I served in the army for just about 6 years, I say just about because there was a break in service. Then I was recalled. In between 2005 and 2012, I was in the army three times. I also do not remember large chunks of my service.
I did not receive any sort of TBI(traumatic brain injury) or anything. I did not experience blackouts (in the normal sense of that word), I did, however, have a drinking problem. And a drug problem. My time in the army was full of pain.
I spent my days, in anguish, both physical, and emotional. Both self-inflicted, and exterior. I drank away the pain and memories. I popped pills to numb the tired bones. And I ran lines so I could run a mile. I did everything I could to escape my prison of pain.
My day would consist of waking up at 0500, that gave me an hour before PT, to shower, get my buzz going, and pop whichever pain pill was on the menu. And dry shave, because if you've ever dry shaved slightly drunk and pills revving their engines in your veins than you know how that feels. By 0545, I was standing in formation, pills hitting hard, a few cigarettes on my breath to cover the remaining scent of alcohol. Drinking mouthwash and chewing gum didn't always work.
I hated the cattle wrangling, and the formations, and the nice neat little lines. I hated the cold wind on my razor burnt face, I hated the fact we had to get up early... and run. Now I am not lazy and I don't mind a good run in the morning. But when you're hung over, starting your drunk all over again, and slightly high the last thing in the world you want to do is play sing-along while running in little rows of nice neat soldiers.
The drugs and alcohol fueled my hatred and frustration with everything around me. I used them to cope with everything and everyone. Without them, I would have snapped and ruined my life. So I took all the pent up emotions, and pain and resentment and I funneled them into a bottle. Glass, or stuffed with cotton. I grew cold and hard. I hated people on levels I am not even sure exist in this realm. Through it all, I thought all I had was my drink and my pills.
So for six long years, there are blocks of time that when I think back. Well, all I can remember are the pills, and booze. I can't remember the loose women or fellow soldiers, or even the good times. If there were any. All I can remember is the pain and suffering I felt, and everything I did to drown out a fish that was more than happy to grow in the oceans I consumed.
I was tossing bottle and after bottle of painkillers, and narcotics feeding the whale of my eventual demise. I was drinking in oceans of alcohol trying to drown, a fish in the sea. I was the living proof of insanity is an exercise in futility.
All the while I hid this from anyone who could save me, from anyone who could have helped. No one knew who I was, the emotional wreck, the hedonist, the sadist. No one knew the real me.
Even I was oblivious as to who I really was. I still am I suppose, but I am learning.
I did not receive any sort of TBI(traumatic brain injury) or anything. I did not experience blackouts (in the normal sense of that word), I did, however, have a drinking problem. And a drug problem. My time in the army was full of pain.
I spent my days, in anguish, both physical, and emotional. Both self-inflicted, and exterior. I drank away the pain and memories. I popped pills to numb the tired bones. And I ran lines so I could run a mile. I did everything I could to escape my prison of pain.
My day would consist of waking up at 0500, that gave me an hour before PT, to shower, get my buzz going, and pop whichever pain pill was on the menu. And dry shave, because if you've ever dry shaved slightly drunk and pills revving their engines in your veins than you know how that feels. By 0545, I was standing in formation, pills hitting hard, a few cigarettes on my breath to cover the remaining scent of alcohol. Drinking mouthwash and chewing gum didn't always work.
I hated the cattle wrangling, and the formations, and the nice neat little lines. I hated the cold wind on my razor burnt face, I hated the fact we had to get up early... and run. Now I am not lazy and I don't mind a good run in the morning. But when you're hung over, starting your drunk all over again, and slightly high the last thing in the world you want to do is play sing-along while running in little rows of nice neat soldiers.
The drugs and alcohol fueled my hatred and frustration with everything around me. I used them to cope with everything and everyone. Without them, I would have snapped and ruined my life. So I took all the pent up emotions, and pain and resentment and I funneled them into a bottle. Glass, or stuffed with cotton. I grew cold and hard. I hated people on levels I am not even sure exist in this realm. Through it all, I thought all I had was my drink and my pills.
So for six long years, there are blocks of time that when I think back. Well, all I can remember are the pills, and booze. I can't remember the loose women or fellow soldiers, or even the good times. If there were any. All I can remember is the pain and suffering I felt, and everything I did to drown out a fish that was more than happy to grow in the oceans I consumed.
I was tossing bottle and after bottle of painkillers, and narcotics feeding the whale of my eventual demise. I was drinking in oceans of alcohol trying to drown, a fish in the sea. I was the living proof of insanity is an exercise in futility.
All the while I hid this from anyone who could save me, from anyone who could have helped. No one knew who I was, the emotional wreck, the hedonist, the sadist. No one knew the real me.
Even I was oblivious as to who I really was. I still am I suppose, but I am learning.
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