dustmans
07-10-2007, 09:10
I found this over at NTWS website, some powerful words that some of us here can relate to, this is the thread
http://navy.togetherweserved.com/usn/servlet/tws.webapp.WebApp?cmd=ForumDisplay&type=ForumThreadExt&ID=5615
and the following is the post by HM1 James Sabo
from my myspace blog posting. I was going to delete it, but let my medicated-drunken words stand.
Monday, April 16, 2007
welcome to being a combat vet!
Current mood: annoyed
Category: Life
The only reason I am doing this is maybe another vet is out there, will read it, and realize they aren't the only one.
Guess what - no music was playing, no slow motion, no thoughts of medals or glory. ANYONE tells you that while telling a story, or starts their "combat" story off "There I was..." is probably full of shit (got that line from one of my most dear friends I met in Kilo, SGT Phil).
Well, lets start off with sleep, or lack there of.
Ambien inducted sleep, every night. EVERY night. Sometimes mixed with alcohol depending on the severity of the day. And throw in the other handful of meds that keeps changing every 2-3 months when they don't work anymore - hey, try this one.
Dreams last night included: being at a children's gym with my kids, an older vet having a gun and holding us hostage. Myself and one of my buds from Iraq had to "erase the problem" Nice and graphic
another part was that I was running thru a bad neighborhood around 2-3 in teh morning just tryng to get home. Trying to avoid bad areas, cars, people out. A small boy started following me, and it escalated into me beating the hell out of him for miles but he wouldn't stop, no matter what I did or used on him. Ended with me waking up in sweat, again. Or time my dear friend and fellow doc was burned and melted right in front of me including smell and sensation of heat.
I went to the Jerry Seinfeld show in town also, and spent 3/4 of the time waiting for a mortar to explode about 10 feet from my face. and that's something I really enjoy. Now factor that into my day to day routine crap.
Waking up to: 50 cal fire, having your neck sawed by a knife, friends/family mutilated in front of you, smell of burning flesh, morar/rocket POO, sooo many other variants and new stuff that you say "what else is there" then it happens. Your mind is a very creative thing.
arousal from sleep - nice way of saying: grabbing loved one by throat, punching, kicking, choke-hold, or just screamimg like a school-girl.
I am scattered and rambling in my thoughts now because of what I wanted to put has turned into a flow of crap that I hold in every single day. also partially due to two concussions over one month period.
some co-workers that can give a shit less, or worse try to make you feel guilty or arrogant because of what I did - and I didnt tell 99% of them even a sliver of what we did or saw. I really appreciate the few that have told me "thanks" and seem genuine. Cool chick at Medic 2, you're awesome. and the guys should know who they are. This aint a "shout out" show on hip-hop radio.
God Bless my mother-in-law, Eileen, Paula, Tom, Shawna - thank you for taking care of my wife/kids and hope it was a help to you two E and S.
friends that don't keep in touch - over there while deployed or even now. I had two small children under 4 at the time, and a pregnant wife not to mention a father that could barely care for himself and I was the lone caretaker (whom passed away while I was in theater). think anyone was over seing if she/they were OK? maybe 1 or 2 phones calls early in the deployment to them, then nothing. thanks
or the insane thinking of if I was able to email once every now and then from our closet of a computer room on base that you took your life into more dangerous hands walking there in full flack/kevlar, then its my fault I didnt keep up on day to day bullshit at home. thanks again.
came home from 3 days at lejeune when we hit the states. went home alone in uniform on plane. no-one gave a shit. at airport, my wife and 3 children were there. thats it. nobody saying thanks, or get off the plane first, or whatever. thanks again
I didn't do all of this for "thanks" honestly, I was always ashamed that I didnt join the service (dad was in WWII, uncle a mospquito pilot and DFC awardee in Korea and my brother Doug whom wasnt afraid of anything. He was brought up on John Wayne movie, and Combat and Rat Patrol shows. He would have gone in an heartbeat (Vietnam), but in that same heart beat he wrecked his motocycle and had too many pins in his leg to join. So he join another group, bikers, then years later by 1998 he ended up dead from a GSW in head in an alley in McKeesport. so after 9-11 I said is was enough. I joined because I had a crap-load of paramedic experience and knew our men and women needed front-line medics/corpsmen. I wanted to be with the Marines, and after learning exactly what the FSSG was all about, joined a rrifle company with two other great guys. I joined at 31 years old and one child at the time.
so you can shove your "thanks" now because I dont want them. I want everyone to know that vets have been doing this for a very long time, and quit ignoring them or treating them like crap. I see it with the Vietnam guys, and my friends. give them a break, and they would probably like to have your "thanks".
Me, I'll just exist day to day like nothing has changed like I have been, driving my 8 year old pick-up with a state issued "Purple Heart Combat wounded veteran" licsense plate and not care if that upsets you for whatever reason.
* quick background. In Iraq with Marine Infantry company, lost 48 in out battalion - several my friends. Was at a base for half my time that was shelled almost every day, even several times a day. Constantly told of impending insurgent attacks to overrun our forward operating base. In an ambush in a school house in Hadithah, used a KIA Marine for cover with another, and was casevac'd in Army Blackhawk; was wounded in Hit a month before from a 60 mm mortar that landed 10 feet behind me (as stated by witnesses) that tore thru 3 other Marines before getting to me. That was one wek after I received notification that my father died, and told the company that I did not want the funeral leave because I was needed there.
what else, put out civilian corpses that were on fire with a canteen, bound with wire behind their backs and riddled with bullets [was a peace keeping convoy that got lost thru the City of Hit - some of the guys said it was on the web posted by insurgents] putting 2 bodies in a bag, lifting them onto AAV's with blood and body juice dripping down on us. leaving the last body there because it was rigged with an IED.
I could go on, but if you haven't experienced it then its just words in a stupid blog I dont expect you to know what it is like to wear long sleeves, bloused pants, flack jacket, neck and groin blast protecters, kevlar helmet, eye protection, 40 pounds of gear, a pistol, M-16 and 9 pouches of ammo in 120 degree heat worrying if this is the pile of garbage that will blow off your leg.
Or riding in a sizzling AAV or HUMVEE just waiting for the mine to rip thru the vehicle and you and your buddies. Raising sights and barrel to a "target" - man, woman, child. No restart button there. That split-second of your life is a keeper.
Or writing your "death letters" for your loved ones, to be delivered when your gone. Write one for your newborn daughter you got to see for a few hours. Two other daughters that dont understand whats going on, past people you have wronged that you want to say sorry to and love you to, wife of 10 years, dying father. Write all of those and tell me if you are sane that night.
I just hope you dont give me crap about it or my combat brothers and sisters. give a crap about their families and loved ones, about the plots in the cemetary, about Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. care when a number is shown at the bottom of the screen about wounded or killed. They are people, they were my friends and me. They are ours.
So to all that are combat vets, welcome. I hope your saga is better and not as involved. But if it is, there are many of US out there so don't let them make you feel small. And for the ones that give me crap (mostly not to my face) - when I drive past a verterans memorial around all these communities, I think of what more I could have done or still should be doing. What are you thinking of????
I miss you, Joe and Jeff; and every one of those names on the list. My Brother "4 Corpsmen of the Apocolypse" - you should already know what I want to say so I ain't typing it.
http://navy.togetherweserved.com/usn/servlet/tws.webapp.WebApp?cmd=ForumDisplay&type=ForumThreadExt&ID=5615
and the following is the post by HM1 James Sabo
from my myspace blog posting. I was going to delete it, but let my medicated-drunken words stand.
Monday, April 16, 2007
welcome to being a combat vet!
Current mood: annoyed
Category: Life
The only reason I am doing this is maybe another vet is out there, will read it, and realize they aren't the only one.
Guess what - no music was playing, no slow motion, no thoughts of medals or glory. ANYONE tells you that while telling a story, or starts their "combat" story off "There I was..." is probably full of shit (got that line from one of my most dear friends I met in Kilo, SGT Phil).
Well, lets start off with sleep, or lack there of.
Ambien inducted sleep, every night. EVERY night. Sometimes mixed with alcohol depending on the severity of the day. And throw in the other handful of meds that keeps changing every 2-3 months when they don't work anymore - hey, try this one.
Dreams last night included: being at a children's gym with my kids, an older vet having a gun and holding us hostage. Myself and one of my buds from Iraq had to "erase the problem" Nice and graphic
another part was that I was running thru a bad neighborhood around 2-3 in teh morning just tryng to get home. Trying to avoid bad areas, cars, people out. A small boy started following me, and it escalated into me beating the hell out of him for miles but he wouldn't stop, no matter what I did or used on him. Ended with me waking up in sweat, again. Or time my dear friend and fellow doc was burned and melted right in front of me including smell and sensation of heat.
I went to the Jerry Seinfeld show in town also, and spent 3/4 of the time waiting for a mortar to explode about 10 feet from my face. and that's something I really enjoy. Now factor that into my day to day routine crap.
Waking up to: 50 cal fire, having your neck sawed by a knife, friends/family mutilated in front of you, smell of burning flesh, morar/rocket POO, sooo many other variants and new stuff that you say "what else is there" then it happens. Your mind is a very creative thing.
arousal from sleep - nice way of saying: grabbing loved one by throat, punching, kicking, choke-hold, or just screamimg like a school-girl.
I am scattered and rambling in my thoughts now because of what I wanted to put has turned into a flow of crap that I hold in every single day. also partially due to two concussions over one month period.
some co-workers that can give a shit less, or worse try to make you feel guilty or arrogant because of what I did - and I didnt tell 99% of them even a sliver of what we did or saw. I really appreciate the few that have told me "thanks" and seem genuine. Cool chick at Medic 2, you're awesome. and the guys should know who they are. This aint a "shout out" show on hip-hop radio.
God Bless my mother-in-law, Eileen, Paula, Tom, Shawna - thank you for taking care of my wife/kids and hope it was a help to you two E and S.
friends that don't keep in touch - over there while deployed or even now. I had two small children under 4 at the time, and a pregnant wife not to mention a father that could barely care for himself and I was the lone caretaker (whom passed away while I was in theater). think anyone was over seing if she/they were OK? maybe 1 or 2 phones calls early in the deployment to them, then nothing. thanks
or the insane thinking of if I was able to email once every now and then from our closet of a computer room on base that you took your life into more dangerous hands walking there in full flack/kevlar, then its my fault I didnt keep up on day to day bullshit at home. thanks again.
came home from 3 days at lejeune when we hit the states. went home alone in uniform on plane. no-one gave a shit. at airport, my wife and 3 children were there. thats it. nobody saying thanks, or get off the plane first, or whatever. thanks again
I didn't do all of this for "thanks" honestly, I was always ashamed that I didnt join the service (dad was in WWII, uncle a mospquito pilot and DFC awardee in Korea and my brother Doug whom wasnt afraid of anything. He was brought up on John Wayne movie, and Combat and Rat Patrol shows. He would have gone in an heartbeat (Vietnam), but in that same heart beat he wrecked his motocycle and had too many pins in his leg to join. So he join another group, bikers, then years later by 1998 he ended up dead from a GSW in head in an alley in McKeesport. so after 9-11 I said is was enough. I joined because I had a crap-load of paramedic experience and knew our men and women needed front-line medics/corpsmen. I wanted to be with the Marines, and after learning exactly what the FSSG was all about, joined a rrifle company with two other great guys. I joined at 31 years old and one child at the time.
so you can shove your "thanks" now because I dont want them. I want everyone to know that vets have been doing this for a very long time, and quit ignoring them or treating them like crap. I see it with the Vietnam guys, and my friends. give them a break, and they would probably like to have your "thanks".
Me, I'll just exist day to day like nothing has changed like I have been, driving my 8 year old pick-up with a state issued "Purple Heart Combat wounded veteran" licsense plate and not care if that upsets you for whatever reason.
* quick background. In Iraq with Marine Infantry company, lost 48 in out battalion - several my friends. Was at a base for half my time that was shelled almost every day, even several times a day. Constantly told of impending insurgent attacks to overrun our forward operating base. In an ambush in a school house in Hadithah, used a KIA Marine for cover with another, and was casevac'd in Army Blackhawk; was wounded in Hit a month before from a 60 mm mortar that landed 10 feet behind me (as stated by witnesses) that tore thru 3 other Marines before getting to me. That was one wek after I received notification that my father died, and told the company that I did not want the funeral leave because I was needed there.
what else, put out civilian corpses that were on fire with a canteen, bound with wire behind their backs and riddled with bullets [was a peace keeping convoy that got lost thru the City of Hit - some of the guys said it was on the web posted by insurgents] putting 2 bodies in a bag, lifting them onto AAV's with blood and body juice dripping down on us. leaving the last body there because it was rigged with an IED.
I could go on, but if you haven't experienced it then its just words in a stupid blog I dont expect you to know what it is like to wear long sleeves, bloused pants, flack jacket, neck and groin blast protecters, kevlar helmet, eye protection, 40 pounds of gear, a pistol, M-16 and 9 pouches of ammo in 120 degree heat worrying if this is the pile of garbage that will blow off your leg.
Or riding in a sizzling AAV or HUMVEE just waiting for the mine to rip thru the vehicle and you and your buddies. Raising sights and barrel to a "target" - man, woman, child. No restart button there. That split-second of your life is a keeper.
Or writing your "death letters" for your loved ones, to be delivered when your gone. Write one for your newborn daughter you got to see for a few hours. Two other daughters that dont understand whats going on, past people you have wronged that you want to say sorry to and love you to, wife of 10 years, dying father. Write all of those and tell me if you are sane that night.
I just hope you dont give me crap about it or my combat brothers and sisters. give a crap about their families and loved ones, about the plots in the cemetary, about Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. care when a number is shown at the bottom of the screen about wounded or killed. They are people, they were my friends and me. They are ours.
So to all that are combat vets, welcome. I hope your saga is better and not as involved. But if it is, there are many of US out there so don't let them make you feel small. And for the ones that give me crap (mostly not to my face) - when I drive past a verterans memorial around all these communities, I think of what more I could have done or still should be doing. What are you thinking of????
I miss you, Joe and Jeff; and every one of those names on the list. My Brother "4 Corpsmen of the Apocolypse" - you should already know what I want to say so I ain't typing it.