November approaches, the fifteenth anniversary of the second battle of Fallujah looms closer. In fifteen years, there is no peace to be found. The horror is as fresh today as it was all those years ago. What has changed in Iraq since we invaded it? Nothing. I have aged, not well in my opinion, but I have grown older since my days as a Cav Trooper.
What a waste.
There are few things I don’t enjoy talking about, but Fallujah is one of the topics I actively try to avoid. Love is the other topic. We did what we had to do, on a subconscious level I even believe it, however, I was there. No amount of psychology can explain the things I witnessed, nor can it excuse it. Mankind can be downright evil when warfare is concerned. General Sherman said, “War is hell.” He wasn’t wrong.
Things done can’t be undone. Regardless of how much I want to forget Fallujah, the war happened, and it was ugly, Friends lost in the fires of war will never again walk among the living, however, they live on in my memories. My dreams will never be safe again, they will be littered with blood and death. My next war is fought within my mind.
Generally, my answer is to avoid people the entire month of November. I lock myself in the house and avoid conversation. There is no point in ruining everybody’s day by my sourpuss attitude. They haven’t done anything to warrant my shunning. It’s a defense mechanism. This year I am going to avoid locking myself away and suffering in silence. After all, the whole point of life is to live.
We will see how it goes.
13 October 2019