Lost The Edge

Ever seen Top Gun?

One of my favorite movies as a youngster.  Motivated me in many ways to join the military.

I recall, at Basic Training, while on a rifle range jets flew over head and I sang to myself "Highway to the Danger Zone."

I truly aspired to be a pilot.  My drill sergeants were less concerned with my ambitions.

Anyway.

There is a scene early in the movie where Cougar, a stud otherwise, just gives up.

Instead of inadaquately describing the words said, here's the footage:

Well, Cougar? That's me, in my present form. 

Nothing of my actions suggests I was the All Star caliber as Top Gun's Cougar, but my own assessment continues to tell me that I was even better. Only, in my case, as a soldier. 

But, here I am.  My edge has been lost.

It's never coming back.  

Friday and Saturday

Tonight, I find myself drinking.

 At first I am proud.

 I now only drink on those nights that I do not work during the following days.

 But I should not drink at all.

 My personality is addictive. And, for me to drink, is to drink every beer I can obtain until exhaustion overtakes me.

 I must quit. And I know it. Completely.

 But I love these nights.

 I love hating myself. I love hating how I abandoned the Army. I love hating how I failed.

 For two nights a week I embrace depression.

 But don't blame the alcohol because I drink the alcohol hoping to secure this feeling.

 The alcohol is but a method to my madness.

 On Sunday, this will all be nothing. I'll clear up and, on Monday, I'll attend work like this weekend never occurred.

 But, I know. You know. Demons. They exist.

My Response...

...to a buddy checking up on me: 


"Hey man, I appreciate you asking. 

It's going alright. It would be going great other than a bind I have entangled myself with my National Guard unit. Other than that, I am starting to handle things. 

Well...

I have a serious alcohol issue. I have it managed whereas I only drink now on nights I do not work during the following days. But I should quit altogether. I have an addictive tendency unlike any I have seen before. Seriously. Like, outside alcohol, my thing now is running. And today? Every minute I wasn't working, or drinking, I ran. Multiple times a day, at an 8.0 mph pace or better. 

Imagine that same tenacity and apply it to drinking, and you see why I should quit. Even if it is somewhat "under control." 

Otherwise, I am going with the flow, I guess. 

I've always been super ambitious. But the self-induced anxiety of the past year has really gotten to me. So, now, I just want a normal life. No greatness. Just want to work, save for retirement, and one day obtain that retirement. 

It's almost like I am 29, and already exhausted by life. 

Wow. Not sure why I shared so much. But I appreciate your willingness to check in. I really do. Thanks, brother. Wish you the best."

AWOL

New song. 

Because of nostalgia and alcohol, I am transported. Vividly. 

The deserts of Kuwait.  It's 2002, and the war before us still awaits.  

System of a Down, the band responsible for the song above, gets me through most nights separated far, far from family and country. 

I walk night after night to the chow hall, a tent, in deep kinship with folks much more honorable than I.  

Cpt. Daniel Sinclair. Sgt. Adrian White. Sgt. Osama Hammad. 

All presently known by civilian titles or military titles of advanced rank. 

Me?  Since dedicating my life to, and subsequently failing Special Forces Assessment and Selection,  I have been AWOL from the National Guard. 

I wish I could rip my combat experience from my history because my current condition makes me not worthy of it.  And especially not worthy of the brethren I shared it with. 

The song above haunts me. 

Hi.

Certain songs evoke deep reaction.  Although, given "evoke" relates approval, I am not sure this is the correct word. 

Welcome to this blog. 

It's our secret.  I write here, and also here. 

But this site is not for public consumption.  

This blog is for me. 

A Diary. Of sorts. 

On my best days, such as today, my demons are approachable. 

On my worst, they are vicious monsters indeed.  In both cases, I need an outlet to write. 

Most of similar concern choose a diary.  I am choosing a blog.  Although I wish the only visitors to be those of chance. 

Alcoholism.

I have a huge alcohol problem.  I have always had.  But it has taken many forms. 

As a youngin', I would drink until I could not remember the night.  Such over-indulgence is no longer the habit  I know better than even sipping water more devilish than beer. 

But I do love beer. 

And, besides its taste, there is nothing I love more about beer than the condition to which it delivers me.  Right outside of reality.  Not far from it.  But a step aside. 

I like this world better. 

I have serious social anxiety issues. Due to many things, no doubt.  I have my own diagnoses. 

But all is remedied so long as I am at least a beer-deep amongst fellow beer-drinkers. 

The shakes depart then.  Confidence grows.  Unease diminishes. And comfort builds with every sip. 

Thus, this blog. 

From an anonymous alcoholic. 

Many conversations will follow.  Between me, and the words produced by typing fingers only somewhat of my control.  

And you, the eavesdropper.