Unspoken Abandonment

by Bryan Wood

  It was a random Tuesday night when my telephone began to vibrate on the coffee table. I leaned forward just enough to read the caller ID display, “Tony.”

  Tony was a good friend from the police academy, and he and I had become quite close. However, by this point in time I had not talked to him in weeks, and I could not remember the last time we got together. I contemplated not answering, but I went ahead and picked up.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey man, what’s up?” Tony asked.

  “Hey buddy! Not a lot, man. What’s up with you?”

  “Some guys and I are going for wings and beer, want to go?” Tony invited.

  “I’m not sure. I have a lot going on tomorrow. Tonight is kind of tough,” I replied.

  Obviously detecting my answer was half bullshit, Tony said, “No, dude, you’re coming. I’ll come by your place and pick you up at eight.”

  I would be lying if I said I actually wanted to go, but I knew I had not been out in a very long time. I answered, “Ok, sounds cool. I’ll see you then.”

  A group of us met at a local bar that was very popular for its chicken wings. Five of us sat around a crowded table, eating our chicken and talking, with the sauce from our wings on our faces. Another friend, Dave, asked me, “You don’t seem like yourself lately. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been busy lately, and I have a lot on my mind,” I told him.

  “Is it anything I can help you out with?” Dave asked.

  “No, it’s nothing big. Just some stupid shit,” I told him.

  The evening continued on without incident, so I do not really remember much else from that night. The only reason I recall that specific incident is I remember noticing that it was the very first time anyone realized something was wrong. Before that moment, no one had ever asked if I was okay. Maybe I did too good of a job hiding everything to that point, and this was the moment I was not doing such a great job anymore. It could have been that I never did hide anything very well at all, and people were afraid, or felt too awkward, to mention anything. Regardless of the reason, something had obviously changed.

  I had spent so long hiding my feelings behind jokes and laughter, to everyone around me that was eventually the person I had become. The jokes and laughter stopped working, and I had abandoned them. Any enjoyment I was once able to have was constantly being interrupted by feelings of extreme guilt. With the smartass façade no longer working, the truth was beginning to reveal itself.

  As we ate our wings that night, my mind continually flashed back to starving children, images of Kevin’s crippling walk, the thought of a grown man sitting in his urine soaked underwear, and a countless number of other visions of misery. My life had finally reached a point where I enjoyed nothing.

  I had completely distanced myself from everyone and everything. I went to work, and I quietly did my job every night. I would then come home and seclude myself to watching television and eating. I stopped caring about my life, I stopped taking care of myself, and I stopped taking care of my relationships. I grew more and more distant from everyone.

  My marriage was hanging on by a thread, and I think it was only because I had entirely stopped trying. If I continued to try, it would only have been fight after fight, and I had long since abandoned any expectations. I was tired of being told that she was not attracted to me, and I just opted to not hear anything at all.

  For the first time in my life, I found myself alone. I did have people around me, but I had built such a wall around myself, and excluded every person from my life, it was to where I had disconnected from everyone. The exercise equipment in my workout room had not been touched in months, and it showed. My face and body fattened as I filled myself with garbage, and I did little else. The person I used to be was now gone, and I accepted that that this was most likely permanent. I barely recognized the person I had become, inside and out, but I saw no way to change. I saw no way out.

  When I first got back from Afghanistan, America was proud of its troops. American flags flew everywhere, “support the troops” stickers were on every other car, and people were quick to shake hands to thank those who fought. I know that people are still proud, but the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan had steadily lost popularity over time. The death tolls began climbing higher and higher, civilian casualties were becoming unacceptable to many, and the very reasons for both wars were being called into question.

  No matter what the experience of Afghanistan had done to me, I was always proud that I had been there, proud of what I helped accomplish, and proud of what I had been a part of. I never lost that pride. I was there, and I saw firsthand why we needed to be there. Everyone else on the other hand, they were starting to lose that resolve. Handshakes were being replaced by contempt, and support was being replaced by criticism.

  On a random weekend night, I decided to go to a neighborhood restaurant and grab dinner at their bar. The bar, which had a very rustic feel, was in the center of the restaurant. Hardwood planked floors, covered in peanut shells and other debris, gave the restaurant a unique vibe. The bar area was a three sided wraparound bar, with televisions lining the middle. One television was playing a newscast where the anchor announced, “The war in Afghanistan: is it time for America to leave?”

  I ate my steak while watching, and the man sitting next to me said, “That shit’s turning into another Vietnam.”

  I said, “You know, in a lot of ways you’re right.”

  “It’s an unwinnable war, everyone is just being wasted over there,” he declared.

  I asked, “How so?”

  He told me there was no set mission for Afghanistan, and America was fighting blindly. He described a scenario where America was simply responding to each incident, threat by threat, without ever accomplishing a goal. He said, “And that is a waste of our young men.”

  “So you think that ousting one of the most dangerous governments on the planet was a waste?” I asked. I continued, “The Taliban posed the single greatest threat to the American people in the last generation. How is that a waste?”

  He answered, “Sure, anyone would agree that getting rid of the Taliban was needed, but what have we done since then?”

  This guy used the term “we,” as if he was somehow a participant in this. I always got a laugh out of people who refer to a sports team as “we,” when they clearly don’t play for the team. They’ll say, “We won the world series,” as though the person making that claim had anything to do with the victory. I was beginning to assume that this man had nothing to do with any operations in Afghanistan or the Middle East.

  The man continued, “Now we’re fighting with insurgents so we can build schools and hospitals for a country that doesn’t even want us? That’s just stupid. What we need to do is blanket that whole shithole with high explosives, and wipe it off the map.”

  He looked to be in the age range where he possibly served in Vietnam, and because of his earlier reference to Vietnam, I made the assumption he had been a part of that war. I said, “It’s a lot more than that. It’s not so simple sometimes, but I’m sure it was the same way when you were in Vietnam.”

  My assumption turned out to be misguided when he explained he never served. He explained, “No, I wasn’t in Vietnam. I was going to go, but it wasn’t in the cards for me.”

  “Were you ever in the military at all?” I asked.

  He smugly responded, “No, I went to college so I wouldn’t get drafted.”

  “If you went to college to avoid being drafted, why did you just say you were going to go?”

  “Well no, I wasn’t going to go to Vietnam. It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “Then why would you say you were going to go, if you weren’t?” I asked.

  He timidly said, “Look, I’m not looking for a debate or an argument. I was just trying…”

  I interrupted, “You were just trying to dump your bullshit opinions on anyone that would listen!”

  “Excuse me?” />
  I said, “Yes, excuse you. You have no idea who I am, but you’re going to tell me a bunch of shit about America wasting its men in Afghanistan, and the efforts being useless?” I paused for a moment and asked, “What’s my name?”

  He asked, “What do you mean, what’s your name?”

  He and I had not introduced ourselves yet, and we never did. I knew he did not know my name, and I asked again, “What’s my name? It’s a simple question; just tell me my first name.”

  “I don’t know what your name is.”

  I calmly explained, “That’s right, you have no idea what my name is, because you know nothing about me. You have no idea if I’ve seen a woman tortured because she wanted to be treated like a human being. You wouldn’t know if I had to watch a child die because she wanted to go to school. You wouldn’t know. You know nothing about me, but yet you’ll sit next to me and tell me what you consider to be a waste. You wouldn’t know what a waste actually was if it bit you in the ass.”

  He said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you… I’m sorry.”

  He offered to buy me a beer to apologize, and I kindly declined. As he got up from his seat, he said, “I’m just going to move to avoid any awkwardness for you. Again, I’m sorry.”

  That was just one incident of many. It became commonplace to hear people’s opinions on things they knew nothing about. For every one person that would say something positive and kind, two would have diarrhea of the mouth and not know when to shut up.

  This change in ideology naturally caused me to question my own beliefs. I began questioning why we were actually fighting these wars. I wanted to believe that the sacrifices I had made and all that I had given was for something. I wanted to believe it was for something greater than me. I truly needed to know that all of this was not for nothing, and I had made a difference, even if in just some small way, to making someone else’s life better. News reports and conversations of corporations making billions of dollars off of the war steadily replaced reports of schools for girls, food charities, medical facilities, and the hopes of a better life for the Afghan people.

  I struggled with the dilemma of why. Why had I gone to Afghanistan? I thought all along that I really was a part of some greater good, but was it really all for nothing? The conversation with that stranger in the bar replayed itself in my mind, focusing on the thought that this really was a waste. Did I really give up who I was for something that had become nothing more than “a waste?”

  It was one thing to deal with everything on its own, but adding the fact that I was now questioning if it was all for nothing made it unbearable. Up until this point, I was able to hold everything together just enough to keep my world from completely falling apart. I now felt like I was becoming exhausted, and I was unable to hold on any longer. Piece by piece, I had fallen apart, and I was ready to let go. I reached the lowest point I had ever been in my entire life, and I was facing this all alone.

  The Boeing 737 airliner rumbled down the runway, building speed as it pressed forward. The engines roared as the front end lifted off the ground, and the aircraft ascended into the air. After a few moments, I was able to release my death grip from the arm rests, and I wiped my sweaty palms on my lap.

  “Would you like a drink, sir?” the flight attendant asked as she began taking drink orders.

  I always hated flying, and I hoped a drink would take the edge off. I replied, “I’d love a Jack and Coke.”

  I watched out of the window, as America passed by beneath me. Four and a half hours later, the plane landed safely in Las Vegas. I collected my bag and then took a cab to my hotel. I got myself settled in, and I sent a text message which read, “I’m here. Let me know when you’re ready to meet up.”

  Within a minute, Matt responded, “I’ll meet you at the Hard Rock at 5:30, fights start at 6.”

  I flew to Las Vegas to meet with Matt, an old friend, to watch a mixed martial arts event. Matt still lived in Las Vegas, and he always had great connections for tickets to these events. That night’s seats were amazing.

  About halfway through the event, Matt began talking with his friend, Charles, who had joined us for a few minutes. Although I had met Charles through Matt before, he proceeded to introduce me again, “Hey Charles, this is my friend Bryan.”

  Charles said, “Yeah I know Bryan; we’ve met before.” He jokingly continued, “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s you that introduced us the last three times we met.”

  Matt and Charles then talked while I watched the fight, and I was having a great time. For the first time in a long while, I was actually enjoying myself. Matt said he needed to go talk to another friend for a few minutes and he would be back soon. I did not know Charles very well, but I liked him a lot from what I did know. He was a very sociable and engaging person, and he was very respectful. Charles was a physically big guy, but his personality was even larger. He had a certain presence about him that I can only assume is what made him so successful in business and in life. I do not know exactly how to explain it, other than saying he was just a very comfortable person to be around.

  As Matt was leaving, Charles said, “Matt told me you had gone to Afghanistan. I just want to say thank you, and I want you to know that what you did means a lot to me.”

  I thanked Charles, and after talking for a while longer, he said he wanted me to get with him after the fight. He said, “I want to talk to you about something. So grab me before you leave.”

  Charles left, and Matt returned a short time later. We laughed and talked as we continued to watch the rest of the event. As we were leaving, I saw Charles and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, hey man! Follow me,” he said.

  Charles and I walked to a now quiet section of the event center, and we each sat in a seat. Charles said, “I really hope I’m not overstepping any personal boundaries, and I certainly don’t want to disrespect you, but I feel like I need to ask you something.”

  After a brief pause, he continued in a serious tone, “Are you ok?”

  I laughed and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. Why would you ask that?”

  Charles said, “I’ve seen a lot of hurt in my life, and I know what it looks like. There is just something you can see in a person’s eyes. No offense, brother, but I am seeing a lot of it when I look at you. I can’t walk away from that without asking you if you really are ok.”

  I insisted to Charles I was fine, to which he replied, “Really? Who are you trying to convince right now, me or you?”

  The conversation continued on this way for a few minutes, until I told Charles, “Maybe I’m not fine, but trust me, you wouldn’t understand. I don’t think anyone would.”

  At that time, I honestly believed no one could possibly understand anything I was feeling. I think the truth of it was that I was the one who could not understand it. I was the one who was unable to accept the facts as they were. Since I had lost complete control and could not understand or make any kind of sense out of any of this, I assumed no one else possibly could either. Insisting that no one could understand what I was feeling was my last remaining defense mechanism to resist facing the truth of the matter. Everything else had failed, and that was all I had left. I thank God Charles saw through it and pushed me to deal with reality.

  “You know what? You’re probably right when you say I wouldn’t understand, because no matter what it’s from, your hurt is different from my hurt, and hell, it’s all different from that guy’s hurt,” Charles said while pointing to a man walking up a staircase. He continued, “It’s all different, but at the same time, hurt is hurt. Now, if you don’t want to talk to me, you can just tell me to kiss your ass and we’ll go our separate ways. I’ll hold nothing against you, but if you want to talk, I’ll be the first person in the world to listen. I won’t judge you, I won’t say a word, and I’ll just listen.”

  I said, “Look, you are right. I have a shitload of stuff I would love to let go of, but I don’t know how. I don’t eve
n know where to begin. It’s all very hard to talk about.”

  Charles told me he understood. He said, “I know it’s hard to open up about something, but it’s the first step to letting go. Hiding from pain only allows it to grow stronger and stronger. It’s like a beast that feeds off of you. It feeds off of you until you actually become the beast.”

  I asked, “Why are you so concerned about me?” I continued, “Believe me, I’m not trying to be rude, but why do you care so much?”

  “Because, I learned something a long time ago: if you try to do only for yourself, you’ll only get so far in life. If you reach out to touch other people, you can fix your own soul and move further than you can ever imagine.”

  Charles then told me a story which brought tears to my eyes. I will never repeat what he told me, but I understood at that point why he was so interested to help me. For the first time in three years, I opened up about everything. I barely knew Charles, but I told him everything I had seen, everything I had felt, and everything I continued to struggle through. I bared my soul, and I told everything to someone who was almost a complete stranger.

  As I spoke, Charles barely said a word. He listened intently and offered the occasional head nod to indicate he was following along with the conversation. When I finished I told him, “And now, I don’t know what to do next. I feel like none of this is ever going to go away. It just gets worse and worse.”

  The advice I was given next changed my life forever.

  Charles asked, “Are you angry?”

  I answered quite certainly, “No.”

  He said, “I think you are.”

  “I am? What am I angry about?”

  He answered, “You need to figure that out yourself. Hurt, sorrow, sadness, all that shit is easy to let go of. It fades in time on its own. When we lose someone we love, we miss them and it hurts terribly, but it fades. We move forward in life. Anger on the other hand, is like an anchor. It doesn’t let you move forward, it holds you right there in one spot. No matter how hard life tries to move you forward, anger keeps you trapped.”