To have loved...

   The saying goes: "It is better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all." Heartbreak is a hell of a thing, especially when you are the cause of your own broken heart. All men go through it and most of the time, we blame ourselves. I remember talking with a co-worker last night about my last love and saying the words "but I messed it up." I did mess it up. I didn't love myself enough to extend that upon another person. I wasn't living my life to the fullest and I surely was not happy. So in my own misery, I lost the one thing that meant more to me than anything I could imagine. I'm not sure if I'll ever get it back but I try to convince myself that if I live my life differently, perhaps I will.
   I live by myself with my mini-dachshund, Frida, as my only company. I'm actually happy being by myself. No roommates to bother me, no strange people coming and going. I live by my own schedule and under my own terms. Going to church the past couple weeks have helped. I've hardly been a good, practicing Catholic but having faith in my life keeps me going these days. It helps, I guess...
Nonetheless, I'm lonely but still hopeful that the loneliness won't last for too long. The Rule of Three states that you CANNOT survive: 3 seconds without Spirit and Hope, 3 minutes without air, 3 Hours without shelter in extreme conditions, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food, 3 months without Companionship or Love. The last time I lived alone, I went almost 5 months before I started posting ads for a roommate. However, I'm not in a position to sublet to anyone at my current residence. So it's just me and my puppy. I take care of her and in turn I guess she takes care of me. Heartbreak is a lesson in love and sometimes all you can do is learn from it because it may not offer a solution to what broke your heart. Sometimes the lesson is just knowledge and experience to be retained later for the future.

Memories of war

   A thought entered my mind as I was driving home this morning. Something peculiar, that most (normal) people wouldn't think about. I longed for war. Not a war I thought was coming or anything farfetched as something you would see in a work of fiction. I missed the war. It has been eight years since I left the deserts of northwest Baghdad but if I imagine hard enough, I can still feel the hot, dry air blow on my face. The smell of the sand after it rains or of something burning somewhere off in the distance. The bright sun in my eyes and plumes of smoke that arose from mortar strikes that would break up the monotony of the plain light, blue sky. Sounds of Blackhawk helicopters flying over head were my lullaby as I drifted to sleep after a long day of patrols. Would I want to be over there now? Of course not but from time to time, I miss the war. I lost friends there, brothers. I wear their names on my arm and occasionally I cry tears in their memory.
   Even after all the atrocities I've witnessed, I miss it. I came home a different man, forever changed from the experience of combat and by simply surviving what countless others did not. I will never be normal. I always feel I'm on the outside looking in, always vigilant to some unforeseen force that would do me harm. I never relax because something can trigger an emotional response in me that causes me to become completely despondent to everything around me. This wasn't the first time... the thought comes every now and then; "I miss the war."
   John McCain said: "War is wretched beyond description, and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize its cruel reality." I am neither but I can't think that it's normal to think this way but the sad reality is, it's the norm. Sometimes I wish the feelings would go away but I don't think they ever will. I can function to the best of my ability but the fact of the matter is: I remember the war and all it's experiences... and sometimes I wish I was still there.