I took myself to lunch today. Drunken Noodle with market seafood. This turned out to be a $30/plate with drink. The “Market Seafood” consisted of shrimp, squid “helmets,” and scallops. A must-have again.
I chose Thai because, I don’t know anyone else in this town, personally, that will have lunch out with me, much less enjoy Thai with me. I long for the days when I was surrounded with adventurous people. Yeah, I’m reduced to characterizing adventurous people as those that would eat Thai and enjoy.
My psychologist explained to me that I could talk to no one about my past, even her. This has caused many issues. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone. I can only talk, over secure channels, with two other people. And can only do so because they were with me on various operations. $500K and 20 years in prison for speaking my own mind. To talk about my previous self. About missions that I was LEAD on. I can only think of #FML and those people really don’t know what #FML really fucking mean.
My psychologist and I are working through my issues, but we are at the beginning, again. I wish my counselor and I would have left the memories repressed. Now, as then, they are controlling me. The difference is that I know them on a more granular scale. For example, Hamas: I know they treat “special” hostages to special tactics. Skinning them was made public. What has yet made it to the public eye and I pray that it never is are videos of removing chunks of flesh from these high-value hostages. All manner of torture. Dead is not allowed. Considerable information value is lost if the hostage dies. So, they will not be allowed to die. Only to suffer, to death’s edge. But, no further.
These are my thoughts as I enjoy my drunken noodles with market seafood, chatting to my kid over a secure channel about holiday planning. These are thoughts I can write to myself, but can’t talk to others. I can’t say where or how I learned of these things. They only stew in my brain, longing for the next visit to the psychologist. Looking for instruction.
My oldest – Teacher of the Month award. First time after teaching almost a decade. My kids don’t know it, but they were raised to be soldiers too. They have dealt with extreme circumstances that few others have been through.
Of course we have a secure chat where all of us can talk. We are all running away from the same thing, an abusive past. They are all just memories. Supposedly, they can’t touch us. Often, I think if they could touch us, we could at least meet them face to face, spit in their eyes and move on. But, no. We just relive them.
When Putin and his Russia invaded Ukraine, it was a good thing that I was unable to board a plane. I would have been a soldier on the ground. I still would if I could. I host an information location SnakeIsland.net, Warriors of the Oppressed, because it is the only thing, the one thing I can do.
On the outset, I made a statement on FB that Putin better hope that I never see him in person as I would rip off his throat and shit in it. FB banned me for inciting violence. I responded that I was not inciting violence. That I was responding to a violent invader. If they considered what I said inciting then they didn’t have the worth for me to be on their platform.
I was reinstated within the next 24 hour cycle. The post was removed and I haven’t posted anything similar. But, the post was justified. We need to defend our freedoms. Ukraine is Russia’s stepping-stone to Europe and then us. We have forgotten WWI and WWII. What our forefathers knew about the US experiment is that we are fragile and we need all the friends we can get to continue…existing.
I never should have left the service, because it never left me.
I finished my lunch, paid my check and grabbed my cane. Off to build another adventure. There are still items in my skill set that I can employ to feed the resistance. I must get them in order.
Soldier on.