Asklemmy

This story concerns war and death, if you want to avoid those kinds of things.

I was 18 years old. I was an Infantryman in the US Army and had been in Afghanistan for a few months, when my platoon responded to an IED strike on another platoon in my company, while they were doing a dismounted patrol.

A guy riding a donkey laden with explosives made his way to the center of their staggered column formation (effectively two spaced out lines on opposite sides of the street), before detonating the explosives. It was particularly effective, because walls on either side forced the column in tighter than normal.

This point begins my memories, which are mostly a disjointed collection of visual snapshots.

The first thing I remember is the smell, which I can't accurately describe, but burned meat, chemicals, and some kind of feces is the closest I can get. It is easily the clearest part of the memory.

The next thing I remember is seeing the severed foot of the man responsible laying in the middle of the road and my immediate and overwhelming impulse was to kick it, since it was the only tangible evidence of a 'responsible' party. There were also two generally recognizable bodies in the ditch, as well as several casualties receiving medical care.

From this point it is a series of vignettes. One, I was setting down my radio pack and very clearly telling the lieutenant where it was, since the medics needed extra hands. Another is seeing one of the casualties smoking a cigarette. The last, and clearest visual memory was holding the hand of one of the casualties as we waited for the medevac bird, and trying to keep the mood light be telling him "hey, at least you don't have to walk back to base". I have no clue if he responded.

I have absolutely no memories following that day, for probably months, until another, somewhat less traumatic situation took place.

But yeah, that is the day that pretty much all of my emotions died. On my wedding day, I felt just a flicker of happiness. The only emotion I feel with any intensity whatsoever is occasionally anger.

That's about all, I'm willing to answer questions of anyone is curious.

Interesting thought. So perhaps had I been pressured later in life, I might have been a smoker.

When I was 6 years old, an older kid pressured me into smoking a cigarette. I didn't get sick or anything. I just didn't like it and decided one was enough. Never knew the best decision of my life would be made at that age.

I used the toilet earlier.

Covid. For the first time I understood that a lot of people simply do not care about anyone but themselves. I've come to understand that more and more recently. On the bright side, I now value the people who do a lot more.

Being accepted into a friend group in Junior High (middle school).

I had some kind of neuro-divergence, but undiagnosed since it was the 1960s. No friends, and I couldn't understand the world; I thought there was some "secret manual" that everyone got except me, telling them how social interactions worked.

Then a band of misfits took me in. There were about 8-10 of them, and some special guest friends that made appearances from time to time. Male and female. All kinds of different people, popular and unpopular. And they accepted me. Weird me. Turned my life completely around.

Getting fired from a shitty company. It completely readjusted my attitude towards work.