A Kindred Soul.
Every so often another soldier comes along, a soldier who’s experiences and soul, mirror your own.
Although our tours of duties overseas and home countries are different, there is no mistaking how our minds eye views the ugliness of combat and the life it leaves afterwards.
Below is his view, and through it you will be looking through our eyes, not as though we are brothers, but that ‘WE ARE BROTHERS’.
I hate that I know what the human body looks like after blast injuries, and that I can recognize the smell of a person’s burning flesh.
I hate that I know the sound of a dismembered child’s screams.
I hate that I know what it feels like to take a human life, and that I know how a person’s eyes look as life fades from them.
I hate that I know the looks of terror and desperation on so many people’s faces.
I hate that I’ve spent so many days of my life surrounded by pain.
Either by causing it, trying to stop it, or being consumed by it.
I hate that I’ve gotten so used to all of this, and that I have to remind myself that I am supposed to feel.
I hate that there are people out there that have it much worse than this.
I can walk, I can touch things, I can look in the mirror and see, on the outside, the same face I have always had.
I hate the blinking cursor on my screen and the tears welling in my eyes because I don’t have the words in my head to describe the ten thousand emotions I am feeling right now.
They will continue today and throughout another sleepless night and many consecutive nights.
I hate that there are others out there that will understand this perfectly.
I hate that there are so many who will never comprehend what it means to go through all of this and be willing to do it again because we love freedom and they do not have the first clue what a priceless thing freedom is.
Despite all of this I regret nothing.
If need be, I will step forward and ask for more of it, run to it screaming, in fact taunting the worst to come for me.
I will seek out where the worst lives and immerse my soul in more of what kills it day by day.
Because some people were not meant to hate, but were meant to love.
Not love in the sense of a renaissance play.
There are no red roses, no rings to symbolize this passion, no melody.
Some of us were meant to love beyond ourselves, beyond our own lives, if necessary.
Some of us were meant to love enough and believe enough, to fight! That is the true heart and soul of a warrior.
A person who is willing to embrace the worst and hold it tightly in an effort to prevent its ugly, even gruesome, hand from touching the masses. A mass from which few have stepped forward, Selflessly.