Melodramatic? Yes. Also True.

“Reality hits physically and mentally as the desert heat seeps into every pour of my body. As the sweat beads beneath my clothes the skin screams for reprieve underneath my body armor. To add more discomfort besides the environment, the blast of jet engines from a Chinook helicopter fight me as I push against their force to board via the rear ramp. That familiar smell of jet exhaust, a smell I became accustomed to from training on tanks and other helicopters with the 101st Airborne Division, chokes me as an emotional lump in my throat further restricts my breathing. This lump formed by the emotional environment, an environment created by separation from all that is important to you; your family, your girlfriend, your friends, the familiar and comforting elements of your country. I’m gone from everyone and everything. Alone.”

The above describes my arrival back in Iraq. My arrival, despite being three months after I had originally reported, was quite a shock to one’s senses. Reality’s unique smack to the face. Ever walked down the street looking at your cell phone or talking to a friend and run smack face into a street lamp or street sign? You’re simultaneously aware and confused about what had just happened. Streets are littered with obstacles and its entirely acceptable that from time to time in moments of distraction or focus on a particular object or person that we give the definition of obstacle to these objects. A street lamp lights the street at night creating safety, a street sign guides our travel ensuring we arrive at our wanted destination. Yet at these moments in our reality they are obstacles not municipal aides.

The Chinook was my obstacle that brought me sudden awareness, confusion and scorn for its existence. This military shuttle moves personnel and equipment throughout the country ensuring that units can fulfill their missions on the ground. Its a piece of transportation nothing more. Yet this flying bus ignited intense emotional and physical discomfort that I forgot all enjoyable past experiences with these behemoths and wanted nothing more than for it to fall apart rivet by rivet.

I knew I was going back to Iraq for many months now. Yet I didn’t realize that I had not accepted this reality. I took immediate comfort and strength from the fact that I had done it all before. What I hadn’t accepted was that the country was the same yet my experience within its boarders was going to be totally different. I’ve stepped off these vehicles in training and in a combat zone before but the biggest difference was that instead of a trusted and well known soldier walking beside me, a dear friend even, there was a nameless, unknown human figure beside me. These transport operations are conducted at night and there’s a strict no light policy, so I couldn’t even look at my travel companions in the hope of recognizing a familiar face when I reported for work in the morning.

“Hey, we arrived together last night, right?”, I would say. “Yea, we did, didn’t get much sleep last night though,” they’d reply. Then we’d go on to exchange names, where we worked, who we were working for, where were our living quarters. At least I’d gain some type avenue for social interaction, but this was not the case. Upon coming back into the Army I underwent a series of re-integration training. Nothing extensive and at times pointless check the block events stating that I was “fully” prepared to be sent to a combat zone despite being gone from the military for a year and a half. Throughout this training I had met a few individuals and became pretty friendly with a few. However we were all being assigned to different units or being deployed to different countries.

Humans are pack animals and especially during times of great stress and anxiety we seek comfort in another person’s presence. The helicopter ride smacked me in the face and I had no one to talk to about it. It brought the physical manifestation of those words printed on my orders that had changed my life so unexpectedly, Assigned To: In Support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. All I had was an assigned trailer number that was to be my home for the next 8 months and a building location to report to for work orientation.

Observations, memories, feelings, doubts, fears, anticipation, excitement, dread swirled around in my head and chest as it does for any soldier in this type of situation. All types of media have described a service member’s unbreakable bond they have with their comrades. The most important aspect of this relationship is that these people to your right and left are an outlet to relieve the pressure of the boiling stew of emotions inside of you. An expression that many military leaders use is, “If the soldiers aren’t complaining then something’s wrong.” I never understood this expression entirely but I understand that a way for a soldier to endure such hardships is to “bitch” about it with their buddies. You find comfort and fortitude in knowing that others are experiencing the same pressure.

When I looked to my left and right there was no one. My buddies weren’t with me, my soldiers who I had trained with and led in the past were nowhere to be found. I experienced a form of loneliness so foreign to me, so alien that the only thing I could do was focus on unpacking my gear and seek refuge in sleep. My rebirth into a world of uniforms, weapons, orders, regulations and the occasional life and death situation had begun. How was I to mentally survive the coming months? Would I buckle under misery’s weight or would I make use of this time that I have to myself?

Again, that question was how I came to this category of my blog. The posts are being written in current time but were influenced by events in my past. More to come.