Left, and the political violence that is sweeping America. There are criticism, and accusations. Some are legitimate, most are simply being made in the heat of the moment when passions are high. Generally speaking you have to ask yourself if Freedom of Speech is unlimited, or if there is legitimacy in silencing certain voices. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">I'm not even going to start talking about the gun issue and the Virginia governor's truly insane statement that 93 million people are killed every day in America due to gun violence. That's basically WWI and WWII combined (give or take). My own take is, if I were a congressman or aid on that field, hiding behind plastic barriers like a rabbit waiting for a wolf, I'd have wanted a gun to shoot back. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">But we really do need to examine what the hell is going on. There are some people that are using "violence" to shut down speech of people that disagree. The term "Social Justice Warrior" is often used with derision, but there are people who truly believe that disagreeing with progressive policies is a form of violence. If you truly don't understand Transgenderism, and ask questions on the how or why, or if you believe there are only two genders, you are conducting an act of "violence" against these people. In Canada if you refuse to use the person's preferred gender pronouns you could potentially go to jail. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">That attitude is easy to lampoon. Speech is not violence. I don't care what you say, simply speaking to a woman is not even remotely equivalent to raping that woman. Free Speech advocates are right to lambast people why "No-platform" or try to filibuster intellectual debates. The scary thing is that the people who are talking about speech as violence are themselves turning to violence when their speech is not being effective. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">This is where we run into a serious grey area. We have seen the AntiFa (Anti Fascist) group spew truly toxic rhetoric about the "Nazis" that supported Trump. This is a play on Hillary Clinton's words describing Trump voters as a basket of "deplorables." Even Bernie Sanders' own words about how the rich are viciously taking advantage of the poor will create a toxic environment. The problem with hyperbole is that, said often enough, it begins to take on a life of its own. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Much like the racial situation or the battle of the sexes, one side has found that it is easy to shut down debate by simply throwing out the "sexist" or "racist" label. The problem is that a lot of people, the people who have gotten intellectually lazy because of this tactic truly believe it. If a person thinks welfare is terrible than it is assumed that they hate the poor. In truth there are a lot of legitimate criticisms of welfare, but if you can boil down the debate to "hate the poor vs. want to help the poor" you remove any nuance and turn rational individuals with a difference of opinion into unthinking uncaring monsters. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">We've entered an age of low information voters. Often times the Smart Phones seem smarter than the people holding them. Policy debates have been reduced to tribal squabbles. Democrat Vs. Republican has become a more intense version of Patriots vs. Stealers. As high as passions get during that experience, how much higher do you think they would get when there is the perception that there are actual lives on the line?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666;">Rhetoric can be dangerous. Freedom of Speech is a fundamental value to our society. We also have to acknowledge that at one point Adolf Hitler, and Vladimir Lenin only had rhetoric. Rhetoric has the ability to do a lot of damage when we give that rhetoric power. How do we find a balance? AntiFa is certainly acting like the Red Guards or the </span><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Sturmabteilung, and we need to treat them like what they are, a legitimate threat to our way of life. Political violence is extremely dangerous.<br /><br />More than that we need to acknowledge that the more toxic the rhetoric, the more crazies <i>will</i> pick that up. The shooter who tried to kill republicans, was clearly an intolerant angry man. His clear love of senator Sanders and belief that ending the Affordable Care Act is going to cause actual deaths. It seems clear that in his own mind, Republicans are truly evil, and only by killing them could he prevent a disaster. Our own rhetoric allowed him to pick up that thought and run with it to its sad and unfortunate ending. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666;">In the end, all we can do is chill the hell out. We need to calm down and act like adults. Stop pointing fingers and start reaching out to each other. Rather than making statements, ask questions, and truly listen to the answers. Unless we can calm our rhetoric, we will soon find ourselves in the middle of an extremely violent experience. </span></span></span></div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-16571468776431758182017-06-12T23:04:00.000-05:002017-06-12T23:04:03.285-05:00Vulnerability<span style="color: yellow;">Don't judge when you see my shoulders sag,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">You don't know the weight I carry,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I have trouble opening that bag,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Share my burden? Nothing could be more scary.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: yellow;">There are many things I hide,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I don't know what you'll say if you see, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">The things that have wounded and shape me,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Do you think it's easy to confide?</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: yellow;">I try to be strong,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">But this trial is so long, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I wish this pain would cease, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">So I could know some peace.<br /><br />I let my jokes hide my sorrow, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">It's better if you think me witty, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">If I'm honest it's hard to maintain,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Because most of the time I just want to cry. </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: yellow;">Sometimes I only continue hoping for a better tomorrow, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">It keeps my going even when I'm feeing shitty, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Please excuse this lamentable refrain,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Let me go on with this burden, It's better you not pry. </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: yellow;">I tried to show my pain to another, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">But they left me so now I deal with it </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">alone, even when I want nothing more than to quit,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Sorry to be a bother.</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: yellow;">Please don't ask me to show you my hurt, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">I couldn't see pity in your eyes, </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">That would make me feel lower than dirt,</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Please let me tell you "I'm fine" and other lies.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: lime;">A friend suggested the title after I'd texted her the first stanza. It's been a long time since I've seriously done any kind of poetry and after the last few days, especially after I decided to put up my last post I've been feeling open, raw. I hoe you like this. </span>The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-29045038730967437412017-06-11T05:29:00.001-05:002017-06-11T05:29:35.100-05:00The Trauma I Don't Talk About.A few days ago I had the rather odd experience of going through a screening for a study for a medication for PTSD patients to help them get to sleep. During the process I had to list the types of traumas I had experienced. The ones you might think we're there of course. Natural disasters, death, dismemberment and the like. For the first time I checked the box "unwanted sexuality advances" and "unwanted sexuality experience."<br />
<br />
It was the first time I ever have admitted about an experience that happened while I was in the WTB that I have tried very hard to forget. You see, I was raped.<br />
<br />
Even now it's hard to write these words. Am I lesser of a man? Am I throwing gas on to a needless fire? Do you <i>really</i> need to know about this misadventure? I can almost hear people that would line up to provide me with sympathy or conversely tell me I'm full of shit and taking attention away from real rape victims. At some point I need to stop trying to anticipate what everyone else will say, and just say what happened. <br />
<br />
So what happened?<br />
<br />
I had a friend that was in Rear D with me (after I had been CASEVAC'd for Pancreatitis) that wanted me to come with him to hang out with a friend he'd met. He wanted to get with this girl so I was an unofficial wingman. I was all for it because it got me out of the barracks, and if I'm being honest I was starting to feel some of the negative effects of the anti-depressants and anti-psychotics that the mental health department at Irwin Army Hospital had put me on. One of those effects was a grey dull sense. Like I was living in a fog. Part of me was starting to rebel against that fog, and I was at the beginning of a self destructive spiral that damn near killed me.<br />
<br />
It should be stated that there were <i>very</i> clear warnings about drinking while on the medications I was on. You really should not drink at all when you're on drugs like that. I, rather foolishly drank. I thought at the time "it's beer. it can't be that bad." Unfortunately for me, the combination of having been in a dry country for almost a year, and the medications I was on had an unusual effect. I couldn't feel my face after three beers.<br /><br />My friend was annoyed with me because this girl who he was trying to impress had eyes only for me. I had no clue of this. I was about as observant as a blind man waiting for a street crossing light. As the night wound down it was clear that all three of the men were too drunk to drive back. Somehow sleeping arrangements were figured out. I was about to pass out on the couch when the woman brought me into her room.<br /><br />I can't honestly tell you what was going through my mind. I was trying to be a wing man, but a part of me thought there was another bed or something. I'm not sure why I followed her. I wasn't thinking at all to tell you the truth.<br />
<br />
Then we were on her bed. Then we were naked. Then she was on top of me. I know we had sex, and I also know that she wanted to go again but in my state I was unable to get an erection. I can't honestly tell you at any point I agreed to have sex with her, and really didn't want to have sex that night, I was trying to be a good battle buddy for my friend.<br />
<br />
The next day still in a daze I woke up, and vaguely remembered that I'd had sex. I was still not clear in the head. She wanted to confront her ex who she told me was violent. I agreed, and sat there as she had an argument with a man I didn't know, then pointed to me and said "This is my <i>new</i> boyfriend."<br />
<br />
Uh. . . what? I had my buddy take me right back to the barracks as soon as he could, and began to have a slight freak out.<br />
<br />
What followed was her trying to get in touch with me and me trying desperately to hide from her. It's not that I wanted to hurt her feelings. Far from it, but I had not intended to sleep with her, or get drawn into her life like that. She wanted a hero with dog-tags. I was not that man and never was. More than that I had had no control that night. That scared me more than anything else. Her constant calling and attempts to get in touch with me only made the situation worse.<br />
<br />
Eventually I had my buddy tell her I'd gotten committed to a mental institution because I was suicidal (the lie was sadly not too far from the truth). That had the desired effect and eventually she stopped calling. Almost a year later I ran into her again as I was about to get out of the Army. She had unfortunately contracted HPV, and suggested I get myself checked. I'm almost certain that night had not included condoms. Thankfully I came back clean, but that was just another reminder of what COULD have happened. A very scary reminder.<br />
<br />
I'd like to say I dealt with this incident in a healthy way, but in truth. . . I didn't even remotely deal with it. It, eventually, became one of the many reasons I swore never to take any such medication again, however in a lot of ways the damage has been done.<br />
<br />
I am sure my view on this incident won't be typical. I don't want this woman hurt, and I'd never tell her how I saw that night. I wouldn't want her to be charged with a felony for something that was my mistake. As traumatic as that loss of control was, as terrifying as suddenly being someone's "boyfriend" and not having a clue how it happened, I genuinely do not want this woman hurt. She's had enough hurt in her life, and I am sorry I added to it.<br />
<br />
There is also the small mater of proving that I was completely incapable on consenting, and moreover the stereotype that guys always say yes to sex. How could I have gone to my command and said "I drank while on medications that say not to drink, and a woman raped me." I can almost guarantee that if I'd pressed charges there would have been an Article 15 waiting for me. There is no such thing as a rape kit for men (at least not for vaginal sex).<br />
<br />
I know that my experience and the way I view it is not nearly the same as most female rape victims, or males that were anally/orally raped. I know that in some ways the fog the medications had me on kept this event from being more traumatic, despite the fact that they were the cause of the situation in the first place. Most of the time I don't even think about what happened, and have generally speaking moved on.<br />
<br />
Still, the trauma is there, and for the first time in my life, I'm admitting to it. That counts for something.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-24405441936515894362016-10-10T05:37:00.000-05:002016-10-15T06:11:30.369-05:00One year laterI just recently got an award for working one year at my new job. That's given me some time to reflect on things. It's been one year since I returned home. To say that I did anything more than flee from Michigan and my ex, Becky would be an overstatement. I fled in complete and utter shame. In this past year, I've had a lot of time, perhaps too much time, to think about everything that went down. To think about the future and where I go from here.<br />
<br />
One week before Becky told me she couldn't marry me, there was no outward sign that we were headed for the end. Sure there was trouble, and things were stressful but from my point of view things were looking up (if only slightly). We sat together and watched a sunset on her parents' property on Dixon Lake. Her neighbor even commented on how in love we looked.<br />
<br />
I think the matter of fact way she said it, or maybe the way I became a non-person afterward is what made this whole thing the most difficult. I don't know when or how but she had become the center of my world. Everything in my world revolved around her, and my ambition was directed at trying to make her happy.<br />
<br />
I can't say for sure if they were panic attacks but in the time between the break-up (August 25th), and the time I left (September 3rd). When I returned, I was broken. I tried talking to her a few times. Tried to keep it up. But it just hurt so badly. Plus her responses grew ever more exasperated that I wasn't getting with the program. The one question I want(ed) answered is <i>why?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In the year since then, I've come to the conclusion that if I got an answer that was satisfying emotionally, it wouldn't be satisfying intellectually and vice versa. I wish that I could have answers. I wish that I could call a mulligan. But if wishes were fishes no one would go hungry.<br />
<br />
The thing that has brought this in sharp relief is the workouts I'm doing with a gal, we'll call M. M wants to be a LEO, but is worried about the entrance exams. I can sympathize. M is also a lesbian who just broke up with the only person she ever dated. In trying to console her some of my own issues came out. How can I ever trust a woman again? How can I ever feel comfortable enough to ask a woman to marry me? How can I trust that it's not going to end with little or no warning? I'll constantly be looking for the slightest sign that it's ending and I'll constantly be on guard. I tried to tell M, then I still don't have this stuff figured out. Really, no one does. The best advice I could give M is that the only way to cure the pain is to go through it.<br />
<br />
That's what I have done. I've gone through it. The pain was horrible. I wanted nothing more than to just check out, but as a guy, I just don't ever get that luxury. I am needed. I am not still resentful about that. It's annoying that somehow if I don't do it, it won't get done, but I've come to accept that that's just the way things are.<br />
<br />
I'm in a better place now. I can't lie, I still feel like I'm trapped in that empty room in the barracks. Perhaps even more so because I am surrounded by the wreckage of my dad's failed ambitions. I'm still incredibly, soul-crushingly lonely, a state given my extreme trust issues isn't likely to get better any time soon. But . . . things are looking up if only slightly.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-46214044142043331792016-09-11T21:57:00.002-05:002016-09-11T21:57:31.215-05:0015 Years Later 9/11 Still HurtsI know at some point we, as a nation, will move on and forget. I was presented evidence of that today as my work tried to have everyone dress in Red White and Blue, and then served up a cake. I'm not really certain they appreciated the optics of that. When I left work I went to the beach to run, because I really needed to clear my head. Judging from the amount of people dashing in and out of the water, the children at play and the ungodly amounts of weed I smelled, most Americans have moved on. <br />
<br />
But, I haven't. I'm not going to whip myself into a frenzy or sit in a corner and cry. I'm not going to try to be the one forcing other people to be respectful. I can only say for my own part, 9/11 is always emotional. The visions of people falling to their doom on live TV. The horror of watching UA 175 barrel into its target. The smoking crater in Shanksville PA. The Pentagon facade collapsing. These are images that I can not get out of my head no matter how hard I try. <br />
<br />
Was the Global War on Terror that followed justified? Yes. Was it well prosecuted? No. There are a lot of assumptions that have been made about Iraq and Afghanistan by media types and the public at large that are either wrong or are just plain silly. I've seen why you shouldn't just use nukes. There are good people worth saving. I've also seen why you don't pull back and let the situation fester and hope a few drone strikes will win the day.<br />
<br />
I've seen people tortured. I've seen decapitated bodies. I've seen good boys become old men shockingly fast. I've seen those same men turned to so much hamburger meat in the blink of an eye. There is evil in the world and September 11th is a strong reminder of what happens when you are not paying attention to that evil. <br />
<br />
I don't want you to feel shamed into showing faux displays of remorse or patriotism. If you genuinely feel that, then I want you to express that. I really don't care if you wear ribbons, special shoes, force yourself to watch United 93. I want you to genuinely honor the best qualities of our people that were on display that day. When you feel overwhelmed, think of the firefighters who prepared to climb 70-90 floors to fight a raging inferno. When you feel like you've been defeated remember the passengers of UA 93 who refused to go down without a fight. When you feel like all is lost, remember the FDNY, PAPD, NYPD and EMS, who, imediatly after losing so many of their brethren immediately turned around and did all they could to try to rescue anyone that may have been left behind. <br />
<br />
Most of all, I want you to remember this one thing. This is America. We have seen hard times before. We are amazingly resilient. When we look to each other, when we trust in our own abilities as a people there is no calamity we can not weather. Things may seem bleak now, but all you need to do is light a candle, and light a candle of the person next to you and suddenly the world isn't so dark anymore.<br />
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The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-37538789903620249852016-08-27T03:49:00.000-05:002016-08-27T03:49:27.446-05:00WTF has happened to 2016?At the beginning of the year I was somewhat hopeful. It was hard at the time to be hopeful because I'd just gone through a break up that crushed me, and I had moved back home, which further crushed my spirit, but I was still slightly hopeful. But now that the year is almost 3/4ths done I've got to ask What the Ever Loving Fuck? <br />
<br />
First there's the deaths, a SCOTUS Justice whose opinions are a real joy to read (and I HATE legalese), David Bowie (the Goblin King), Alan Rickman (Hans Grueber), Kenny Baker (R2-FREAKING D2), Anton Yelchin(Checkov), Prince, Nancy Reagan. . . the list goes on and on. It's incredibly depressing when so many talented people suddenly up and die. <br />
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Then there's the bullshit that was the primaries. On the Democratic side, an actual honest to God <i>Socialist</i> very nearly became the DNC nominee for president. His main opponent was someone who has almost certainly violated federal statutes that should have landed her in a courtroom if not in jail. In fact one sailor who did far less than she did actually tried to <a href="http://dailycaller.com/2016/08/20/navy-sailor-goes-to-jail-after-using-hillary-defense/" target="_blank">use her as an exampl</a>e for leniency in his case.<br />
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On the other side, you had a field of 15 decent candidates and one joker who was just there for shits and giggles it seemed. You had Governors, Senators, a doctor. By any standard many of the people who ran in the GOP primary would have made an excellent president. But because there were so many, the joker won. His main selling point is he doesn't seem to give a damn about political correctness. Actually, his main selling point is he is making the Left absolutely lose their collective shit, which has the people they've been maligning and alienating for so long tickled pink.<br />
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In the last two days I've witnessed conversations of deep conviction in the gym locker room or around the pool. Most of the time this is a place to share technique, catch up, or encourage others. But yesterday in the midst of my swim I heard this long drawn out conversation about how you just <i>couldn't </i> vote for Trump. The black man responded the democratic party left him behind and he just couldn't vote for Hillary. It was astounding. Then I had a long drawn out conversation with another man today about the current crop, and two passers by felt the need to jump in and pitch in their two cents. <br />
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Let's not kid ourselves Gary Johnson says one or two things one side might like then veers sharply and says some truly bone headed things. That's why Ron Paul could never get elected anything higher than a Representative, despite throngs of avid followers. Johnson at best will draw votes away from Clinton and Trump, I generally think he's going to draw more away from Clinton, but with the hard edge to the Democratic party I'm not so sure.<br />
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One thing is for sure, 2016 will go down in the history books as one bad year. I just want it to be over. The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-79648149363056680302016-05-30T13:00:00.000-05:002016-05-31T02:41:49.343-05:00Thoughts on Memorial Day Memorial Day is hard for me. I am always assaulted with conflicting emotions when it comes to Memorial Day. I am alway unsure of what the "right" way to "celebrate" this day is. I am not sure what is proper. Do I remain somber, and aloof? Do I join in on the "festivities" and traditional BBQs? Do I commiserate the losses, men I knew like SFC Doster, and PFCs Craig and Harrelson? What about PFC Max L. Bailey who is still missing somewhere on the east side of Chosin (Changjin) Reservoir in North Korea? I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I want nothing more than clarity here because I need some. <br />
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Memorial Day has become festive almost. People gathering and grilling and generally celebrating the end of the school year and the beginning of summer. There are parades and obligatory flag waving along with token gestures acknowledging the sacrifices of the Soldiers, Sailors, Coast Guardsmen, Airmen, and Marines of the United States. From Lexington green to Helmand Province Americans have fought everywhere and paid a high price for the freedoms we enjoy, what's more, we unlike almost any other country in the world will fight for the freedoms of <i>other</i> nations. We haven't always done it perfectly but Americans seem ready willing and able to fight when freedom is on the line. <br />
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Perhaps the festive air is a <i>good</i> thing. America's ideals were not meant for doom and gloom. The horror of constant Chinese attacks over 4 days in -30 degree weather are not something it is a good thing to dwell on, yet I can appreciate some of the terror my great uncle Max felt before he died. I don't<i> want</i> people to dwell on the gruesome injuries I saw Craig suffer, or worry about the dreams of Harrelson maybe burning to death in a humvee. Maybe it is better that people know in some vague intellectual sense that these sacrifices are happening so that they really appreciate those burgers/steaks. <br />
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But for me, it is different. I remember well the sheer terror of "putting my shit on" and climbing into the death trap humvees. Driving on roads that could hide bombs of incredible and pants shitting size in piles of trash that are literally everywhere. I can close my eyes and feel the heat as 2-2 burned, rounds cooking off mere meters away. I can still feel that eternal moment after the AT-4 blew when I wasn't sure if I was still there or not. Reading of SFC Doster's widow's struggles after his death, and the sheer heartbreak she continues to feel at his loss, a heartbreak I understand all too well, how can I feel any sense of festivity? <br />
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What really bothers me is that there are times I don't want to remember. I want to forget it all and go back to a time when I didn't carry this burden. Am I dishonoring these men and women by that thought? Do I owe it to them to carry this weight? Am I, by virtue of being a witness, bound by honor, and duty to carry the memory of them like an invisible rucksack weighing me down? Is it wrong to want to be free, and to feel the same sense of ease that so many other Americans feel on Memorial Day? <br />
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I don't have answers. I know it's wrong of me to try to explain to civilians that Memorial Day is not for me. I know it's wrong to shame well-meaning civilians (including my mom) thanking Veterans today. I don't want to tell people about Craig and the sorrow I feel that he only saw his daughter once before he died. I don't want to explain the life Harrelson seemed to have laid out before him. My own life is such a mess I don't feel I've done these men justice. <br />
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Memorial day is hard. I am not sure how I should feel. Because I am so conflicted I often avoid festivities. I am not sure what the right thing to do here is. I hope one day I'll have answers. The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-22570560086172674582016-03-07T04:00:00.000-06:002016-03-07T04:00:23.627-06:00DyslexiaI came across this <a href="http://geon.github.io/programming/2016/03/03/dsxyliea" target="_blank">website</a> which supposedly shows you what it's like to read with dyslexia. I'll give you a moment to try to read that. Did you go? Were you able to read what was said? The funny thing is that's almost exactly what happens to me, except to a much lesser degree.<br />
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Often time when I'm looking at words I'll see the absolute <i>wrong</i> things written. Sometimes it'll be something so obviously wrong that I have to reread the words. Once at work, I thought that there was a very obvious sexual phrase in a credit card brochure. That there's no way the brochure would suggest customers ingest penises, I had to reread the sentence only to realize it was an extremely innocuous sentence.<br />
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For my entire life, I've been having to deal with dyslexia. It's not reading backward, it's more like having everything jumbled up into a confused mishmash, but thankfully it's not so extreme as it used to be. More than once in my life, I've read books or articles and come away confused. Landmark school did a lot to teach me coping methods, and you have no idea how much it relieved me to actually know what it was that was causing me to have so much trouble in school. <br />
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Worse, trying to read aloud is nearly impossible. Reading, then speaking, even my own work, seems to be just too much. There are constant starts and stops and I back up because I read a word wrong. It's beyond frustrating and makes me feel stupid. The imagery I am trying to convey with my words sounds dull and the stumbling of my words, to my ears at least, completely destroys whatever good I accomplish with my writing. <br />
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My whole life people have remarked on my intelligence. I tend to downplay it. Perhaps it is because of the speaking. Perhaps it is because I tend to have so much trouble translating the knowledge I have at hand to actual practical effect. I can not tell you what specifically makes me feel like I am a bumbling idiot. Whatever it is, it's plagued me almost my whole life.<br />
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Learning disabilities can drive you mad. You see your friends doing things that you struggle with. The thing is I've come to learn that when one thing is taken from you, you're often given something in return. Often there are connections I can make, and my memory for the things people say is truly remarkable. I'm often able to understand difficult concepts, even if I am not able to relate the same concepts to others. Dyslexia isn't all bad. True it can frustrate the hell out of me at times, but I know no other way of thinking, and I have to think I'm this way for a reason.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-30202153339425448252016-03-06T01:49:00.001-06:002016-03-06T01:49:47.219-06:00Mourning A RelationshipAfter Becky broke off the engagement, someone told me that I need time to mourn the loss. At the time that comment seemed odd to me. She's not dead. Her life will go on, only without me. I went back to my grief and depression. It is only now that I really think about it that that friend was right. Mourning the loss of a relationship really is like mourning a death of a loved one, but if anything in some ways its worse. <div>
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I miss the way she used to smile at me. Often times my goofy nature would make her laugh, and she would give me a smile that showed she genuinely took joy in my presence. Once, sadly two weeks before it ended, she and I were absolutely punch drink with exhaustion, and the two of us sat there giggling then uproariously laughing at something. Her parents, brother, and sister all looked at us like we were crazy. That just made us laugh harder. </div>
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I miss the way she gave me hope for the future. She could be blunt, and direct, sometimes brutally so, but when we talked about the future the worst of my past just disappeared. I miss the dreams we'd share. The plans we'd make. The sense we can do anything if we're together.</div>
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I miss taking care of her. When she got migraines, or was horribly ill, I miss sitting by her bedside, getting her meds, water, ice packs. I truly miss the ability to make her misery just a little bit better. If she was unstable on her feet, I'd support her. If she was puking I would sit by, and hold out a glass of water so she could wash the taste out of her mouth. I miss the weak but grateful look she'd give me. I genuinely miss worrying about her health, and trying to track all her various medications. </div>
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I miss the way she knew me. I there were so many things I confided in her that I haven't told anyone else. Many more things I didn't have to tell her. She had instinctual knowledge. She had just as many sleepless nights as I did. I wonder now, if I'll ever trust a woman enough to tell her some of those darker things, and if such a woman might be rare, rarer still is the woman that's been where I've been, and seen what I've seen. </div>
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I miss the quiet moments. This stolen moments when we could just be together. Her presence was a balm on even the worst anxieties. In calm moments I felt such peace as I have not felt in well. . . most of my life. We didn't have to talk about anything. Sometimes just sitting in silence holding hands was all we needed. </div>
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Far more than that, for me, I have a really overactive imagination. I could live in the worlds I imagine. Often times I've gotten lost for hours and days even exploring worlds that don't exist. Even with more terrestrial matters, I can imagine possibilities, and see them almost as clearly as if they were happening, or recent memories. </div>
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For a very long time, I willfully prevented myself from delving in such thoughts. But with Becky I began to dream those dreams. I could see the moment I proposed to her. True in reality it didn't remotely match reality, the fact that I saw it in my head at all. . . that let me know this was it for me. I saw myself lifting her veil at our wedding. I could see the tears of joy she almost but not quite held back. I could see her after our first child was born. The exhaustion clear on her face along with a look of sheer joy and wonder at the small life she held in her arms. I saw a curly haired precocious child that was an absolute terror, running around full of laughter.</div>
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I saw so much more. A whole life. When she said "the way things are I can't marry you." it was like watching all those visions be painfully ripped away and watch them circle past an event horizon into a singularity. I don't doubt the pain of her death would have been in that moment just as bad. But unlike a death this pain lingered. </div>
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While my psyche fractured and I tried to find refuge in my rationality, one question kept screaming its way through my head. . . why? Why? <i style="font-weight: bold;">WHY? </i>What had I done wrong? Was there hope? Is there anything I can do? Can't we find a way to fix things? What if. . . ? What if. . . ? Finally a piteous plea. Please. </div>
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Each time I tried to talk to her I felt the love she'd once had for me die a little more. Finally. . . we might as well have been strangers. I asked her what we were after she said she couldn't marry me, she said "very good friends." I wish we were. If you didn't check my Facebook timeline you'd never have known we were oh so close to marriage. </div>
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I will probably never know why. I suspect if I was given a rationally satisfying answer it would hurt my emotional side horribly. If I were given an emotionally satisfying answer it would offend my rational side. Despite the fact that even now there's a part of me that would do anything she would say if it meant we might be together again, I suspect there's another part of me that would never be able to trust her again. I'd always be on the lookout for the next flashpoint that would end things. </div>
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I've never told any woman I've dated, but the litmus test for me as to whether I would wish to marry a woman came from the nightmare that was the WTB. I saw relationships and marriages end because of the wounds of war. I also saw just how battered a human body can get. I would ask myself, "If I ended up back there, and was <i>really</i> hurt, would she stay?" I don't think I could go through that kind of hell alone again. With Becky right up until the moment she broke things off, The answer was an unqualified yes. I think the fact that I thought the answer was one thing when it was really another adds another level of hurt. It also makes me terrified to realize even if I think the answer is yes, I might get paralyzed in a car crash tomorrow and whatever woman I might try to be with might not wait for me to wake up before hitting the road. </div>
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I have come away from this knowing I'll never meet another woman like Becky. I'm not sure I want to. As amazing, and wonderful and beautiful as she was, I don't ever want to fall so deeply in love again. I'll mourn the death of the love we had, and in time, I'll hope she finds the right man for her and has the life she hoped for. I fear that she'll get in her own way, and I tend to think very few men will be so persistent as to ever break through that high wall she erects around herself. Whatever the case for myself the path ahead looks a little darker. The desire to drive toward a goal is a little dimmer. </div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-4218024334855580022016-02-29T08:49:00.000-06:002016-02-29T08:49:11.272-06:00Ribbit (Happy Leap Day)Today is Leap Day. February 29th. Sure it's an oddity, and a lot of people don't "celebrate" it, but I like having fun with Leap Day. I hopping around and shouting at people "happy leap day!" and encouraging them to act like frogs? <br />
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Why do I do this? no reason. It's fun to watch people's reactions. <br />
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Leap Day came about because orbital mechanics are odd. The Earth rotates at one speed, and revolves around the sun at a different rate. This means that it comes out to roughly 265.25 days. Actually believe it or not it's not even that much. Every hundred years there'll be 30 days in February. Every 500 years or so there'll actually be 31. <br />
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Too bad I'll never see that. I don't think that the Julian calendar since it got fully firmed up has seen a February 31st. Its a bit of a shame. I wonder if future people will celebrate the 30th of February. . .<br />
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anyway... Ribbit. <br />
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The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-52131348773461978122016-02-28T22:53:00.000-06:002016-02-28T22:53:32.622-06:00When a .357 Magnum looks too good, its time to get help.One thing which I don't like to talk about is my own frailties. I can admit my fears, with great difficulty, to those I'm close to. The problem is, that I have a hard time letting people in. The specter of disappointment, and betrayals has made it so its difficult to trust anyone. My most recent debacle with my ex fiancé is an example. There are many painful episodes in my past that I hadn't told her about (the WTB for example). <br />
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I trusted her more than anyone else I think in my entire life. When things came crashing down, with little warning, and unclear reasoning all of that trust that I had allowed, the vulnerability, that became something of an open wound. <br />
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To say I was broken when I arrived home is an understatement. I barely had the energy to get out of bed for days at a time. I don't like that. I don't like to admit when I'm hurt, let alone to admit I'm hurt just that badly. If I could have willed my heart to just stop, I would have. It seems strange but that level of complete abject depression may have actually saved my life. <br />
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About a day and a half after returning I found my dad's .357 magnum. I actually pulled it out, and made sure it was functional. At that moment a stray thought entered my head "if I had bullets right now." That thought alone scared me. The loss of my relationship was so painful, so hard to bare that I was willing to eat a lead sandwich rather than face the rest of my life without her. <br />
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Add to that there's the added stress of the issues of being home again. There are many issues left unresolved. The mold and mildew alone have caused me enough issues, but taking apart my dad's living area, I was able to get a palpable sense of just how far he'd sunk into the alcohol. The brilliant man I knew growing up, who always seemed to have the answer died a truly broken man. Perhaps thats one childhood illusion I wished to hold onto just a little bit longer, or perhaps I didn't want to ask myself if perhaps I could have done something.<br />
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I found myself angry at him, angry at my ex, and angry at the world. I was angry at my dad for giving up. I was angry at my ex for dumping me like a bad habit. I was angry at the world because I could not figure out what I had done to deserve the treatment I had. I would vacillate wildly between irrational anger and soul crushing sadness. That gun would alternate between a way out and an object worthy of no more note than a rock or a branch. I had actually taken to sleeping with it near my bed.<br />
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I realized then that I really needed help. I reached out to the VFW post here, and through them I learned about about the connected warriors program. Its a free yoga program for Veterans, which helped a lot with coping and stress. It also helped with the horrible back pain that's been plaguing me since my return. I also reached out to the VA. Sadly their psychological department is full up here, so getting to a shrink will be a stretch.<br />
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Here's the thing, I haven't told anyone really just how close I came. Perhaps two weeks after I started the Connected Warriors program I got a job. That helped a lot. I've joined a gym, and I've reached out to friends. Sometimes just to commiserate, sometimes for advise sometimes just because I needed to talk to someone. My friends, both former combat veterans and just people that happened to be in my orbit helped a lot. <br />
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The hardest part for me in this process has been to admit that I needed help. Its not just admitting that to myself, its admitting it to the people that can offer to help me. The very people that can, and have helped me have to know just how bad it has gotten. Is it because of the war? Because of my Ex? Doesn't really matter why things have gotten this bad. The reality is I had to get help. I've started getting it. <br />
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Its scary in a way. I look how far I've come. I thought that I was almost to a place where I could be as close to normal as imaginable. Perhaps the one good thing that my ex sending me packing has done is to show me the error of that illusion. I may never be normal again. I'm ok with that. I'll figure this out somehow. I'll be ok. <br />
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Eventually.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-11239650172831764322016-02-09T01:31:00.002-06:002016-02-09T01:31:53.173-06:00Trigger Warning [I don't care about your 'triggers']Before I went to war, if anyone had talked of "trigger warnings" I'd have laughed myself silly. The idea that people who have not truly lived could be "triggered" into a state of hysteria or catatonia of fear fills me now with chagrin. What could you possibly be "triggered" by if you've never truly experienced something traumatic. <div>
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I have. There were things that happened to me that were so traumatic I still, almost a decade later, have not gotten over it. I felt fear such as I can not describe. It made me sick in my stomach, and made it difficult to function. I felt shame for my failures. People died and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. </div>
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It wasn't until late 2007, that I realize how deeply I was effected. There is a song that played in a favored bar, a song played at a buddy's service in Iraq, and I was right back on that terrible day that he died. The smell of the burning HMMMWV was in my nose, the crackling of rounds cooking off, the fear that I'd lose more of "my guys" and that terrible moment that I realized that for a half hour my friend had been put so completely out of my mind that he didn't even exist. </div>
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That song, sadly popular, would actually trigger episodes. At first I would be right back there in Iraq. I avoided this song like it was the plague. Unfortunately, it's a rather popular song and I can't really avoid it. Eventually, the flashbacks became bouts of intense emotions. Eventually it just became unpleasant. I can accept the trauma that happened, and I can accept that my reaction to the song is irrational. </div>
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I can not make the world accommodate me. I can't force my work or radio stations not to play this song, and really why should I? It's a good song. If other people enjoy it who am I to bust in and interrupt them for enjoying themselves? I'm not the dick punching buzz kill that seems to be on college campuses these days. </div>
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Because I couldn't avoid this song I had to find a way to climate to it. I chose to face this song, at one point I would have it in a 20 song playlist on shuffle, and while I'd do house work, it would randomly play. At first it was rough. Then it was less so, before "mildly unpleasant" is how I'd describe the experience. </div>
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Triggers are real. For people who've experienced real trauma there will be events, smells, sounds, or even completely non explainable triggers that will force them to relive the event(s). For the most part though when people talk like this:</div>
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it's a load of bullshit. They're not triggered. They're feeling upset. There's a massive difference between upset, and reliving the most terrible experience in your life. Many who do have anxiety disorders or PTSD may not actually know their triggers thereby making "trigger warnings" completely useless, and worse, insulting. You think we're these fragile balls of glass that will break at the slightest push? Grow up. </div>
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Here's what I want you to do, take your trigger warnings and shove em. I want to be warned that something might be upsetting. Let me live my life. I don't want other's free inquiry to be stifled because bad things happened to me. If anything I want people to have to be forced into self examination. That's the only way we grow as human beings. So please, enough with the bull shit coddling. </div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-24723275280082644102016-01-29T04:11:00.000-06:002016-01-29T04:23:57.877-06:00The Big Honking Man-Killer vs. the Itty Bitty Rapid FireHere's a trick question for you, which would you rather be hit by: An M-1(the rifle used in WWII, not the tank), or an M-16. Chances are, if you know nothing about rifles you'd have chosen the M-1, and you'd be incredibly sorry for it. Why? We've certainly seen the effectiveness of the M-16, in both war and peace. It certainly <i>looks</i> scarier. The M-1 looks at best like a hunting rifle in comparison, and really how dangerous could that be compared to an "assault" riffle?<br />
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First you need to know a few things about the M-1 Garrand. One of the most interesting features (for the purpose of the gun debate) is it is one of the <i>only</i> rifles that actually uses clips. There are no mechanical parts to the mechanism that holds the rounds you put into the rifle, whereas the updated version, the M-14 does actually use a magazine. The clip for a standard M-1, is only 8 rounds, whereas the M-16 is usually 20-30 rounds. The weight, 11 pounds vs 7 pounds (less if it's a carbine), would make you think the M-1 was more cumbersome. The fact that the M-1 was made before nifty things like laser pointers and forward vertical grips might lend one to think that the older "antiquated" rifle is less accurate, and thus not a "better" rifle. On all counts such assumptions would leave you dead (excuse the pun) wrong.<br />
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First let's look at the rounds. The M-1 uses the .308 or the .30-06. Both rounds are pretty large, and have significant muzzle velocity, and mass. Compared to the 5.56x45mm NATO standard round (.223) that the M-16 uses they are a little bit slower, but they also pack more of a punch. The sheer physics of the rounds would leave you to wish to be nowhere near the business end of the .308, but its what the rounds are actually designed to <i>do</i> where the real damage is.<br />
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You see the NATO standard round that we all know and love today was designed at a time we were really concerned with the horrors of war. The round was designed so that it would pierce light armor, but it was also designed with wounding, not killing a person in mind. To that end the rounds are small enough that the actual damage they cause is minimal (compared to the rounds previously used), and it was designed to keep on going after it had exited the body (think of it like the scene in Indiana Jones where he shoots three guys lined up behind each other). If you shoot someone with 5.56mm it'll enter and exit leaving behind small holes and not very large entrance/exit wounds. <br />
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The .308 by comparison is designed to <i>stop</i> inside a target, imparting as much energy as possible on the target. Most .308 rounds will actually mushroom, and deform. This has the effect of making the exit wounds significantly larger than the 5.56mm. As an added bonus the cavitation, that is the force of the wake of the round moving through its medium, is much stronger in the .308. The end result is that you can accomplish with one .308 round that it would take several 5.56mm rounds to accomplish. <br />
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Unfortunately in the gun debate, one side is basing most of their understanding of guns on bad hollywood movies, or worse talking points they don't even understand. If I were to give you the option to be shot by a bullet about the size of the tines on your fork, or a round the size of your pinky, which do you think you'd want to experience.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-65184956272756358362015-09-08T03:51:00.000-05:002016-01-29T04:02:56.849-06:00*sigh* I really haven't had the heart to write for a long while. There's been a number of reasons for that. One is that I had been spending most of my time (at the time) looking for jobs. The desperate search for work really puts a strain on you and doesn't leave you feeling motivated to write about. . . well anything. And then there was the whole living situation. Again, admitting you were living in your fiancé's parent's basement is not something any adult male really wants to admit to. <br />
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Now. . . I have to admit that it's over. Whatever future I had hoped for, whatever plans I'd had, half formed or otherwise are gone. My fiancé told me in a very mater of fact way that the way things were she couldn't marry me. The worst part for me is that it seemed from my end to be very suddenly. Just a week previous we'd had a long talk and we were (I thought) somewhat hopeful about the future. I was working a temporary job true, but there were more offers on the way and I was going to get my EMT license. . . hopefully that would lead to Paramedic or something along those lines.<br />
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I thought things were getting better. From her end she thought things were getting worse. The perception of me taking advantage was one that I'd started to try to counter act, but she didn't want to be playing nurse maid to me reminding me of things, essentially being my mother. I suppose I can see what she meant. I've been on my own for most of my adult life and have had few mentors, and even fewer people to point out my habits that need to change. <br />
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I would have tried to keep going, tried a councilor, really anything to keep the relationship going. If I had known that it was close to the end, well, if wishes were fishes we'd all be fat. I could extol all the virtues of our relationship, and all the reasons I had, and still have, to want to keep it going. What would the point be?<br />
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The thing that took me by surprise was just how strongly this all hit me. Within a few days I had panic attacks. I couldn't stay still. I began to cry at random times. By cry, I mean completely break down into a blubbering mess. The only thing that would keep me from being a complete wreck was walking all over Otsego county, and working out almost to a dangerous degree. It did not endear me to her family. I think her mother most of all had begun to despise me though she'd never admit it. <br />
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It all came to a head, I finished what I needed to finish and her father put me up in a motel near the Detroit airport for two days before I flew home. Now I'm back at my old home. Now I have to find a reason to keep going on. I have to find a reason to keep pushing. <br />
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For so long I sucked it up and drove on. This latest blow, was just a blow too many. I'm not sure how I'll continue towards any semblance of a goal when the only reason I had to strive for that goal is gone. I love her. I doubt that matters. She's made it clear she's moved on. I really wish I knew what about me is so unloveable. <br />
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<br />The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-38790754507191950502015-07-22T10:10:00.000-05:002015-07-23T09:54:16.358-05:00DoxingAs a followup to my previous post about #GamerGate, I really feel the need to talk about Doxing. For those not aware, Doxing is the practice of finding a person's personal information and blasting it on message boards. Pure and simple this is <i>not</i> ok. I don't care what justification you feel you have, there is absolutely no good that can come of this. <br />
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I've seen people justify it by saying that they were guilty of hate speech. One gentleman said "don't even give me that First Amendment nonsense. You have every right to say it, and I have every right to find your address and put it out there!" What's scary is he said it to a fairly large audience that <i>cheered</i> him as he said that. No! That's an invasion of privacy. That's absolutely wrong. <br />
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Let us say that an individual is opposed to transgenderism, and says he believes our current method of treatment is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLcsZe0vRZ8" target="_blank">feeding the delusion</a>. Its understandable that maybe there might be some hard feelings there. It's also understandable that people's reaction to a transgender saying "do you want to go home in an ambulance" might be a bit passionate. Ok but that might be the end of it. <br />
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But then some random guy has the audacity to say that people calling said transgender "classy" don't understand the meaning of the word. That same transgender releases the information for said random critic on twitter [note: I have a link for the tweets in question but as it shows this man's address I won't post that on an open forum]. It went from light scorn to nuclear option in .02 seconds. <br />
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Now let's depart from reality for a second and acknowledge that there are some crazy people out there. Let's also acknowledge that whenever theres an issue that strains passions, it'll illicit strong reactions. Maybe the light scorn that the critic had gets blown way out of proportion (like it already has), and someone whose emotions are high decides to act on those high emotions. We've seen examples of <a href="http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=d3a_1399903883" target="_blank">assault</a>, that people think is completely justified because it was "provoked." We've seen people who thought assassination was perfectly justified (see Lincoln). How hard is it to imagine someone taking a random tweet WAY out of context and acting on it?<br />
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In recent years there's been protests at <a href="http://hotair.com/archives/2010/05/21/seiu-protesters-descend-on-bank-execs-home-terrifying-his-son/" target="_blank">houses </a>of people of <a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2015/feb/17/scott-walkers-parents-home-swarmed-by-pro-union-pr/" target="_blank">prominence</a>. Privacy rights seem to have gone right out the window. I don't know if it began with the NSA, or what, but suddenly people think that this form of harassment is perfectly justified. That anyone who disagrees with the politically "correct" position must be punished. When did we in the West begin to think this was ok? You fear harassment so you'll preempt the harassment by harassing someone? Why?<br />
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Take it from someone whose lived in situations of 0 privacy, privacy is one of those freedoms they don't talk about until it's taken away. Life can go from hunky dory to insufferable hell in the blink of an eye all because you lose privacy. There is absolutely <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">NO</u> justification for doxing. While I'm generally against saying there should be laws about somethings I find doxing so insidious that in this case I'll make an exception. If its not already, Doxing should absolutely be against the law. The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-48326279264372935202015-07-20T07:17:00.000-05:002015-07-23T08:37:44.995-05:00Thoughts on #GamerGateI've played games ever since I got an NES and Super Mario/Duck Hunt for christmas as a child. I've played games for years without ever thinking it was an identity or lifestyle. Guess I would be called a "gamer" but I'm not as hard core as some folks, and I've always stayed out of the politics of the gaming industry. I don't really play indie games mostly because I don't have the time in my life to be trying out new games all the time. I typically find one game I like, immerse myself into it, then move onto another game (with occasional wistful trips back to old favorites). I like FPS, RTS, and RPGs typically.<br />
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So with all that said, I'm passionate about getting good games. That's why when I heard about #GamerGate, I dived into it with gusto. I'm both sorry and glad I did. I'll explain my mixed feelings later, let's start with one simple question; What is #GamerGate aside from a widely used hashtag? Well it's certainly a scandal (worthy of the "gate" title). It started with a manifesto of sorts, from a jilted lover. The manifesto wasn't kind either. His ex lover was a game developer that had cheated on him with a game journalist to get a good review for her game. <br />
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Almost immediately, the responses decided people strongly into two camps in the gaming community. I'm really not going to get into the back and forth, because it would require you figuring out who is who and even attempting to explain all the back and forth would take hours. What I found most interesting about the entire debate around #GamerGate, is that the two sides seem to be saying something completely different. The Pro side is demanding ethics reform in games journalism. The Anti side is accusing the Pro side of being incredibly sexist and harassing women (in development and gaming). <br />
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The disconnect between the two messages is absolutely jarring. It'd be like talking about China and one person discussing the pollution while the other side discusses the structure of the government. The back and forth has pretty quickly turned into internet shouting matches. There were also some incredibly loathsome individuals that emerged. <br />
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Perhaps the most ironic part of the whole affair is the Anti side which often complains of harassment, is extremely guilty of the very same. People have been forced from the internet, and very real world consequences have befallen them. I've become familiar with terms like SWATing, Doxing, and hell dumping, and it has turned my stomach. I know death threats aren't typically acted on, but when someone calls your home phone and threatens your children by name over a post you thought was relatively anonymous you can see how far this thing has gone. <br />
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I'm not going to get involved in the whole damn thing, other than to say I've come to tacitly support the Pro side. The more I learn about the Anti side of #GamerGate the less I want to do with them. Whatever point they might've had has been lost in the morass of various message boards, and it's devolved int accusation and counter accusation. The Pro side is still pretty consistent with the message that Games Journalism needs to have ethical standards. Maybe the catalyst wasn't the best in the world, but why would anyone be against ethics reforms in any form of journalism? <br />
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There's a lot of money to be made in games. Its an <i>incredibly</i> lucrative industry. Some sources suggest the Gaming industry as a whole may make more money in a year than the porn industry. There's crazy amount of graft that could exist. The big developing houses could stand to lose huge investments, and indie developers stand to gain unbelievably large amount of money if they land a big hit. The idea that journalists can be bought with favors, gifts, or sex should stop everyone in their tracks. What if this were political journalism, or sports? Would there really be a controversy? Probably not to the extent that #GamerGate has seen.<br />
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I'll finally sum up why I was glad, and sad to delve into the whole controversy. I was glad for the reason that I was completely unaware of all this going on. I had my eyes opened to larger issues inside the games industry. Maybe I may not just look through GameStop in the future, I may look for other places and sources for good games. I'm sad because I got to see a side of the internet that really there are no words for. People wishing a person suffering through chemo would have that cancer advance faster. Organized harassment, calling a SWAT team on someone you disagree with (having police break down your door is in the very least a traumatizing event, at worst it could lead to deaths), releasing personal information and harassing employers and supporters. Diving into even the surface details of #GamerGate has left me very wary. I got to see the darker side of the internet, and I'm sorry to report that some of the denizens can be truly twisted. <br />
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But as I said, I've come to #GamerGate late in the game. Whatever it was when it started it isn't that now. Is it over? that remains to be seen. There's no real leader to either side. There are figureheads that people gravitate towards, but in general this could go on as long as people want. There have been effects in the mainstream and in the games journalism so it appears that at least on some level the Pro side won, but the Anti side is still going strong too, so where it ends is anyone's guess. I think I'll just go back to playing Dragon Age.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-4128445015272312362015-07-14T13:12:00.000-05:002015-07-14T13:12:51.288-05:00NightmaresIn the Middle East, summer months were always fighting months. No one but the United states really wanted to fight in winter (and to be completely honest we didn't want to fight either). Summer though? It seemed like IEDs, snipers and all sorts of other fun parts of fighting would appear out of nowhere and make your life a real fun time. <br />
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Even a brief glance at casualty figures will show you that the summer months were not pleasant for US troops. Fighting picks up in tempo, routes that had been green only a week earlier are suddenly black, people start dying. It really starts at the end of May and picks up during June, July and Ramadan. Those are usually the three hottest times in the ME. <br />
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Perhaps it is because of this that myself and so many other veterans report lack of sleep, restlessness, and nightmares during this time of year. Last night for me was particularly bad. It was the old one I've never been able to shake. Harrelson in the truck burning, screaming for help and I'm just feet away unable to do anything. I know he was dead before the truck started to burn, but still. . . its a thought that haunts my dreams. <br />
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I know I'm not alone. I know I'm not the only one with nightmares, but when you face the long cold night alone, when you experience your worst nightmares over and over again. . . well you tend not to want to sleep even when you're exhausted. <br />
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I've been sleeping in short spurts over the last week or so. a few hours here a few hours there. It leaves you constantly feeling drained and devoid of energy. Unfortunately there's nothing to do but suffer through it. There isn't a sleeping pill I've yet tried that actually works and will knock me out for a full 8 hours. I doubt that there ever will be, and if there was I wouldn't want to get addicted to it. <br />
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I'll deal. It is what it is and I can't really fix it. I'll wake up with a start. Remember some horrible dream that leaves me shaken and go on about my life until I can get back asleep again. That's just the way of things for the summer months. The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-77078834401174948372015-07-12T14:00:00.000-05:002015-07-14T01:13:30.966-05:00Let Us Talk of Graves, of Worms, of EpitaphsThe 12th of July. For many it is an insignificant date. For me, well it's a reminder that war is a confusing condition. That innocent and guilty are hard to tell in a shooting war. As the events of 12 July 2007 fade into the grey fog of history. The heat of the day has faded, as has some of the furor surrounding the events that occurred in a small district of New Baghdad. <br />
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I've talked at length as to what happened that day. I've written essays, and accounts. I've compiled eyewitness testimony and documentary evidence. Despite that people who were never involved in anything to do with what happened that day have lectured me, someone who was actually there, on what happened. They've told me what soldiers on the ground or soldiers pulling overwatch felt. People who never put on an IBA have told me all about my motivations, not realizing the person they're talking to was actually <i>there. </i><br />
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At one point I had the distinctly odd experience of someone pointing to two pictures that actually had me in it to emphasize a point. It kind of took me out of the argument for a moment, and I looked at the person, and asked them if that was a joke. Needless to say I had him zoom in on the picture that actually showed my face and told him clearly he didn't know what he was talking about. That particular individual was somewhat shaken, but still stuck to his guns. So let us sit upon the ground and tell the sad tale of the death of soldiers. <br />
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In war, information is always chaotic. Those making decisions, or reacting to the situations presented rarely have the best view. A rifleman on the ground may see something suspicious, but be unable to make the company commander aware of it because he is busy trying to coordinate his company. But, say people, there's video. Yes. There's a video, but what the video doesn't show is at least as important as what it does. You won't see the soldiers on a rooftop firing a grenade launcher at the reporter. You won't see how utterly impossible it is to tell who is inside a van from a 5 inch screen while flying in a helicopter. You won't see the contacts that happened around the event, or the reason the TIC call was made prior to the gunships arrival. <br />
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What's most important, is that you con't tell what individuals did that day. You can't tell what was said or felt. You can't tell who is a medic, or an infantryman. You can't tell who is a FiSTer and who is an intel attachment. If you know what to look for you may be able to tell officers and NCOs, and even tell them apart, but rarely does anybody that hasn't lived that life be that perceptive. There is a video that offers a quick snapshot of a much larger fight. It's ugly. It's to look at. But ultimately the real tragic part of the video is that rather than people trying to understand what happened they they to use this video as justification for their world view. <br />
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Were the soldiers heartless? Is killing like a video game? Not in the slightest. This video didn't prove that soldiers are thugs anymore that it proved that we're saints. It proves that in war, sometimes "getting it right" is next to impossible. The Apache gunner keeps shooting even as one person flees, but what you miss are the hundreds of suicide vests, and the harsh reality that with insurgency, mercy is rarely a boon. You also see a judgement call. Was it a mistake to shoot the van? Not entirely. But again I've spoken on that to death. <br />
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I'd like to think that in the end everyone was able to move on. Truth is I think people are still dying because of this day. I know at least one has committed suicide, and I'm afraid to ask how many more have. I think for my part I'd like to put this day to bed. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to defend my actions that day to people who wouldn't understand the first thing about warfare. I don't need to justify myself or my beliefs to anyone. I was there. I saw what I saw. You can read exactly what I saw in the 2nd Bde 2 ID official <a href="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/dangerroom/2010/04/6-2nd-brigade-combat-team-15-6-investigation.pdf" target="_blank">15-6</a> investigation. You can read it if you want. <br />
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Most of you that had your passions stirred will go on. Most of you have already forgotten it. I won't. I'll live with the memories of that day forever. Its just what happens, but I think it is time and past time to put this episode to rest.The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-903369978904506414.post-87584403726677739602015-07-11T17:58:00.000-05:002015-07-12T17:58:58.338-05:00I Fear For My RepublicFor me, patriotism isn't about frenzied flag waving. It's not about frantic attempts to prove that being a disrespectful jerk is covered under "Free Speech." Patriotism is not about going to war for your nation or defending it against critics. For me patriotism is a deep and abiding love. You have to love your country, hold true to its ideals even when those ideals aren't currently popular. <br />
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America is seen by some a racist bigoted nation that is a giant bully on the world stage. They see the "post-American" world as a good thing. Some people would do anything to tare at the very seems of the fabric of our society determined to prove in our nakedness that we are the vile filthy sight they claim. The very people who deny the beauty of America are the same people who claim beauty in the violent orgies of mobs. </div>
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We were never intended to be a truly Democratic country. Votes matter. That's important. But if we voted every week our political landscape would change like seasons in an Ohio spring day. Republic was there to give us stability. There was method to the "madness" behind the structure of our Republic. </div>
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Even the Electoral College, much bemoaned and greatly derided, has a purpose. There is a method to the madness. Imagine we just went by the popular vote. Then a president could focus his or her sole attention on the cities and completely ignore the rest of the country. Most of the usable land area is used for farming. America produces a noticeable percentage of the world's food. If you focused only on what the cities want, the farms, and the way of life that supports them would be left to rot. You also have to imagine what would happen if a presidential candidate only focused on a geographic region. What if the South had enough votes to outvote the rest of the country? </div>
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The problem is it's more than just the structure of the government. Our very history is under attack. I could point out the recent flap about the Confederate Battle Flag, but there is too much ignorance on both sides. For me the greatest example of this is the future removal of Alexander Hamilton from the $10 bill in favor of a woman. What woman? We don't know right now, some woman, you can vote on that if you want. The point is YAY WOMEN! The problem is they're removing one of the ultimate symbols of what it is to be an American in favor of some vague amorphous desire to promote "women." Why? Because her sexual organs are more in vogue than Hamilton's? If you really want a woman on US currency why not ditch Andrew Jackson? Jackson may have started an "era" but it was not a good era, and his actions with Native American resettlement alone should be reason enough to remove him from the currency. </div>
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Alexander Hamilton is a great exemplar of American ideals. He was born into poverty, a bastard child whose mother died when he was 13. He taught himself most of the skills he would need, then on his own left his home in the West Indies for America. When war came to his new home in America he volunteered for a New York militia company, and taught himself military tactics. His unit called "the Hearts of Oak" stole artillery pieces while under effective fire from a British ship, and became an artillery battery afterwards. Later when he became Washington's aid, he was treated like one of Washington's (many) surrogate sons. </div>
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Hamilton might have ended his career there, a bright spot in the Revolution, yet, Alexander Hamilton became one of the most fundamental reasons America exists at all. Without Hamilton, at the right place at the right time, the Constitution might not exist. Hamilton and Madison were the chief architects for the compromises between the Virginia and New Jersey plans. As if that weren't enough, he set up the national bank, and oversaw the assumption of the state's debt. Yes, his personality was arrogant and often abrasive, even to people who were on his side, and he had a rather bad habit of sleeping with other people's wives. All of the Founders had character flaws. Their humanity makes them more compelling not less. So why would we want to remove him from our currency? </div>
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What of our society? We spend so much time focusing on the surface details of a person. Social Justice Warriors seem determined to put everyone in a box. To prove that narrower and narrower classifications of people. Your value is less and less about what you do, or what adversity you can overcome, and more about how you are "oppressed." Notional chains seem to bind, and imaginary barbs lash out at people who seem to be in a constant state of hysteria. The slightest wrong word will set them screaming crying wailing. I'm all for reasonable accommodation but what happens when the accommodations become unreasonable? </div>
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I can't possibly know what a person's desired pronoun is. Hell I can't even tell when a person is anything other than the simple "male" and "female." I also have to tell you as a medical professional even if you've had all the surgeries, and take all the hormones, it doesn't matter if you identify as the opposite sex, you are still at your core, whatever gender you started out as. This is a truth. It might be harsh, and I might seem uncaring. The truth is quite the opposite. I have the greatest sympathy for a person that feels like they are a woman trapped in a man's body or vice versa, but no amount of surgery or hormone therapy can change what you are. </div>
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Race too seems to be a box that people want to be pigeon holed into. How does your ancestry change you? Do you experience discrimination because of your skin color, or because of how you project yourself? I keep getting told to "check my privilege." What privilege? In what way do I have more privilege than another person? I can't see it, or understand it. I'll grant that there are racists out there, and I've run into them, I won't deny that there are people out there that will judge you based solely on your race. But the important question is are these people isolated or part of a larger trend? If they're isolated individuals, which I suspect, than you deal with the situations as it arises. If not, if you truly believe that the problem is institutional, then you need to point towards more than outcome. Correlation is <i>not</i> causation. </div>
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I fear for my Republic. Low information voters don't even know the basics of US history. Our culture is under attack from all angles. Our institutions are becoming bloated masses that seek more power than they need. Whats worse is that the people who are losing their liberty are cheering them on. Benjamin Franklin was asked what kind of government they'd created in Philadelphia. He responded "A Republic. If you can keep it." Like so many of the Founders he knew that every generation must maintain liberty. That the successes of one generation do not automatically guarantee the success of the next. This Republic will quickly fall to ruin if we do not take ownership and possession. If we do nor remember why saying "I am an American" is a source of pride for so many, than we will soon fall into all our scattered boxes and bicker incessantly. As Abraham Lincoln said "If distraction be our lot, than we ourselves must be its author."</div>
The Mad Medichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16227573604389667896noreply@blogger.com0