I troll around Facebook while deployed to have a window open to America. What do I see? New Cars, Flexed Arms and Deep V-cut cocktail dresses. You know what I think Fan-fucking-tastic Get Paid, Lift Heavy and Giggity. I’m happy to see people proud of what they earned or paid for. In my opinion, Happiness should be a cup that is always overflowing.
The fact that I’m trying to wax philosophically about facebook status’ or stati. ‪#‎Whatever‬ Shows how fucking bored I am and how far I’ve fallen. I bring about this whole line of thought because I’m curious how people perceive me through my fb account. Am I some international playboy who hangs out with models (Male and Female) and dranks all the dranks? Am I a good father who sweeps into town to take my rad children on awesome adventures? Or, Am I a drunken, drug addled degenerate‪#‎SayThat3TimesFast‬ who runs around Afghanistan murdering babies and occasionally comes back to the States to pop into peoples lives, wreak havoc then leave again? In truth, in some ways I’m all 3. Except I only kill babies that are highly political and pose a serious threat to our national security. JK I kill all babies…
When I was a Reconnaissance Marine there were 2 things I enjoyed: Pre and Post deployment leave. 
Pre-deployment leave was like a funeral in that it was a somber celebration of life and coming to terms with your mortality. 
Post-Deployment leave was like a wedding celebrating, a triumphant return to be surrounded by the ones you love. The gnarly thing about constantly rotating back and forth from deployment is how I get to ride both waves. Which makes for some choppy surf. ‪#‎MaybeIHaveLivedInCA2Long‬
The Deployment itself wasn’t reality it was like living on the Moon (it even had the same landscape). It was a wretched horrible meal that we were served, but it has flavored everything else I’ve ever done. Like a bottle of Tapatio for my soul. To me PTSD is the inability to reintegrate back into society after experiencing something unique. I don’t attach it to War. I attach it to knowledge. After you fight in combat or fly into space sharing your experience with others is like talking to a virgin about sex. Whether people see you as a hero or a villain the problem lies in that civilians don’t see you as an equal, and those who struggle the most don’t see themselves as equal either. When I talk to my friends who have transitioned to a well paying stateside job they are envious of me because I found a way back to War in Afghanistan. I feel envious of them because they found Peace in America.
For those who think I live a fairytale life of money, women and travel, You’re wrong. In reality it’s a fucking nightmare. When I am in America I am constantly moving and dividing my time so many ways and to so many people I never have any time to face myself. I neglect every relationship of real value so that it’s easier to leave. Oh and to top it off I live in Afghanistan. It’s the only place where I feel healthy. Everything I do is for the betterment of myself and my team. Work out, Eat-Clean, Stay sober, Read books etc. I’m constantly sharpening the knife for the day I get to stab… and stab, and stab, and stab, stab, stab, stab-STAB. ‪#‎Skeet‬ I do my job not for the money but to stay alive. I find my pulse and a sense of purpose living in a war-zone. The only thing that waits for me in America is Disappointment and Poison. ‪#‎NotThe80sBand‬
In some ways I actually envy the Booger Eating Cave Monkeys. For in my opinion people from the Muslim world don’t get PTSD from War because everyone has the knowledge of living in a War-Zone. Muslims get PTSD from Freedom which is why many fail to integrate into Western societies, and try to bring Sharia Law to the streets of every nation they enter.
I think I just figured out how to solve my problem. I need to move to a war-zone in America. But where?… I got it!!! I’M MOVING TO DETROIT!!!!!‪#‎GeauxTigers‬!!!