A short entry into life...

During my first few months in Kuwait and Iraq, I felt myself wanting to fit in... I wanted to be a part of the group. I wanted glory and fame for deeds seen in the movies... I gave into the mindset of being a "Superior American" looking down on the Iraqis... looking down on the world. I wanted to believe I was a killer and a bad-ass. I wanted to go home with stories of greatness. Shoot-outs, killing, blood... etc. I think this is the original mindset of all men in the military... some become consumed by it... some realize the error in thinking this way. I became aware of it in a single moment...

Tonight, I was going through my little box of trinkets from life and the war and my girlfriend asked my why I had a bullet casing in the box. I simply said "It was the first bullet I fired in Iraq..."

It was hot that day... And for the previous 2 weeks more and more wild dogs had been coming into our AO... they were filthy, they had fleas, and they barked constantly. My Lt. Gave us the order to shoot the dogs. And some of the men went at it with reckless abandon. Shotguns, pistols, M4s... They were shooting every dog that came near. In one instance, a Staff Sargeant even used his entrenching tool to behead a puppy, exocutioner style complete with mask. Well, me trying to fit in... I went to the roof of the building that we were occupying. I am a very good shot up to 300 meters. My uniform sports the "Expert Rifleman" badge... I could see the dog through the peep-sight of my M4. It was about 150 meters out and a very easy shot... But as I saw that black, mange-ridden dog my mind flashed with memories of my dog... and my family... and life. It struck me that I didn't want to kill this animal... I didn't want to kill anything. I actually had a tear form in my eyes... I moved the rifle ever so slightly to the ground and fired. The dirt in front of the dog plumed and it ran off. I instantly received all sorts of ribbing and teasing from the men around me... But I knew I missed. I missed like I had wanted to miss. If I could... I would leave Iraq without ever killing anyone or anything (aside from a few flies and maybe a rat)...

I reached to my side and picked up the casing from my missed shot. And placed it in my pocket... And I kept it there as a reminder... Life is not something to just take at will... Any life.

My first shot... a non-kill. An intentional miss... I am thankful for that moment... that time of clarity in my life... I wasn't superior. I wasn't better than anyone... and I did not want to fit in with the group anymore. Because of a dog... Funny how things sometimes work out.

As a result of that fateful moment with that pup, my life changed. I began to feel as though I were a human being and not a machine or a mercenary... And I'm glad, because it made a huge difference the rest of the time there.

In the Spring of 2005 I was biding my time in class. Going from place to place, droning on with my life. I had little to no direction and I felt afraid of life. I was 26 and unsure about my future.

One day in my sculpture class, my teacher approached me and said "I just saw your photos and story that you had published in the school magazine. I want you to apply to study abraod this summer in Paris." -- I looked at her and laughed at the proposterous suggestion and told her my GPA was not really up to par for this sort of thing. She smiled at me and said, "Well, I know you. And I know what you can do. The deadline has been extended... If you apply, You'll get in." I didn't know what to think. I didn't know how to feel. Why would someone do this for me? But regardless of my feelings, I put them aside and applied to the trip. Lo and Behold, I was accepted. Accepted without a stunning portfoilio, a camera, or the appropriate GPA.

A few weeks later I received my full-on acceptance letter... and with it, the letter saying that I must pay $500 up front to reserve my spot for the trip. Being poor, I was sad that I would not be able to pay this ammount. As I read the letter at my mailbox, my neighbor, whom I had known for only a few days, opened his door and began to speak to me... I didn't know this man, and he knew nothing about me. But as it is often easier to talk to strangers than friends, he asked me my story and I explained to him my situation. 2 days later, a knock on my door revealed my neighbor standing there with $500 cash in hand saying, "This is too good a chance to pass up. Please take this, I have plenty... pay me back whenever you can." I was beyond amazed. How could this person who doesn't know me so easily and readily GIVE me $500? It took me several days to think it over and actually decide to accept the money... but eventually I caved in and I took it to the office of Overseas studies. How was I going to pay him back?

Once that crises ended, my 2nd one arose... How do I get a camera? As of now, most of my photos came from my little, point and click Kodak Digiatal point and click camera I had purchased in Kuwait. It took good photos for what it was and I had lucked into several good shots with it. But I still knew little about actual photography. I wanted a Digital SLR. Something I could learn with and take amazing photos... but a good one was near $1,000 dollars. And if I didn't have $500, I sure as hell wasn't going to come up with $1,000. But I dreamed about it and longed for it on my online journal... And I also needed to buy my own plane ticket...

As I pondered over this problem... I received a phone call from a stranger. This man was a friend of my parents. He had just talked to them and learned that I was now a Vet. He, being a vet of the airforce, offered me one of his "family and buddy pass" tickets... he was now a pilot for Delta airlines. He told me that "as a thank you for your time and service, I want to give you this ticket as a chance to travel, get away, see the country or the world and just relax." -- Again... I was faced with a complete stranger offering me something I so desperately needed, but was so unable to afford. How do I accept this? But my parents told me to accept it and use it whenever I wanted... I had a year to use it. So I did... And now I had the chance to get to Paris... But I still needed a camera.

I had planeed on using my brother's Canon Rebel. The only problem with this is that I would have to pay for my film costs in Paris. It wasn't the best sollution, but it worked. Then, in late May, my friends asked me to join them for dinner at a local place. I accepted and met them with my current girlfriend, Angel. I one of my friends in the parking lot and she informed me that her boyfriend was inside holding the table for the 4 of us. Well, once we entered and moved through the maze of tables I turned to not only see him, but my two bosses and several of my friends from work and life. I couldn't beleive it... they had thrown me a "going away" dinner. I was touched.

As we sat down to eat, an awkward silence came about and I looked up to see everyone looking at me... "We have a present for you." Then... a box appeared from under the table and made its way towards me. When I opened it, I was shocked and amazed to see a yellow box reading "Nikon D-70." -- Tears welled in my eyes... These people had all pulled together and purchased for me a camera to take to Paris. Why? They didn't know me. Not well anyway. A few knew me to an extent... but I couldn't imagine them putting this effort out for someone like me. I had done nothing special... I was no deserving soul of such a gift... And I was unable to accept it... but at the same time, I was unable to turn it down. Now I not only had the spot on the trip, but a camera and a ticket.... I was set.

But as I look back at it all... I can't imagine how it all came about. Several people... most of whom were near-complete strangers to me. Since then, I have taken thousands of photos. I am trying to make the generosity of these people not be in vain. To make my life worth while... to give meaning to all this kindness that I was so undeserving of... But I can't think of a good way to do this. I eventually repaid my neighbor the $500. But I have yet to be able to feel that I have fully repaid the rest... Nothing I can do seems to be able to come CLOSE to bridging the gap of kindness they have shown me... and I have no idea of how to go about it?

Sometimes life is strange. I've seen all sorts of bad things in my life... I've even done my share of them... But I don't know how to re-thank people when they are kind to me. It seems unexpected to me... it seems... I don't know... The words don't exist. I'm in constant thanks of their kindness... and until I'm able to repay this to them... I will always feel less than complete. Happy, yes. But I feel as I am indebted to them all in one way or another...

I drink. Anyone who knows me knows I drink… But the trick is this: I drink a LOT more than people realize. (as a side note, I’m drinking RIGHT NOW…)

When I started, it was once or twice in high school. At my first college, I was inducted into a group of friends who were older and thus, had more access to alcohol. And it became an every weekend thing. Matt, my neighbor and I, or Michael and I would put down cases of beer at a time or perhaps a bottle or two of Vodka or rum. At that time, drinking was more of a social hobby. It wasn’t until my third college that I really began to put it away.

When I first moved to the new school, I only knew 2 people… my neighbor (who happened to be my neighbor in the dorms at college #1) and my girlfriend at the time, Carrie. So, in search of new friends, I joined ROTC… and with these newfound friends, I found the wonderful world of college parties, drunk-brunches, and various other things… I enjoyed the escape. I enjoyed the release from reality… letting go of my inhibitions and letting the person I hide inside most of the time come out and be seen…

Well, as time passed, I became more and more reliant on drinking after classes or to settle down after a day at class… I would often find myself drinking alone in my apartment… images of my grandmother sitting alone at her kitchen table drinking beer after beer throughout my childhood came to mind.

When I moved home for a year in 2002 I didn’t drink much. Living with one’s parents can really cause some problems. But I still did from time to time. Then came the war. While there, I relied on certain people to send me packages of booze while in the desert. For some reason being drunk and close to death seem to go very well together. It allowed me to forget where I was… forget the fact that I could die at any moment… forget the fact that I had cheated on my fiancée with 4 different women. And it helped to forget the death that I had seen...

But the big thing came when I got home… The nightmares and whatnot… I couldn’t sleep. I drank to sleep. I drank to relax. I drank to pass the time. I still do. Something inside me wants booze whenever I feel down or upset. Sometimes I buy 3 or 4 bottles at a time and keep them hidden. I’d drink from the hidden bottles and keep one in the freezer for show. At times I still do.

I don’t know why. But Drinking helps me forget the past. It helps me pass out at night and sleep a dreamless sleep. My shrink says it is self-medication… I say it is a way to get through the day and into the next.

I drink and I don’t care what others think… it helps me and that’s what I need… I need it to deal with the fact I’m 28 and still an undergrad at college #3… The fact I am unmarried, without a job… without children… without any set future and dating someone who doesn’t want any of the things I want.

Yes… I like booze. I like to drink… and I’ll continue to do so until I’m happy or it kills me.

While stationed in Kuwait between two tours in Iraq, I was given a mid-tour leave of absence to go to Germany. Well, at the time, I was engaged… for the second time in my young life. It was a hasty decision I made in the face of leaving for a war. Back to my original point: I was on leave and headed to Germany. I made arrangements for my fiancée to meet me there. I paid for her flight and the hotel… But I did it with bad intentions.

I already knew this engagement was doomed to fail. I knew it as soon as it began. She was young and naïve. She was so innocent and nice, and I was not… When I first left, I wrote to her daily, and she to me. I filled page after page in a journal for her when I was not able to send out mail… But the pages became less and less complete. My thoughts were less and less true. I knew I was not in love with her like I should be. I knew we would never get married. But I kept up the guise of it all because for all I knew, I would never make it home and she would never know anything about my feelings. But as life would have it, I lived through that first trip into Iraq. And while I was in Kuwait, the feelings I had buried in the desert made me susceptible to the attention of others.

I once read that once people face death or serious certain situations they change. They look for different ways to prove that they are still alive. I chose sex. While in Kuwait I met a nurse… two nurses actually. The first was Rachel. Rachel was young and beautiful. She was almost my age, Latina and seemingly interested in me (as well as others I would learn). She and I would hang out after our shifts, talk, eat dinner and occasionally watch a movie in my tent. Well, thing happened. We would send each other text messages and whatnot through they day, and on more than one occasion she spent the night in my bunk. We made out, we fooled around and… Oh… and she was married.

The second nurse was Laura and she was a red head with an attitude and a lust for sex to rival my own. And, as I found out, she was married too. Laura and I had sex on more than one occasion. Her shift and Rachel’s shift were opposite to one another… and my shift was from 1pm until 11pm… so I would spend the nights with one, and they would leave the tent, and my bed, at 6am. The next would come crawl into my bunk at about 6:30.

Now, Rachel knew about Laura and my fiancée, but Laura and my fiancée didn’t know about anything… And it worked out very well for my stay in Kuwait.

Now, back to my leave…

Since I was supposed to go to Germany for only 5 days, my fiancée’s ticket was for a 5 day stay. But I was actually staying 8 days. So… well, I made the decision to see old flames. Anna in particular. She lived in Europe, and I had not seen her in 5 years. So… after a week of fucking, my fiancée left at 7am. By noon, I had changed hotels to a larger, posh hotel near the airport. That night, Anna’s flight landed. I met her at the gate with flowers. And I kissed her like I had never kissed anyone in my life. I spent money on her for three days, we slept naked in the bed, showered together, relived old times… but, as before, I was unable to have sex with her. I don’t know why, but it just didn’t happen. But we did everything else. And it was wonderful.

The 8th morning, I took her to the airport at 7am. I kissed her goodbye and watched her walk out of my life again… And I returned to my posh hotel. Well, I returned to the bar at the hotel. The perk of Germany is that the bars are open early. I was drinking whiskey and coke at a table to myself. The bartender, a beautiful young German woman asked my why I was drinking so early in the day so I replied that I was headed back to Baghdad. I was actually headed to Kuwait, but Baghdad sounded more dangerous… Well, she opted to sit at my table and talk to me. At about 9am, I went to pay my tab and head back to my room to pack and she offered to escort me back to the room… who was I to turn her down? When I got to the room, I walked in and set the key-card on the table, when I turned around she was unbuttoning her shirt and slipping out of her shoes… Who was I to turn her down?

I don’t know her name, her age, or anything about her… but we had amazing sex on that King sized hotel room bed. When we were finished, she kissed me on the check and whispered, in a thick, German accent, “Be safe.” And then she walked out of my room and my life forever. For all I know, I have a child now in Germany… but I doubt that. All I know is that when I got on the flight back to Kuwait, I couldn’t even think… I was still drunk and still buzzing from the sex… I smiled for the entire flight back… and well into the next week.

I cheated on all of them with each other... and, well... I don't care. It happened... and later on in life, it happened again. (part two will come much later)

Two days prior to my departure from Iraq, I was asked by my Platoon Sergeant to accompany him to An Nasiriyah to film what was there with my camera. I was anxious to go jumped into the HMMWV without question.

Nasiriyah was less than 10 minutes from us, but due to the fighting in the area, we had not ventured to there as of yet. The CO and a few others had taken an armed escort into the city once before, but this was SFC Carlson, SFC Basinger, SSG Wright, Me with a camera and SGT Olsen on the M-249 as security. No escort.
We made our way through the streets of Nasiriyah... children barefoot, running along the streets with their donkeys, men sitting, staring at us, and women doing their daily chores. We could see evidence of the fighting everywhere we looked. Fresh paint trying to conceal holes in the wall, boarded-up windows, and large, gaping holes from a 20mm Cannon in a water tower. I was both impressed and dismayed at what I saw... At the site that we came to next, we saw where an ambush had taken place against American troops. The walls riddled with bullet-holes and scorch marks. The brass shell casings had all been removed from the ground, but pieces of vehicles remained -- half buried by a bulldozer. I placed my hand on my M-4 to make sure of its location. We moved down the street more and arrived at the hospital... and what I saw there was more than I could have ever imagined seeing.

Outside was the morgue. The freezer was non-operational and the bodies were beginning to decay. The smell was over-powering as well as the flies that covered the bodies by the thousand. The outside wall of the hospital had blood on it where body parts had been thrown from the windows in the Surgery Ward. In the lot behind the hospital lay 10 shallow graves... recently emptied by the US Special Forces. We made our way up to the door and into the first floor.

We entered to a hallway packed with patients waiting to be seen. Many of them would not be seen that day due to the severe lack of staff. Moving up the stairs, we briefly stopped on the third floor, the floor where Jessica Lynch had been kept. Since this was now an all female floor, we did not pass the area just outside the stairwell. Instead, we moved to the 5th floor... the burn floor.

We saw first a little boy who was lying under a net to keep the flies away. It hurt for him to move, but his burns were not incapacitating. We moved from him, throughout the halls. We gave candy to the visiting families and children to help relieve some of the stress and pain that they were facing... and to let them know we were there to help and not to take people away. Two elderly Iraqi women pleaded with me to help their sister... or friend or daughter... I could not tell the relationship. She was badly burnt on her face, arms, and torso. The women pulled at my sleeves and pointed to her. I did not have the words I needed to explain that I was not a doctor. The Iraqi doctor told us that she had been burnt by one of the bombs that had dropped from the sky.

Last, we visited a young girl in a room to herself. She was a beautiful little girl, maybe 8 years old. Someone was trying to tap into a pipeline and it had ruptured. Her hands had been so badly burnt that 2 of them were actually fused together. And due to the treatment -- or lack thereof -- two of her fingers were becoming gangrenous. It was more than I could stand to stand there and see, or rather, feel the pain in her eyes and her face. I wanted so much to pick her up and rush her to the CSH at the airfield. They couldn't have done much for the severity of the burns, but at least they could have dressed the wounds and kept her hydrated with an iv. She was so small, so innocent and all I wanted to do was help... but all I COULD do was nothing.

We left the hospital... and it was a quiet ride home. That night and every night since then I have thought about that little girl and her fate. I hope that over time, the hospitals will improve in Iraq and Doctors will be more abundant throughout the country. For now, however, I can only hope that we are making a difference for better and not worse. People at home thank me for what I did for them in Iraq — and I can't help but think: I did not do it for them. I did it for that little girl whose life will never be the same.

My feet were numb. My hands were red and stiff. My heart raced. But it was almost over. The company assault on the live-fire range at Camp Atterbury had been dragging on for the full day. I had been there for a few weeks preparing for deployment in part of Operation Enduring Freedom and the temperature outside was less than enjoyable. Snow and ice covered the ground as the wind cut through my many layers of clothes. The hill we had assaulted seemed to stretch on forever as we completed our maneuvering up the snow. There, I had the chance to catch my breath and check on the men in my squad. It had been a long day already and it was only going to get longer.

Before I could fully comprehend what was taking place, my Platoon Sergeant was barking orders for us to pick up and move again. Joe, my M-249 gunner, had slammed his feed-tray cover on his hand and was bleeding and he also had lost his glasses. My new PFC was declared as a casualty and was taken to the medics. But soon the rest of us were in position and ready to conduct a defense. Due to the frozen ground we could not dig proper fighting positions. This suited me just fine. So there we stayed in the prone, scanning the horizon for enemy activity. Little did I, or my men, know that we had 3 hours of freezing temperatures and harsh wind ahead of us.

The time crept by slowly. Our observers wanted to see us endure everything and that included a CS attack. The signal was given for a gas attack and my frozen hands reached for my mask. After it was on and secure, I returned to scanning my sector. Soon I saw small, black silhouettes moving up and down. I began firing my rifle and calling out distance and direction. The calls were echoed up and down the line. Several minutes later, the “all clear” signal was given and our masks were removed. And the day continued. As the evening came and the Sun began to sink in the distance our night vision was brought into play. With the temperature of the air so much colder than our bodies, the lenses were continually fogged. It made picking out targets rather tedious.

2100 eventually rolled around and the mission was declared over. We loaded our still frozen bodies into the buses and moved back to the barracks. My eyes were hazed as I attempted to clean my weapon. All I wanted was sleep. And I recognized that same look in the faces of my men. We all wanted to sleep after the week we had had in the frozen training areas of Camp Atterbury. It started with squad live fires, then platoon, and finally concluded with the company level event that we had just completed. Each day started the same – awaking before sunrise, taking buses to the training area, spending the pre-dawn hours huddled around burn-barrels, and finally beginning the assaults around 0900.

It had taken its toll on me mentally and physically and I was at my wits end.
I eventually got to sleep that night after the weapons had been cleaned and put away. It was a long day, and a short night. The following morning began with a four-mile Battalion run. It was long, and cold. Afterwards, however, we were rewarded with a pass to visit our families for the weekend. Moral went up immediately. It had been but a few weeks since I had seen my family, but I relished in the fact that I would have 72 hours away from the army and in the arms of my family.

That afternoon, my tired and bruised body stepped into the front door of my family’s house. There were my brothers and their wives, my parents, my nephews, my niece Abegayle, and my dog. It was so nice. For a moment, I forgot that I was preparing to go to the Middle East. The next day, however, I was reminded of what was to come as my house was filled with people wishing me well and telling me to be safe. I sat there in my house surrounded by men and women I had known throughout my childhood, all crying and telling me to be safe. It was more than I could bear. The tears welled up inside me and I could not take it. I retired to my room for privacy or out behind the garage to have a cigarette. I wanted to escape the reality that was inside the house, but I could not.

Soon enough, time to return to Atterbury was upon me and I once again loaded up my belongings in the car. I bid my family well and with a teary-eye left them to vanish in the distance. It was heart wrenching to say the least. To see my brothers, both of which are much older than I, crying and telling me that they look up to me made my heart crumble. And there, my father, the man whom I had looked to my whole life for guidance was sobbing on the porch. Seeing that made me weep.

35 minutes later, I reached the gates of Atterbury. By now I had forced myself to dry my eyes and make myself presentable. For some reason, crying is not seen as a strong attribute of an Infantry soldier. I proceeded to the barracks and unloaded the car. I was among the first to return, living as close as I did. I had time to recompose myself and calm my nerves. When the rest of the men returned, I saw that I was not the only 11-Bravo whose eyes were red and teary. I no longer felt so “less than strong,” and soon we were all there, standing in formation, listening to our names being called out for accountability. Family time was over and it was time to get back in the mindset of going to a war-zone.

The hours turned to days there in the ice. I sat through classes on cultural awareness and Muslim laws. I sat there through the classes that showed us how to survive in a “chemically contaminated” environment… And the only thing I could think of was “Am I ready for this? Am I capable of doing these things? Will I come home? Will my men come home?” But those thoughts were put aside as we spent every day training to kill and shoot lifelike silhouettes of men. My thoughts were soon replaced with “What am I doing? Am I a killer? Can I do what my county asks of me?” That question was one that haunts me to this day. The Infantry requires the skill of a man who can separate emotion from duty. At the time, I was unsure of my ability to do that; Separating the target from the face of a man who had a family… was that possible?

The days passed, we had more time to leave post and relax I went to see my family every time. And each time, the feeling returned when I pulled out of the drive: “I’m sorry for having to leave, but it is either me or some other person. I would rather it be me.”

Then it came… our last pass. Our last chance to be with our families was upon us, and none of us knew it. I, we, had no idea that we were leaving. When I left, it was just like the previous weekends. I would bid my family farewell and get back into the car. I never knew which one was to be the last, so I treated them all as if they were the last. I held members of my family close and wished them well as I left. Each time told them that I would see them soon. This time, however, “soon” meant over a year later.
Before I knew it, it was February 12, 2003, and I was boarding a plane to Kuwait. I called my family from a cellular phone belonging to one of the men in the platoon. I said, “I just wanted to say I love you. I’ll talk to you when I can.” A short 20 hours later I stepped off of the plane and onto Kuwaiti soil. I looked out to see my future, and found that uncertainty was the one thing to look back at me.

Thus it began: The war. And with the war came my struggle to find my place in the world. I was not ready for the lessons that life was ready to bestow upon me. I was not ready for the things that the world was ready to give me as a gift. I was afraid and alone with only my memories to keep me company… And I walked into the dark future alone and scared.

It was my Freshman year of college. And my newly found lust for life had me scrounging for money. I remember one night found Michael and I counting out pennies to go buy cigarettes. It was getting pretty bad. Money was going away on random alcohol purchases and the occasional drug purchase. When I went home that summer I decided I needed to find a source of income to help with things.

Driving around the hometown, I saw a sign that read "$18 an hour, part time work" -- Well, I figured I would at least call to see what it was. Turns out the number was a national Guard recruiter. The only thing I could think was "are you fucking kidding me?" I listened to his little speech. And I'll be damned if that lying bastard didn't sell me on the idea. A few weeks later, I found myself showing up at a National Guard Armory about an hour from home and reporting for the first time. My first drill, I met some new people, was introduced to the chain of command and various other aspects of "Military life." -- If you can call it that.

Since I was a college student, I entered on what is called a 365-day delay. That would give a 12 drills to learn the ropes before I actually went to basic training. Well, the next year I was taught basic soldier skills and rifle maintenance... and then the following May, on Mother's Day, I left my parents and headed to proccessing. The next day, after a night in a hotel, I found myself on a plane headed for Columbus, Georgia and Fort Benning... the home of the Infantry. When I took my ASFAB to enter the military, I could have gone into several different jobs. Intel, MP, Driver, Clerk and Grunt... Well, being a grunt had a $6,000 bonus... So, needing the money, I went to become a ground pounder.

I landed at the airport in Atlanta... and found my way the designated meeting place along with the 2 others from Indiana. There we met up with 10 others. "This is all?" I thought... Oh well. The 13 of us hung out at the airport all day, and well into the evening. Smoking as many cigarettes as we could, eating fast-food and talking about our lives back home... Then, the bus arrived and we were off to Basic... And 3 months of Hell.

Boot-camp stories are something by themselves, so they will come later...

In August, I graduated. 30 lbs smaller than I was in May. I remember graduation day, standing on the black-topped parade field in 100 degree heat. Watching the parents in the stands wearing shorts and smiling at their sons. 2 hours later, goodbyes were said and it was time to go home. My parents had driven to Georgia and we were going to ride back together. 12 hours in civilian clothes, watching life pass by in the car, listening to music on the radio... I was met at their house by my brother and a pizza. It was nice. He and I didn't get along in the past ,but I had a new respect from him now... it was strange.

9 years have passed since the day I raised my hand... and in those 9 years, I've been to several different training schools, 2 tours in Iraq, some time in Germany... My views have gone from young, idealistic and patriotic... to disgruntled, bitter and angry at the govt. I've seen my share of stupidity. I've seen death. I've seen killing... I have done things I like and things that I loathe... People thank me for my service and tell me how proud they are of me... but I am not proud. I didn't join for a greater sense of goodness or civil-duty. I joined so I could have money to attend college. Now... I'm broken, still in college and without a degree... And I'm still under a commitment to them. for another 15 months... And a potential 3rd tour in Iraq.

The strange thing about life is that it happens and we are victims of the changing tides of emotion and chemicals in our bodies... The first time I met Gina, I felt something. It was magic... it was Electric... and now, 6 years later, I still remember it as though it was Yesterday.

October of 2000. It was Homecoming at the University I was attending... The day started at noon for me. Me and several of my ROTC buddies played Wiffle-Ball Homerun Derby in the front yard of the ROTC building and then went to the local pub to have a few drinks. By a few, I mean more than we should. We had fun... a lot of fun. Afterwards, we returned to the ROTC building to watch the homecoming parade. As it came to a close, I walked to the apt, and fell asleep on my couch... Lame, I know, but a full day of fucking off and drinking can do that to a guy.

About an hour or two later, my phone came alive... There was an impromptu party at D&M's house. D&M were two girls who we all ran with... M was in ROTC with us and D was her roommate. Their place was the designated party spot. So I showered, got dressed in shorts and a T... wasn't too interested in impressing anyone. I showed up and the fun began. We were doing upside-down Margaritas, Beer, shots, Jell-O shots... You name it, we were doing it. Half way through the night I was walking through the room and I was trying to maneuver through the crowd... I placed my hand on the lower back of a girl to prevent her from backing into me as I snuck by her and I stopped... She looked and me and I looked at her... The stare lasted for hours... in the course of just a second. She smiled at me, I smiled at her... and we both just felt something... I said hi, and continued on. For the next hour, we kept catching each others' eye from across the room.

As midnight approached, someone suggested we go to a bar... When I heard her say Yes, I was in... but this bar had a dress code and my Shorts and T weren't going to cut it there. So I spoke up and said how I would like to go, but just couldn't... She looked at me and said, "Well, how about I drive you to your place, you change, then we'll go." -- Yeah, I was hooked.

I accepted the offer... and within a few minutes we were at my place... I jumped out of the car and ran up to the apartment leaving her, and 2 others from the party in the car. As I opened the door and went in, I took my shirt off. (At the time I was in rather decent shape and I'll admit it... I looked good... I was hoping she'd notice) -- After I came back out we went to the bar... On the way, however, I learned of her boyfriend... And I was not happy. But I was already there, so I thought I would enjoy it. Inside, I got her a drink and all the girls danced while I stayed with my friend at the bar. I realized it was close to closing and I had an early day the next day... so I went on the dance floor to say goodbye... As I neard her... she backed up to me, and started to dance with me... I pushed into her and she pushed into me... we looked at each other and smiled.

I reminded her about her boyfriend who was absent at the time... she said she knew, but just didn't care at that moment... Well, at the time, I wasn't about to turn into what I hated most from Carrie... So I smiled, said "maybe in another life then..." and I left...

The next week was Halloween. D&M were having a costume party... I had no desire to go because I didn't want to see Gina again and be reminded of what I could not have... But D talked me into coming. So a make-shift costume and an hour later, I was there. I was amung the first to arrive, so I started the party off right... a while later, she walked in. White, sheer costume, wings and a halo... it couldn't have been a more perfect costume for her...

We talked in small, short conversations throughout the night... I kept moving around as to avoid her... but somehow, we ended up in someone's car, going to get cheesebread... The staple of drunk college students... It was a small car and we were wedged in the backseat... before I knew it, I kissed her... or she kissed me... all I know is that from that second on, it was like we had been together for monthsl. She held my hand, kissed me, laughed... It was amazing... I would later find out, in our relationship, that after our first encounter, she thought about me a lot for that week and didn't even talk to her boyfriend then... even when he came to town to visit...

She ended it with her boyfriend the next day... And she and I started.... and we lasted for some time... But the rest is a story for another time.

Although my first real relationships came in college... my first real love... or infatuation, came the summer between Junior and Senior year of High School (1995). I went to a 2 week summer program at the State University. I was in a 2 week pre-med type class. Very intense, very nice. But at this place there were classes for Drama, Art, Music, TV, etc, etc... but in my class was a young girl from St. Louis. Quite possibly the smartest girl I've ever met to this day.

Her name was Mia. And we sat next to each other and hit it off fairly early on. She intrigued me in a way that I had not known until then... She laughed, she joked, she was so intelligent... and yet she had a darkness in her eyes and in her past. She wrote angsty poems and would get quiet if certain subjects came up. But I couldn't help but love her presence. We would spend every minute together that we could... lunch, class, studying, afterhours... We would often find ourselves lying on the grass talking about life... and making out like the teenagers we were. In an old journal I still have in my closet I have notes we scribbled back and forth in class... pictures... and this VERY short story I wrote about her the last night of the program:

( Stars: Written when I was 16 for Mia )

but that was then... This is now. She and I remained in contact for some time. Actually, up until very recently... I went to visit her twice during my senior year of high school... the first time was just after the program had ended. We met the Arch in St. Louis... the second time was much later... after things have changed. I went to her house and spent the weekend... Apparently, her new boyfriend was very scared of my visit... and it turned out, he should have been. We had no intentions of relighting old flames... but it happened. Almost the very moment we saw one another. I think, deep down, it's one of the reasons I didn't go to her wedding in 2004. She went to ASU for a while, then grad work in Washigton. She did humanitarian work in East Timor... to be honest, she was exactly what I wanted, but not what I could have... Ah well, such is life... She was my first love. My first MAJOR crush. My first... Well, my first loss. Dan, her husband, is a great guy. I've talked to him on the phone before and he seems to treat her very well and so I am happy for that.

The very interesting part is this: Up until my most recent girlfriend... Mia has been the one to whom I have compared everyone else to in my life. She has been the "control" as far as women go... but my current life, my curent girlfriend reminds me so much of the time with Mia. Except that two weeks is now going on 9 months... I feel as I did then. Happy. But not so much as the hasty marriage proposal... or proposals as my past has seen. But those... are stories for another day...

High School was shitty. I didn’t like the small, rural education I received there, nor the teachers who should have retired years before I got there. Everything about it annoyed me. So when the end came, I wanted to go away and find a college to enjoy.

Initially, I wanted to go as far away as I could. I applied to Penn State and I was looking at applying to west coast universities. But then a man came to school to see me. A friend of my mom’s was the president of this college’s association. So he sent their recruiter to talk to me. But, I’ll be damned if I wanted to get the speech alone, so I duped Michael into coming with me. Well, he talked to us, gave us a good speech… and later, we went up to tour the campus together. We loved it. It was small, but the amount of intelligence on this campus was astounding. It was ranked among the best for private colleges. So we had to figure out a way to pay for it.

Michael was pretty much abandoned by his parents, so he got plenty of aid. My family, as poor as they were, still owned land. Regardless of how little came in from this land, it still counted against me. So I was screwed. But having friends in high places paid off, and I was awarded a $20,000 scholarship. Now, this may sound like a lot, but this school costs that much PER year. So, this didn’t help much. Along with that, I got a few small scholarships for my achievements and group activities. So my first year was mostly paid for… I was set.

I remember the drive up the first day. The family made a caravan out of it. Mom and Dad, my brothers, me and Michael. 3 cars with all of our stuff – The sun was shining, the day was just great. We got there, and began to unload the cars. Michael and I had a freshmen orientation to attend so we left for a bit, when we returned, we found all of our stuff in our room and my parents horrifying my parents with their college stories. She never wanted to trust me again after that moment.

Once they left, Michael and I dug deep into our bags and found our cigarettes. The family didn’t know either of us smoked, or that we had since we were 16… we set back, lit up and laughed our way into the evening. Soon, the hallway was filled with some VERY loud music and we went to investigate. Our new neighbor, Brandon, was across the hall unpacking his own stuff. He was a Junior from the west coast… and he was a heavy drinker for his small size. He came over and introduced himself… and proceeded to invite us over for a drink. They were, to date, some of the strongest drinks I’ve EVER had in my life. Several ounces of Jack Daniels and one can of coke to split between the three of us. “Welcome to College.”

This was a mere whisper of what was to come. Soon, Michael and I became the “Mascots” of the upper classmen on our floor. Not for any reason other than the two of us could drink a lot, but we liked to have fun and do stupid things… Our size may have had something to do with our drinking abilities, but I was also the offspring of two parents who had alcoholics as parents… Little did I know at the time that alcoholism is a genetic disease.

My freshman year came and went with many stories of its own. Drinking, drugs, sex and parties for all. Kat and Michael at odds with one another over my time. Fighting Michael to go out of the room and see the world. Painting in the studio day and night… I remember it all like it was yesterday. The good and the bad… but either way, this was the start of something new. But it all became a trend – the good and the bad. And this is all for now.

My first “Real” relationships

After various high school girlfriends with trivial relationships and random high school near-sex acts, I moved on to college and my first committed relationship. Her name was Kat. We met on my first trip out of the country. I traveled through Europe as part of a “collegiate” choir. What made me laugh about it all is that we were all high school students. She and I didn’t hit it off at first. At first I was attracted to Julie… then Stephanie… Then G… I was fickle, as I had been for the past 4 years of women in my life. But when the two of us began to spend more time together, I really liked being with her. We would take naps in my hotel room in various countries… then, on our last stop in London, the two of us took a very intriguing nap. We were clothe-less and rolling around in my hotel… If it weren’t for her period, things would have gone further. Then, once back in the US, they did indeed.

Kat was only a Junior in High School and I was entering my freshman year of college. A private, all male, liberal arts college… Now, normally, most mothers would have a problem sending their 17 year old daughter off to an all male college for the weekend, but Kat’s mom didn’t mind. So weekend after weekend she would come see me. And, well, one thing led to another and the two of us were soon sexually active. Very active…

She was a virgin, and for the most part, so was I… And with one exception, I was her first boyfriend. I didn’t mind. We were happy. I would drive to her place sometimes (2 hours away) and she would often come to my dorm… It was nice. But as time passed, it became clear to me that she wanted to a serious relationship, something to be “more permanent” – and I wasn’t ready for that, so we called it off. We had been together for over a year. My entire Freshman year and into the summer… And though we had ended it, we were hit and miss the first semester of my sophomore year… But it ended nevertheless.

The entire time she and I were together I was faithful. I never strayed once. I never wanted to. I was happy. In high school, I wasn’t exactly honest or faithful to anyone. Especially if my “Mrs. Robinson” came to town. I cheated on Darla with her, I cheated on Christy with Ericka, I cheated on several people with Ericka actually… And she cheated on several people with me. I don’t know why, but she and I had some sort of creepy physical attraction to one another…. She’s now married now and has at least one kid… as is Kat.

After Kat, I met a beautiful young woman, Anna. She was an exchange student at a local high school near my college. Now, where she lived, school was different, so she was older than the rest of her class. She was a senior and I was a new sophomore in college. But she and her friend came into my place of work and I was amazed. Her accent, her actions, her overall tone of being… I asked her out that night. And a week later, she and I were on our first date.

Her host mother was a preacher… which made things awkward. We weren’t even allowed to sit near each other when she was at home. And she wasn’t allowed to spend the night at my dorm either. But we did have our time together and it was amazing. We made grand plans for the future. We toyed with the idea of life together… but that year, I also made another decision…. I joined the National Guard to help with college money (a decision that would later come back to haunt me)… At the end of the semester, I went to Boot camp and she moved back across the ocean. I was afraid I would never see her again. But after Boot, I went to her home country and lived with her and her family for a month. It was wonderful. She and I went off for a week’s vacation together, just the two of us… The strange thing is: in all the time she and I spent together, I never once had sex with her. We fooled around a lot, we pleasured each other in various ways, but we never had sex. The first time we tried, it hurt her. Keep in mind, I was about 200 lbs and she was about 98 lbs. Our sizes were not compatible in some instances.

In her home, things were different. She was different… We were no longer the same couple as we had been back in the Midwest. And we were at odds with one another at times. Her parents didn’t get along well and as a result, she felt that no marriage could last and it ended badly there…

I loved her. And part of me still does. But when we left each other at the airport it was the last time for a long time… And her father said that if we were to end up together, he would never support her. Not because he didn’t like me… but because he didn’t want his daughter to move across the ocean.

I still hear from her at times. She still tells me she loves me… and I respond in kind. I do love her but not in a way that I need for being with her. She and I had something special, but it's over now. I do still think about her from time to time. I have not heard from her in a month or two now, but I wonder what she’s doing… Such is life.

I did see her in 2003. On leave from the war in Germany… And even then, I couldn’t have sex with her. I wanted to… but I was so nervous. She’s the only girl I’ve EVER had that problem with…

Well… that’s this entry for now. More later.

How do you explain utter contempt and hatred?


The first time I felt the overwhelming desire to hate someone, it was March of the year 2000. Her name was Carrie and she hurt me like I had never known. Since then, I’ve never allowed myself to trust anyone again.

I met Carrie in December of 1998. 2 months after I had left Anna. It was at my brother’s wedding. Carrie was the cousin of my new sister-in-law. And during the reception, I manned-up and asked her out to dinner. We went to out, had dinner, enjoyed each others’ company. And for the following 15 months, the two of us dated, fucked and enjoyed life… She would come see me at my new college of choice, then we spent the summer together at home. She still holds the record with me... 8 times in a night... Man that was a good night.

It wasn’t until the summer that she became different. The summer when she spent time with her mother… the money-hungry, socialite wannabe. This lady had a tanning bed in her basement and went there twice a day. She had married a lawyer and wanted the same for her daughter. So, when Carrie showed up with some middle-class, college student, she was less than pleased. And during the summer, her mother sunk her claws into her deeper and deeper.

When the following semester began, I transferred to her college. I didn’t transfer for her, this decision was made without thought of her. The University I had been attending was horrible and I did not like it at all. But this allowed us to be together more. And things went well for the first semester. After that winter break, however, things changed. Something was different. We got along, we practically lived together, but her mother and her sorority were changing her every day. She was told to expect more from her man, and I was only living up to these standards in bed, not financially and not socially. So she and I went our separate ways. But we went on with one another as friends. It was a happy break up… Or so I had thought.

My friend, from high school, Laura, was at the school as well. She was the president of her sorority and was required to go to a dance. She was single and asked me to go as her friend. Well, at this dance, as friends, I was introduced to her friends and their dates. One was a member of a local frat… and the roommate of my recent ex’s “best friend.” – He told me some rather startling news.

Not only did I find out that Carrie had been cheating on me with her best friend from a stranger, but I found out in a public setting, completely unaware. I did my best to remain calm. Laura said that she didn’t mind if I left and I made my way home. A phone call on the way saw that I was met at my front door by a large amount of booze and a good friend. He got me drunk and allowed me to pass out on my couch… This served its purpose as I did not do anything rash… that night.

Over the next few weeks, Carrie and I talked. We discussed what had happened and after my anger subsided we were “back together.” – then came Spring Break. Afterwards, she was very different. Very strange and stand-off-ish. So, I did what any paranoid man in my position WOULD do. I hacked her email account. There I found documented proof that not only was she screwing her friend, but she was also fucking some man she met just before Spring Break who happened to be on the SAME CRUISE as her.

I was a fool. I allowed her to lie to me. I had allowed her make me feel like a fool. I had been taken advantage of and humiliated. I was a fool. And to make it worse, I still had feelings for her. But from that point on, I trusted no one. And as a result, have lost some amazing friendships and relationships.

I ran into her and him at a bar on her Birthday later that year. A serious fight almost broke out as a result… Thankfully, my friend, John, got me out of that…

So… fuck her. Fuck her for making me feel this way. Fuck her for ruining it all for me. As I know it to be now, through word of mouth and whatnot… she married the guy from the cruise… She teaches in Nevada…. And he abuses her.

As much as I hate her for what she did to me, nobody deserves that. And I’ll still kick his as if I ever see him again for doing it to her.

My first addiction

Aside from girls, my first real addiction was Speed. Over the counter, illegal… it didn’t matter.

I was in Football for a while. As much as I hated sports, I still want to fit in with my brothers. Aside from that, I was still in Drama… and I even picked up show choir. I know some people laugh and scoff at the idea of Show Choir… but if you can sing and dance and STILL talk to girls, you’ve got it made. But, that is a story for later.

Coming to school in the morning, I was tired. Then football after classes, then Show Choir after that… I was beginning to fall asleep all of the time in class. I hated it. So, one day, my friend Matt gave me some pills. He told me they’d keep me awake. He was right. I’d take them every morning on the way to school. I’d be wide awake and jumpy for the first class or so. Then about 3rd period, I’d start to come down, so I’d take more… Then more for practice, then more to do homework once I got home. I’d go to sleep about 2 or 3am. Wake up 7 and start it all again. Believe it or not, it became quite serious. I snapped at my friends. I got the shakes. I hated everyone… Not very fun for anyone. Not to mention my mom and I were at odds with one another. On occasion I was even smoking regular cigarettes laced with cocaine. It wasn't enough to be too strong, but it was enough to wake me the fuck up...

It took my friend, Michael and my girlfriend at the time, Christy, yelling at me to stop it. It took some work, but eventually I did. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t miss it. I missed picking up and feeling better in just a few minutes. I missed the ability of sleeping for 4 hours of sleep and being fine all day. Granted, I was happy that I wasn’t freaking out anymore… I rolled my first joint on my parents Kitchen Table while they were out of town... Then I tried Acid and shrooms... I was never the kind of kid who was prone to drugs... but after I read some books and first hand accounts... and was force fed the counter drug agenda by the school and society, I wanted to know for myself.

It’s not the best story, but it’s true… And it was just the first. To follow came my addiction to booze, which still haunts me. And my addiction to other drugs, which were few and far between…

The first time I kissed a girl, I was 5. I know this, because my brothers have a horribly embarrasing story that they bring up all the damn time... I don't count it.

The first time I made it to 2nd base, I was in the 8th grade. And it was brief and less than memorable as we were interupted.

The first time I experienced something more... I was 15. And she was 22. -- I was in a play in a community theater for a nearby county. The person who had called me was someone who went to school with my brothers. She knew I was in theater and she had seen me before in plays. Well, over the course of the summer she would take to me to rehersals and home. To dinner, movies, and random outings. Well, one day I began to give her a backrub while we were watching tv... Then she laid on the floor and I straddled her and continued to rub her back. Being young and naive... I became arroused. I'd made out with girls before... but this was a woman to me and I was going crazy. Without much thought I grabbed her and gave her the slightest hint of rolling over.... she did. And I continued to carress her body. She moved and let out the slightest sigh of extacy... and then it went from there. Her shirt came off... Then the bra...

Before I knew it, she was on top of me, rubbing my chest and moving back and forth on me. I didn't know what was going on. My body was about to explode... Then we heard the car in the driveway... And it ended... We got dressed in a hurry and in walked my parents. They had no clue. They never expected (until I was 22 and told them) that anything ever happened between the two of us...

After that night, it continued. She was Mrs. Robinson to me in some ways. She and I found ways to be together alone... more movies, more evenings out... My parents were just happy that she was helping me with my acting... no such luck, Mom and Dad. She was teaching me how to enjoy some things about life. She taught me how to talk to women. She taught me how to read certain body language... I, to this day, do not know why... but she still calls me from time to time. And at one point called me to come away with her for a weekend... And not with her husband. I was in her wedding several years later. She married an asshole from New York. She never told him about us, but for some reason, he didn't like me from the beginning...

At the end of that winter, she moved to New York. And later, after my Junior year, I went and stayed with her for a week... The lessons continued then, but I think she was amazed by how much I had progressed in the subsequent 2 years. 2 years as a high school student... talking to girls, making out, heavy pettings... Oral sex. Lots of Oral sex. My first semi-long-term girlfriend (on and off for two years or so) in Highschool and I became very fond of pleasing one another. In the car, in the parking lot, the kitchen at her house, we did everything but have sex. She wasn't ready for it... and I was still learning... But she and I didn't last long... and in our sometimes frequent breaks, I found myself learning with other girls. Freshman, sophomores, Juniors... I had become very excited with life. And I loved it.

Later on, this love of life would grow, and spread to drugs and booze. It would spread to lies and cheating... College opened a door that is still open today... But those are stories for another time...

I was very straight-laced in the younger years. I was picked on in grade school for my lack of atheletic ability and my lack of new clothes. In the middle-school years I grew out of that stage, found my own legs to stand on. I was funny, people liked me... I began making friends in different circles.

My closest friends were the smart kids: The Twins, Josh, Nathan, Will, Michael and Me. I wasn't in all the advanced classes that they were, but that was of my own chosing. I liked the lack of work in the regular classes. I could do my homework in 10 minutes and still get an A. It was nice... We all got along, we had a stupid sense of group humor... We watched bad movies and played stupid games. Life was good.

Other circles of friends overlapped from time to time. They were the jocks, the preps, and the trouble. The jocks liked me because they knew of my brothers' reputations in sports. Both had gone to State (or at least close to it) in one sport or another. They were nice to know because it gave me some sort of social-validity in the world of adolescent awkwardness. The preps liked me because I was nice and I was friends with Josh. Josh was from a semi-preppy family... his sister was homecoming queen and the whole family was beautiful. I liked them because they helped me look like Iw asn't the youngest of three in a less than wealthy family. The trouble... well, they liked me because my dad was a cop and I think they liked the fact they felt like they were corrupting me. Little did they know that I liked them because I was learning all sorts of things... Who had drugs, what drugs felt like... illegal activiities... I was intrigued to say the least.

I took things from all of these groups... these circles of friends... And, as a result, I now easily interact with many different people. But I was a little bit lost as to who I really was... in some aspects, I'm still lost... but I'm trying to figure it all out.

Where should I beging this story? In the now? In the Past? In the middle?

There are so many options. And I'm not sure how to explain my life? Do I begin where I am now? Or do I show how I've come to this place and time? Is who I am now as a person worthless without some sort of back story or context? Can I just say "This is me" and expect you to take it at face value?

Well, I'm not sure. So let's go back a few years....

I grew up the youngest of 3 boys. The youngest of 10 in my extended family. Always the smallest, always the one who was left to play alone. My family didn't hate me or shun me, but let's face it, a 7 year difference between me and my brother didn't exactly make us the closest of friends. While he, and my other brother, where into sports, I was not. I was taken to games again and again to sit there in the sun and become bored by baseball, basketball and football. My aptitude for sports was not the greatest. I was more prone to art and life. Strange given recent jobs and activities, but still...

Many times the family would gather, brothers and cousins, aunts and uncles... And we were very American. Cook outs, dinners and kick-ball in the back yard. But when it came to the family games, I was "too small" and thus my play "never counted" -- I was appeased by being allowed to play, but even at that age, I knew I was being overlooked. I felt insignificant then and I still do at times. As I grew older I found ways to try to make up for my not counting... I worked on my art, I turned to theater and singing.... but even then, I wasn't admired by my brothers. I wasn't the athelete. So I truned to other people... new friends, new faces... an alternate family. With them, i was counted. With them, I mattered. With them... I found drugs and I found alcohol. And with them... I found sex.

My life... It's not tragic. It's not frightening for the most part. It has ups and downs. All the in-betweens...

Starting now, I plan on trying to write down the events of my life... All are welcomed to read. I guess.... Who knows.

Check back later for more...