Braiden Burton
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We Keep Dying. Content Warning.
The Warrior’s Affliction: Confronting Military-Related Suicide If you’re watching a war movie and cringe at the scripted shout of “Half right! Face!” or subconsciously rub the scars on the backs of your ankles after removing your socks - you know military life. If, on command, you can sense the bitter smell of black powder wafting in your face after a round fired, or constantly tolerate the ringing in your ears, you know what it’s like to be in the fight. You know what it’s like to be days out from your last shower, battered and injured, and unable to remember the last time you slept or put any hot food into your system. When finally finding a minute or two to sit during the brief “pauses” between the moments of high-octane and demanding action, you know what’s it like to daydream about home - and to count the days upon which you will return, and finally be away from that goddamned fight. Yet, many transition from military to civilian life to the dismaying realization that, within themselves, they are still in the fight. That they will always be in the fight. Upon finally coming home to that gravy train in which they had so longed for, they learn that the fight never ends, and some hurts never heal. Home is “different”. Loved ones that they used to know so well say that they are “different”. They visit the same places, and see the same faces, but nothing feels right. Everything is just “different”. Tragically, among active duty and veterans across all branches, sometimes they feel that there is only one means to an end. Maybe they feel useless. Maybe they feel trapped. Maybe they feel ashamed, or guilty of what they’ve become. Or maybe they’re just tired – to the bone and to the soul. They become a statistic in one of the worst data trends and research studies in the nation: suicide.
By Braiden Burton5 months ago in Journal
To Feel
The noise of desperate shuffling filled the dusty, old chamber before being replaced by the unforgiving sound of flesh smacking flesh: a hard slap to the face. Wet grunts and groans were forced from behind the clenched teeth of two men locked in combat. The battle had shifted to the ground, one man’s hands wrapped decisively around the throat of the other. Bald, and colorless, he cringed as he watched his victim’s face turn red, his eyes bulging in fear. Sweat and spit dripped on the dusty concrete floor, the combatants locked in place, the loser flailing his arms and legs as death approached him.
By Braiden Burton5 years ago in Futurism
