Spewing Hate

Usually, I have very thick skin. It comes from spending years working as a potter, having kids, and generally being someone who’s chosen to swim against the tide since I was a child. A week or so ago, on a forum I frequented – and I’m using past tense for a reason – a discussion came up about an incident in Afghanistan.

Now, understand, I never found the words to discuss the actual issue because the words written by someone who’d never set foot anywhere near the military or in a war zone took me so far off kilter I couldn’t think of anything to say but fuck you.

He called my husband a murderer.

Okay, I’ll be fair. He called all soldiers murderers. I would quote the actual post, but I suspect copyright issues could be a problem. Let’s just say the words mental aberrations and fucking psychos were prominent in the description of the type of people our military counts among it’s ranks.

This little man, who is a child of maybe twenty, went on to describe the type of people who join, how they interact, and what being in a war zone is like. All without even a glimmer of actual experience under his wee belt.

I walked away from the forum because I realized as the discussion went on it just wasn’t my crowd anymore. I didn’t feel like defending my husband against a child who is barely old enough to remember the beginning of the war or against anyone else. I spend enough time holding him while he begs me to help him get better. Watching him break out in a panic because he’s hearing the mortars again. Enough time knowing he’s not going to sleep, he’s never going to be totally better, and he’s always going to remember.

But it’s left a horribly bad taste in my mouth. I know there are more people out there who feel the same. They were the ones spitting on our boys who came home from Vietnam and called them baby killers. Now they just sit behind the comfort of a keyboard and spew their thoughts against the very people who defend their right to spread their venom.

It tightens my chest. With everything these men and women deal with, knowing their own people will judge them when they come home really struck me in a way I’d never experienced. It was like a truck hit my chest. From the day I met my husband I knew I would never understand what he walked and because of this I’ve never considered judging him or what he did while he was at war.

So in an attempt to feel better and stop dwelling on the whole ugly viewpoint, I’ll post my response to this young man’s gleaned from the air knowledge of the military.

You know nothing. You are an inexperienced child who is regurgitating information spoon fed to you while you sit in the safety of a country protected by our military. Go look up your local vet center and sit in the waiting room while the men and women who’ve served this country over the long years filter through. Watch them for a moment then see if you can sit in on a group session. I have. Ask them questions, but don’t ask if they’ve ever killed anyone. They don’t want to remember those days. 

They’re at the vet center to find some normality, to find peace, and to find a safe place where they can hash out their experiences without being judged. Once you get to know some people with different experiences than you and have widened your world, see if you find it so easy to judge others.
Oh, and bugger off you absolute twit.

Rant, Baby, Rant

Just like a boiler, people have to have relief valves when the stress and pressure builds to critical levels. My husband and I have been together for over three years and after these past three weeks, I’ve finally learned what his personal relief valve is. It’s been a long time coming.

Several months ago, my parents decided to sell their house and move somewhere they could retire. So, like family does, we offered whatever help we could. Chris even helped rebuild a three level deck on the back of their home after the inspector discovered it was rotted. Once all the work was done they were to stay with us after closing until the funds were posted in their account. This would be two or three days at most.

That was February 17^th.

My epiphany started with the removal of a stump in the back yard. It was an old over grown ornamental tree gone bad. We dug and dug then used the hatchet to cut the roots. It took almost an hour for the last root to relinquish its hold on the earth and Chris was blind with rage. That goddamned stump was coming out and it was coming out right then.

When all was said and done, Chris had thrown the stump over six feet and dropped into a catatonic state leaving him unable to remember what happened. When I went to put the stump in the green container a day later I couldn’t lift it – and I’m fairly strong. I had to lay the container down and roll the stump into it.

This incident didn’t help. He didn’t feel better. Check.

Needless to say it’s continued to be a powder keg just waiting for sparks. One evening after we’d found out my parent’s realtor had withheld some rather important information about their closing leaving them stranded at our house for almost a month, Chris stepped out in the garage and let fly.

He ranted. About nothing particular, he yelled and foamed and just generally said anything and everything he needed to say. Yes, he raised his voice. Yes, everyone heard. Yes, this upset my mother but I assured her his yelling was not directed at me. It was just directed outward.

By the end of the evening we were all laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. Chris’ anger and stress level dropped back to normal – for him – levels.

For these past three years we’ve been searching for a stress reliever for him. Hell, we’ve even tried yoga. Nothing worked. Not even getting out my old boxing equipment and running him through a couple of rounds. Punching a heavy bag seemed to make him angrier and in the end the bag was laying on the ground being pummeled.

Ranting is a relief valve for him. He got all the things he needed to say out of his mind, off of his chest, and felt lighter. Better. Rant, baby, rant.