| Bio & OOC |
[07 Apr 2030|06:21pm] |
   
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| .01 private entry:: the times they are a'changin' |
[11 May 2012|11:46pm] |
I look around me, and I don't know where I am anymore. This isn't home, but where is that place anymore? Did I ever really belong anywhere to begin with? South Boston wasn't exactly the most fond of memories to recollect upon, ever. Not in my youth, or when I went back in my thirties - so why should I call it home? I think I'd rather call Iraq home, or one of the military bases that I had been stationed at a home before I would there. No. I know. I know where home is, it's in my head. Yea, that's where it is - but I'm a stranger even in my own thoughts at times. I wonder 'who is this guy?' when I look in the mirror. I don't look like the man I am, who I thought I was, who I once was.
I was a soldier for this country, past tense. What am I now? A Vet, I still get to use that term. I get to use the discount at stores and restaurants like IHOP, go to the hospital for my check-ups, but they tell me not to wear my dress attire. They took my tags away too. Tried, well told me to cover the tattoo even. DIShonorable discharged. I Dis'ed the country, the one I love, the one I took a bullet for, got my shoulder blown to pieces for and never thought twice about any of it. I've bled, killed, and loved my country since I was 18 and now I barely survive off of what they give me, but I guess I should be happy they give me anything at all. I think most with my discharge don't get shit, it's unfair and I don't care how childish it sounds.
South Boston was a never ending headache. Too many people swearing they only wanted good for me, and to make me happy. Bullshit on that. It was a letter that led me to this point in my life and I still don't know where that is. A warm sunrise. A way out of the cold tundra. Relief from the confusion. I read the Ukrainian scribble. Wondered, how the fuck does this person know me? How do they know I can read Ukrainian? It's not like I have friends. I don't. I never have. I've had one, and I fucked that up too. Stupid bitch fell in love with me as kids, and again when we met up. People like me don't deserve people at all. We're killers. This Ukrainian lady, lives in some rancher in suburban hell New York...tells me something interesting. Sends me interesting things. That aren't nudes for once. Birth certificate. Hospital records. Old pictures. I see this one face, and I know it. I know it so well because I hate it. I hate it so much I get angry. I don't want to believe it.
Christian. My father. So it's true, he fucked up more than one persons life. He fucked up the woman who had me too. Of course I always got the story she just left, and I believed it as a kid. Hated girls growing up, have trust issues with women still. Here I find out my mother was beaten and abused even while pregnant, with her only child who is me of course. So I write back, why didn't you take me? Why did you leave me with a monster? Why wasn't I good enough for you? I have all these angry questions just boiling inside of me now. Why? Why? Why? I find out, she was in the hospital, Christian moved us and left her. Not her us. I'm mind blown. I hate the man even more. I go to his grave and I piss on it, tell him to fuck off and I hope he rots in hell for all eternity. Pack my bags and leave Southie.
Here I am. Who I am? I still don't know. What am I doing here? I don't know. She knows I'm closer now, and I'll go to see her one day, maybe. I think I can do it, I have things to try and get figured out for myself first. Should probably try and find some work. NY has a lot of temptation though. Military hasn't found me a place to stay yet so I'm....just floating in space. Smog provides warm weather and the streets are pretty friendly if you know which to stop on under the highway. Not that I walk around unarmed anyway.
I don't know what I'm doing here, or how long I'll be. We'll see. I just...I don't know.
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