Trench Talk by Heather Rummel

The very first time I ever logged onto to Trench Talk, I was very nervous and scared.  I didn’t know exactly what to expect or what to say.  I was nervous about talking about myself, but I knew that I needed to talk to someone, anyone that might understand why I was feeling so blue.

 

I was welcomed into the conversation with open arms.  There were no questions about my husband’s rank, unit or job.  The ladies on TT only cared to talk to ME.  It was just the thing I needed when we were in the thick of our first deployment and I was struggling emotionally.  We talked about fun stuff, deep stuff, news stuff, any kind of stuff that was on our minds.  There was never any set agenda, but there was a friendly voice welcoming me into the fold.

From then on every Thursday night was set aside just for me.  The kids went to bed a few minutes earlier so I could log on and have time just to chat and it made me a better mom, wife, person to take that hour or so just for me.  My kids discovered that I was much better by taking this time for me and encourage me to get online every Thursday night because night was often the hardest for me.  It’s when the quiet of the night would seep inside my head and root the dark thoughts.  It’s when I would remember him, miss him, long for him and cry.  Talking to other ladies that have been there before and know those feelings without me having to explain the ins and outs of military life takes a load off my shoulders and eases my heart.

Even when my husband returned and I started to not log on to TT as often, he could see the difference it made and he pushed me to continue talking.  He saw the value of me being able to get together with other wives/significant others and how much it helped me with the stresses that come with being a military wife.    I would love you to join me for some ‘coffee talk’ (said in my best SNL voice) on Thursday nights (or Tuesday mornings).

Trench Talk

• Trench Talk is run by military spouses for military spouses. If you are looking for friends, need to vent or just want to connect with other spouses, join Trench Talk.

• Tuesdays, 11:00am CST and Thursdays, 7:30pm CST

• Click here to join (The password is "trenchtalk")

Under the Influence

By Andrew R. Jones

A man can have the greatest support group in the world. But what good is that support group if the man won’t reach out to it. 

I want to be mad but at the same time I want to give in and understand this is his choice in life. 

I don’t make his choices. 

He does. 

But is this a well informed decision? 

Was he clear headed enough to make this decision on his own? 

He just told me several months ago that he was doing great. He told me this as he was helping me get through a hard time. 

Did my questions make his situation worse for him? 

Did it bring on guilt and the thoughts of whether or not he made the right decision? 

Maybe it’s a slow sadistic form of suicide? 

Could he have those thoughts? 

Wanting to die, but wanting to die painfully, slowly? 

Pussies take a shotgun to their head. 

Real men make it hurt. 

They suffer. 

They witness the destruction of their suicide as it happens.

Can a man be that sick? 

Maybe this isn’t what he wanted. 

Like the man who jumps from a skyscraper and realizes half way down it was a shitty decision. Too late. 

But this is much slower.

We drink to numb the pain. 

To make the pain go away, even just for a moment. 

But it always comes back. 

It lets you take your moment of solace and it watches with a grin on its face. 

Knowing it will be back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. 

It laughs at your every attempt to get rid of it. 

It’s always there. 

Always a part of you.

I hate you.

But you’ve done so much for me.

A punk kid turned into a Warrior.

You filled my head with thoughts of glory.

Thoughts of killing and how wonderful it is

But it’s not.

It’s gruesome.

It’s tiresome.

It weighs on the mind.

It weighs on the soul.

You didn’t promise me a rose garden.

You said it would be Hell.

But I had no idea what awaited me.

When you brought me out of my shell.

Everything you glorify,

Is everything that kills me now.

We were born in a bar and we drink to celebrate.

We scream kill and believe blood makes the grass grow.

What does that even mean?

Things that make grass grow should be beautiful.

Blood is not beautiful.

It is horrific.

I spent many days intoxicated in a war zone.

Thought it was a good thing.

Took the edge off.

Got me through the patrol and helped me sleep at night.

The Marine Corps is an obsession.

Worse than any obsession of love a man could feel for a woman

It continues to take from us.

It continues to feed off of us.

And expects us to keep on giving.

To keep on sacrificing in its name.

But what do we get back from it?

A title?

A reputation?

Stories?

Memories?

It makes us think these are good things.

But in our society they are discouraged against.

Everything we are taught to love.

Everything we are taught to do.

Is discouraged in the society we are taught to do it for.

They hate us when we show them who we are.

They want us to fight for them and to kill for them.

But they can’t stand who we are or what we do.

I hate you with the energy of a hundred suns.

But I love you with the passion of a hundred and one.

I gave you my life.

Andrew Jones is a student at Glendale Community College and plans to transfer to Arizona State University to pursue a Masters Degree in Creative Writing. He obtained his first publication with Drunken Absurdity and has also been published in Outrageous Fortune, The Traveler and Canyon Voices Literary Magazines. He is a Marine Corps Combat Veteran of the Iraq War and uses writing as his weapon to battle Post Traumatic Stress. He currently resides in Phoenix, AZ with his girlfriend and two boys and hopes writing will lead him to finding peace while helping others along the way.

Visit Andrew's Facebook Page here.