Letting Go of the Past
It’s coming up to almost two years out from being in the HUMV rollover. I look in my wallet and see the Retirement Card, and I have mixed feelings concerning it. On the one hand, I have done what I desired to do, retire from the military and obtained the status of Veteran. On the other hand, the Disabled part is what is gnawing at me. Seven procedures and twelve pills a day has brought me to a somewhat functional state. I hope that, as time goes by, I will have a better grasp on my pain and will be able to move on from all of this. However, no matter how stubborn I am, no matter how high my pain tolerance gets or how long I try to for long the inevitable, there are days which are terrible. There are Sundays where I cannot get to church that morning because of the pain. There are events where I have to leave early due to discomfort and there are times where I need my cane. I try to lie to myself because I’m almost as strong now as I ever have been. I try to lie to myself through my accomplishments, through all that I have written and through all that I am able to understand. I try to baffle with bullshit what I cannot blind with brilliance. However, as much as I can lift, there are too many times when its hard for me to lift myself out of bed. I can ruck three miles in under an hour, yet there are so many times where I cannot walk without taking breaks, using my cane or avoiding walking all together. Too many times the pain sinks in and I cannot do anything to avoid it. My only saving grace is those brief hours when the pain pills take effect or they put me to sleep. I wouldn’t wish this on my mortal enemy. I need to realize that this is the new normal for me and that I am currently the best that I ever will be.
My memory has increased exponentially from what it once was. I went from not remembering anything from five minutes ago to having a loose grip on my short-term memory. However, my memory is no where near what it used to be. To date since the head injury, I have filled nine notebooks worth of daily activities. By my estimate, I’ve penned over 600,000 words. If I keep this up, I’ll have one of the longest journals in history, passing Samuel Pepes this year. Not a world record I was going for, but interesting none the less. In addition, I have learned a whole lot about myself while trying to recover. For one, I never knew what kind of pain threshold I had. From the migraines to the nerve damage to the arthritis, most people wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. As for me, I have done everything I can to get myself to a somewhat livable condition, both physically and mentally. Most of that has been reading, writing on this website and improving my physical strength and mobility. With any hope, I won’t need to worry about much until I have to have one of my three discs fused. It’s going to be fun when that day comes.
Psychologically, I think I am doing okay. I’ve done my best to come to terms with my disabilities, learned how to accept what I am no longer able to do and have done my best to mold my life in such a way that I am in less pain than normal. I learned that I have to do most of my work in the mornings, have to have more routine in order to grasp most of my day and not have to write it down and have to build my life in accordance with systemization. In all, I believe that I am doing well when it comes to navigating my life through my physical and mental limitations. However, there are things which bother me. It was difficult to learn that I can no longer front squat. I fell off when I tried to ride a bike. I collapsed when I tried to run (to be fair, I made it a hundred yards before I fell). I look at others my age and see them go about their lives, heedless of the gift it is to be whole. I don’t mean to be angry at people who didn’t choose the line of work I did but it makes me angry that what happened to me was preventable. I hear people talk about my survival being a miracle and it makes me sick. What kind of miracle is it to be twenty-three and being in constant pain? What kind of miracle is it to watch all of your dreams fall apart right in front of your eyes? What kind of miracle is it when you see the looks of pity from others? I know that my injuries changed my future, my ambitions and my life forever. What bothers me is that I get a constant reminder of it from the faces of those around me. Why can’t they realize that?
One of the biggest things which bothers me is the fact that people told me “congratulations” when I received my proposed Disability ratings from the VA. Congratulations for what? My plans for a future, my dreams, going up in smoke? Congratulations for the fact that you will never receive that Sargant rank but will receive a paycheck based on how broken you are? Congratulations on being used goods as far as the military is concerned? I went off on a couple of people when they told me this, mostly because the three of these things went right through my mind when that word was said. I don’t think people realize how I wanted to be a soldier since I was eight years old gazing at my Step-Father’s Vietnam medals. I don’t think they understand how passionate I was about wearing that uniform and serving in combat. I begged for deployments, did whatever was asked of me and desired nothing more than to serve my country. They don’t understand how close to the bone this yearning was for me. Hell, doing so nearly took my life.
The only thing that all of this didn’t take from me was my name. I will not let my injuries take that from me. I will not allow the pain, the anger and the loss of my purpose to take this from me. I will not let this feeling forsake my final piece of identity. My answer was to start writing the “Ezekiel March” series, my non-fiction works and all of the essays. I wanted nothing more than to recreate myself and grant myself a new purpose in life. I will continue with my writing, my degrees and in my strength. I will focus on greatness in my new sense of self, moving into a higher sense of self-actualization and into self-transcendence. If this is my true identity from now on, I will embrace it. I will move on from what I once was and will lead into what I desire to be.