Zipperhead
Diamond Member
The Beast That Shouted Love at ME
It was an innocent enough comment. Intellectually it was hard to even argue with it. And the message of peace and love was something I may have even said myself 10 years ago. 10 years ago, before my world changed forever.
We were living in a simpler time, a time when hope was there for the taking. My wife remembers me as Mr. United Nations. Always considering differing points of view, Liberal in values, forgiving and giving. I had problems with organised religion back then. Prejudice based on ideology was to me a foreign concept. And then the planes crashed.
Attacked by a culture I couldn’t even find on a map. Oh, I know where they’re at now. I’ve lived in their deserts. I’ve driven their streets. And I’ve breathed their dust all while trying to regain that hope. You see, I was in the Army. A peace time Army up until that point, until they attacked.
To me the Canadian Army was the perfect expression of hope. We travelled the world, going places that needed our help. We delivered food, medicine and love. People the world over respected us. Our message was spreading. Love would win! Until a people who hated us because we loved decided to shatter our delusions.
And so I learned to hate. It was easy to hate. I could make my world make sense if I just gave into that hate. I could kill without remorse if I embraced that hate. I could make my son’s future safe again if I allowed the hate to eradicate that society, to end their terrorist ideology, to plunge them back where they belonged, to a place where they could not hurt me again.
But then I heard those words, the message of peace and love. They were my words from before the hate. It was on the radio, an interview with a Muslim Social worker. She explained how the racists in Canadian Society were forcing the Muslim Youth into a secular state, where they would learn to hate. She called me a racist! And yet there it was. The shoe fit. But do I really deserve that epitaph? They had taught me to hate. And here they were saying that my hate would cause them to kill again. What a burden to lay on my broken mind. Yes, a broken mind.
You see, my tours to the sand box didn’t all go that well. I was wounded in an IED strike in 2007 while trying to rebuild a society that had attacked mine, while trying to show them hope. 48 stitches and a bit of reconstruction was just the start of my healing. It was 4 years before the diagnosis of PTSD was hung around my neck. I think I understand PTSD now. It’s hate in its rawest form. Hate brought to the extreme, from where rational thought cannot reign. Hate as only someone who has seen what we have seen can understand.
And so my society embraces that hope, and pledges anew to be inclusive. They push me to the fringe, worn out and wasted. They decide to trust again, to go back to that love that made us great. A love I can no longer feel. The love that has been consumed by my hate. I find myself alienated from the society I was sworn to protect, as all around me scream love into the heart of the world.
I wrote this tonight. I stole the title from a Sci Fi writer, modified just enough to avoid a lawsuit. Don't know why I'm posting it really. It's how I feel, why I'm angry and feeling helpless. I guess I'm posting it here so I don't post it somewheres else where people will know me. I'm still a closet PTSD sufferer. Not ready to be outed.