It's weird, these days, to admit even to myself what is wrong with me. It's probably one of the hardest things to do in life. We all think we are perfect, and we rarely reflect on our own shortcomings. It's too easy to make excuses that qualify why we haven't accomplished what we have all set out to do. I have been observing myself as best as possible. Recognizing when I lie to get what I want, and to do all of the selfish things that we all want to do.
What self realizations have I discovered that I am willing to admit? We all know that we have things wrong with us, but we all too often ignore what we shouldn't. We too many times allow ourselves alibis. We don't truly care for other people. Most of our decisions focus around ourselves. The worst part is we act like that's not the case. We volunteer our hours and help others, but too what happiness to we owe the credit of these achievements: Our own. We do this to make ourselves feel good. And we do, and the bi-product is relevant but irrelevant. We sign a check and roll up some sleeves, but we don't really do any of that for mankind. We do it for ourselves. Because we don't want to be that person that doesn't care about others. We aren't selfless. If you think you're selfless, you should consider joining the military.
We are selfish. All of us. We have to be, it's human nature. We stop caring about others the second that we pretend to start too. There's nothing wrong with that though. There is nothing wrong with being selfish. That's what we have to realize. That's what we have to accept. Otherwise you end up like me, making decisions for my own life based on how it will effect the people around me. If it will make them happy, then I will do it. It's not a good thing though. I'm helping you out at my own expense. But haven't I always been the clown who's crying on the inside? I've always been willing to sacrifice myself for the joy of others. Not many people are like that, and where that seems not selfish, and selfless, it simply is not. It is selfish. It is what makes me happy. To have others around me have more joy than I myself do.
How do I fix that? How do I take the steps to transform myself to make those selfish decisions that don't just make me feel happy about myself that I helped others out, but that I feel happy about making decisions for myself.
My sister tells me a lot of interesting stuff. She's always been smart and capable of tons of accomplishment. She tells me that Hitler used to read a book by a guy, and of course I don't remember his name, but this guys book had a very interesting point about how we are self detrimental, that we don't achieve all that we can because we care too much for morals and ethics, which are essentially just ideas that have been created by people. That you have to create your own ethics and morals that base solely around your best interests, and nobody elses. This philosopher guy, whoever he was, he was an asshole, but he was also smart.
I've been having strange dreams. I'm at a very emotional state in my life and a lot of it I have yet to figure out. I'm in and out of love with an ex and wish the settings, the conditions were different so I could get a true feel for what was going to happen. I'm going to not be with my family again for Christmas, and I missed Thanksgiving too. Not that I don't have wonderful support of my adopted families here in North Carolina, but to not be with my family on such big family events does take the wind out of my sails a little. All of this, the stress of being on a recall to go anywhere in the world at a moments notice, it all has mounted. The dreams are very random and as the best Internet search could produce, tells me that the kinds of dreams I'm having are a positive, even if that's not the way it makes me feel.
I dreamt I was in Afghanistan. Very vivid too. I was on a helicopter to who knows where and listening to a radio or someone saying something about how dangerous of a place we were going was. How many guys the previous unit had lost. I thought of my friend KC and his tour, and of course he was in the bird with me. My dream jumped to me not making it to his going away from Fort Bragg party and I instantly got sick with regret. The bird landed, or some how I was on the ground smoking a cigarette or just standing in a circle with a few other guys. It seemed normal then, but strange now. The next thing I knew we were patrolling, like a thousand others I had been on. I was thinking to myself how I didn't know the mission and that I was blaming the PSG for not filling us in on what was going on. I asked someone what we were doing and where we were going. I got the typical Army response, which could've been; shut up, who knows, or that overly used facial expression of, huh? I followed the man in front of me. He passed an ice cream truck on the right hand side. I started to go around it on the left. As I neared the back, and the Afghan women and children who stood close, I noticed what appeared to be a small land mine in the ground. I looked at it closer and right as I exposed myself to the left flank of the truck. Awaiting me was an Afghan man with a grenade. He lurched at me holding the grenade out. I frantically back petalled away and fired my M4 at him. He threw the grenade and it bounced around on my chest and finally landed at my feet. My vision went white and my hearing went numb. I awoke on the couch.
That was a few nights ago. It's strange that when I awoke, I didn't feel any anxiety, any kind of fear for my life. I had just accepted that I died. Not as any kind of hero. Not jumping on a grenade to save my buddies, but just a normal way to have died in this war. Last nights dream was even more weird.
It was less vivid, and more alarming. I saw tombstones of 18 people, and they were more of a futuristic look. I was with the ghost or perhaps a person going past them on some sort of ride. We talked about what I didn't know, but kept getting flashes of a dead person in a ditch or perhaps just the woods. I couldn't make out their face as there body was naked, and covered in dirt. I kept talking to the person and couldn't decipher what it was about. The body kept flashing in my head, and I read the names on the tombstones. I saw mine and then the body was clear. It was me. I saw that I had died, I saw my tombstone. I woke up from it I'm sure, but thought only about it the rest of the night I slept. It was weird, and strange, and the experts say that it's a good thing. That dying in a dream is good. That it symbolizes inner-changes and transformation.
I hope that's true, that I am changing, that I am improving. I hope that I can get through this, with all that I've learned. I have to continue to grind things out and try to not worry about how things will be, and just worry about how I will get to where I want to be.
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