Eat Letters, Shit Words

So, this morning, for the first time in a long time I had a nightmare. It wasn't as crazy as most people's nightmares, and thankfully not deployment related, but Holy shit, I was one unhappy camper when I woke up. Note: Some of the finer details are gone from my memory, but considering how damn vivid it was, I still remember the majority of it, quite well. So it started out like any other dream. Me doing random shit in a random place with random people. The usual. Trying to race people but can't move fast to save my life. A bad omen. When I returned to my room from my adventure and running debacle, I open my door to see... My room covered in spiderwebs, and IN the spiders webs a bunch of good sized and fully functional beehives and hornet/wasp nests. Naturally, I freaked the fuck out. especially when I noticed that most of the bees/wasps/hornets were the size of my thumb, a few bigger, a few smaller. The spiders ranged anywhere from tiny to tarantula, all kinds, shapes ...

So, I think I may know why I have insomnia. At least, I partially know why. Partly I think it's my need to be doing something. Even when I'm being a lazy do-nothing, I'm still getting something done. Planning something. Talking to someone. Usually several someone's. Reading.  Something mildly productive. Well, not always. But usually. I'm just restless. During the day I'm always trying to be getting something done. My weekend's are thoroughly planned out by Thursday, even if those plans will continue to change, even after they happened... But to bring this back to insomnia, all the time I spend sleeping is time I spend not doing pretty much anything else in the world I could possibly be doing. It's lost time. I don't do it on purpose. When I lay down to try and sleep my mind just gets overloaded with everything else I could be doing at that moment, what I'd be doing the next day. Week. Month. Year. Lifetime. What death would feel like (a real...

So, for the longest time I was thought PTSD was a myth. I mean, I've had such good control over my mind and body I figured that those who claimed to have suffered from it were just weak-minded pussies. What I didn't realize was just how some things could affect you, and why they affected you that way. If you go by my former opinion, I am indeed a weak-minded pussy, though I'm far from killing people in my sleep, as is the case with some of the further mindfucked Vietnam vets, but I'm messed up in a handful of other ways, which as my friends can confirm, I am definitely not the same man I was before I did my rotation in Afghanistan. Usually when people hear "PTSD" they think of vets getting super vivid flashbacks whenever they hear loud noises and whatnot. I can somewhat relate. Loud banging noises still make jump, and there were a few times where I dove to the ground here on Ft Bragg because of unexpected explosions. Only once did I actually have a flashback...

So, as a paratrooper we're expected to jump out of airplanes every now and then, possibly for training, possibly as an undercover experiment to see how much it takes an individual to break a leg. I had a jump yesterday with full combat equipment (meaning with my rucksack and weapon). First off, I have a damn near paralyzing fear of heights. I'd much rather be in a gunfight, give a speech in public, or ask a girl out on stage at a concert and have her say "No" than jump out of a plane at 1000ft. Hell, my uncle used to live on the 31st floor of a skyscraper and it took four years of visiting him before I could sleep in a room with windows. Jumping out of planes is Hell for me, and I often loathe my choice of going airborne. Secondly, the parachutes we use were made in the 50's and 60's, with minor fixes here and there when they tear or get damaged. Using a 60+ year old parachute when jumping at said 1000ft isn't too thrilling, regardless of being scared ...