Being at War

I am really not sure when the war started. Maybe wars are always and inevitable. Maybe they’re necessary. They do inspire songs. Billy Joel, ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire.’ Edwin Star, “War, What’s It Good For.’ And books: ‘Johnny Got His Gun,” Dalton Trumbo. There are probably a dozen artifacts that discuss the dangers, give us warnings, antagonize us, or flat our invite us to participate. Maybe I am just weary. That seems like a good distinction, it’s not just sadness, or being tired, alone. Maybe it is me being melancholy. Maybe its me desiring an adult in a world where there seems to be no adults.

Maybe humans can’t exist without war. I have been at war a long time. I was in thick of it since birth. I fought illnesses. I have delayed death, but he’ll win the war. Apparently, he will take my family and friends first. I railed against substance abuse. I lost that war. I fought against generational family violence. I lost that. I got the crap beat out of me. At the time, I wasn’t aware generational sexual abuse was a thing. I was fairly isolated. That happens in wars. People get isolated. Then they get abuse. If they’re lucky, they get away. But most become life time prisoners of war- even after they get away.

Much of my fantasy escapes came in the form of music and movies. They’re no longer a refuge. Maybe they never were. I was less discriminating in the past. I would watch anything. I liked what I liked, and usually what I liked had something of merit. It had something that transcended my cultural reference point and helped me to see there was something else…