This is why I drink, no really

            In May of 2004 I was mobilized for Operation Enduring Freedom. I almost didn’t get the chance to serve my country in this capacity. I was almost held home for reasons unknown to me, but I was able to talk the Operations Sergeant into keeping my name on the list. That’s what I was told anyway. We had plenty of people who didn’t want to go, I was one of the few who feverishly wanted to go. I checked the mobe (mobilization) list as often as I could.

            I obviously never left the list. My experiences there were both terrible and amazing. Some of the views are absolutely breathe taking, the mountain ranges, the closeness of the clouds, the burning rubble, and the open-air sewers. You get my point. Still I don’t know that I would ever trade the experiences for anything else in the world.

            When I arrived at Kabul International Airport on August 26^th, 2004 I was scared shitless. It was an open landing strip surrounded by homes. The locals were just looking at us. I imagined that one would pull out an RPG and shoot it down at us from their mini tower and there would have been nothing we could have done out in the open. It didn’t happen though, they handed us some live mags, told us to get in the trucks, and to be vigilant. Vigilant was the word they liked to use a lot. It was one I’d hear every time I was about to go out. Be vigilant when leaving the gate, be vigilant on the road, be vigilant, and be vigilant.

            I wasn’t even sure what that word meant prior to my stay in Afghanistan. Webster’s Dictionary defines it as: “watchful, observant, attentive, alert, eagle-eyed, hawk-eyed, on the lookout, on one's toes, on the qui vive; wide awake, wakeful, unwinking, on one's guard, cautious, wary, circumspect, heedful, mindful”. They sort of meant that, but what they really meant was take care of business, do not let harm come to you or your group, kill them before they kill you.

            Afghanistan is something that I still struggle with today. Most people don’t know this, but I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s nowhere near as debilitating as it was in 2007-08. The beginning part of the year (February – May) I change mentally. I drink too much; my temper becomes very short you know, I become SPC Jones. That’s what I call “him”, because I’m not myself. I change mentally; I’m not the fun loving, joke telling Nick. I feel guilty all the time for not going on one certain mission I got pulled off of at the last second.

            March 26^th 2005 four outstanding individuals paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country, their families and friends. One of them took my place. I was asked to fill in a spot, as one of their guys was unavailable, he was on guard duty or something. As I came back from getting my gear to go out, the person who’d asked for me said he didn’t need me anymore. A few hours later, they were all gone. The circumstances of their deaths surrounding their deaths in my opinion are questionable. The official report is that they ran over a land mine, but I find that hard to believe. I’ll save the details for that for another time reader.

To the soldiers I served with: If you read this I hope you don’t think less of me and I hope you now understand why I was discharged. I led several of you to believe that it was because of my hearing and my back. I’m sorry for lying.