Tuesday, December 28, 2010

New Year, New Goals

I know it’s kind of a sappy sentiment, but this really is the best time of year to do some deep introspection and reflection and start making some resolutions for the future. As my friend who hates New Year’s reminds me, “It’s stupid to make resolutions on this day because you could make resolutions on any day.” True. But it’s the end of the year now and with all the holidays and small breaks from our responsibilities, we have extra time to think, and I would say that we should all take a personal self-assessment.

So where are you? Are you functioning survivor of war who does what he has to but still feels numb to the world? Are you so far past your experiences people don’t even believe you when you tell them you used to serve (no one believes me: I’m out-of-shape and bearded). Or are you simply planning to spend the holiday with several 40s or a flask of whiskey, unable to fathom how you will stay alive in this next year?

I’ve been there. Well, not technically, vodka was always my poison.

Today, I’m doing well. But I’ve learned very recently that if I’m going to keep following the path I’m on – this path as a writer who writes about war and the life after – I’m going to have to embrace a role I don’t want. I don’t want to be a beacon that other veteran’s will come to for help and advice.  I don’t want to because the farther I get from my experiences the happier I feel, and I’m afraid that I will be dragged back down. Don’t counselors and therapists have a really high suicide rate? I’m also not so full of myself to think I have the secret key to “the way to getting better,” but I do have a story. I think it’s a successful story, and maybe some other veterans can study pieces of it and apply my lessons learned to their own journeys.

So, lesson number one: It’s a New Year and you’re alive. How are you going to get yourself where you want to be? Start small. If you asked me this question at the end of 2004 or 2005 my answers would have been pretty pathetic. I would have said, “I want to be able to pay my bills on the first of the month instead of wasting all my money on booze and almost getting evicted every month.” Or I would have said, “I want to be able to stop feeling like I want to die every time I’m reminded of my traumas from war."

It was a dark place. But I was able to make small changes. I didn’t waste every cent I had at the bar every night, and sometimes took a night away from going out and partying. I went to hang out with my old friends sometimes – positive people I’ve known since being a teen in youth group – to keep me away from all my horrible tendencies and flagrant self-destruction.

Today, six years later, my goal is to finish my master’s degree in writing. Really? I know. It shocks me to write that out and realize how far I have come. We want you to get to a place where you can be happy again. This site is for you. These stories are for you. Please look around and join our community.

Much love,

Dario

~ Semper Fi ~



Connect with Dario online:
Personal Website (Free Writing, Podcast, Dario in the Media, Biography, Books, Blogs)
20 Something Magazine (Editor-in-Chief, Creator)
JMWW Literary Journal (Senior Nonfiction Editor)
The Veterans Writing Project (Instructor, Nonfiction Editor)
LinkedIn (Professional Stuff)
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Friday, December 17, 2010

The Curse of Alcohol

The curse of alcohol is that you can never move
Away from the town where you’ve made the bars home.

You can never save up enough to buy a  
Way out of your problems.

Each shot becomes an expression of the regret
You can’t swallow, so you fill your cup again.

Settling for being empty and never quenched,
Each drink is more desperate than the last.

You cycle between the highs and lows of your
Glass only to come to understand

You drank yourself away years ago.
And you can’t get that time back.

And you cope with the bottles, 
And you love them

Because the booze blacks out the scene
Of your buddy’s head exploding;

The cold glass feels better than the warm blood
From when you bandaged another’s bullet wound;

Because it was hot in the desert and the
Whiskey pulses flame through your heart and mind.


Connect with Dario online:
Personal Website (Free Writing, Podcast, Dario in the Media, Biography, Books, Blogs)
20 Something Magazine (Editor-in-Chief, Creator)
JMWW Literary Journal (Senior Nonfiction Editor)
The Veterans Writing Project (Instructor, Nonfiction Editor)
LinkedIn (Professional Stuff)
Facebook (Be my friend?)

Monday, December 13, 2010

From One Veteran to Another

I’ve been trying recently to make sense of the whole universality of the veteran experience. The longer I’ve been out, the more veterans I meet (it’s funny how you can still instinctively tell by someone’s mannerisms and demeanor that they served even if they don’t have regulation waistlines and haircuts anymore) and it seems that no matter where they’ve served during the War on Terror (or any war really), or what branch they were in, or what job they did, we all suffer from the same demons.
 Some more than others, but I’ve yet to meet a vet who doesn’t relish a chance to get blasted with another former warrior so they can talk without inhibition about their experiences. It’s like a mini therapy every time a veteran hangs out with another vet. That’s definitely a good thing I suppose, but what about our shared experiences made us all messed up in the first place? (And yes, I know not every vet has psychological issues, but no doubt their time at war has still changed them in a way most others can’t understand.)

 I think it’s all about the prospect of us facing down our mortality daily during our tours. That’s everyone. Whether you were a postal clerk, administrator, tanker, or infantryman, everywhere in Iraq and Afghanistan (and the Horn of Africa, the Philippines, and other places) brought about the momentary possibility of our lives ending. That reality changed our spirit and our mindset; it made us hyper-tense, calloused, and adrenaline-filled. Even if we served in the Green Zone or a large main base, there was always an errant mortar to land around us, potentially blowing up our buddies’ head. There was always some local on base who wanted us dead and might detonate himself as a suicide-bomb while we sat down to chow. It was an experience that was so fundamentally different from the American nine-to-five life or the college life of many our peers that it was so easy to feel alienated and separated from normal society upon our return.

 And what exactly is normal life now? Should we pretend the things that happened didn’t really happen at all? Should we not discuss how edgy we feel in large crowds or mention how we’ll occasionally be afraid to drive past a trash pile along the highway while we drive our civilian vehicles? Can we go back to being who we were before the war?

 Personally, I wouldn’t even try, because that would be sacrificing my true identity. I was once a warrior. I once sat atop a Humvee ready to kill at the behest of my nation. I survived rockets, mortars, snipers, and IEDs. Those things have changed me.

 At first they changed me in a bad way. I was guilty to go through so much yet come home unscathed when some of my friends had died. I took to intense self-medication to replace the chaos in my soul that felt normal as a result of my time overseas. I was angry, rage-filled, and manic. I ruined many relationships and made a lot of enemies. But I’ve grown; and I’m growing.

 Nothing’s a regret if we learn from it and move on. By the sheer intrinsic value of these horrible and traumatic experiences, we’ve been tested in a way that most others never will be. We can learn better lessons as such: we can truly appreciate every single moment of every single day; we can really feel compassion and love for another human being; we can understand the value of existing. Does this sound like a dream? To many of you, I’m sure it does.

But I’ve been there. And now I’m happier than ever. But it was the hardest place I’ve ever arrived at. And I couldn’t have done it without my veteran friends. Don’t isolate yourself. There’s a whole community for you here at Not Alone.


Connect with Dario online:
Personal Website (Free Writing, Podcast, Dario in the Media, Biography, Books, Blogs)
20 Something Magazine (Editor-in-Chief, Creator)
JMWW Literary Journal (Senior Nonfiction Editor)
The Veterans Writing Project (Instructor, Nonfiction Editor)
LinkedIn (Professional Stuff)
Facebook (Be my friend?)