Tony-Man vs September 11, 2001

Some wounds will never fully heal...

It is strange to think that it's only been 12 years, but at the same time, I can't believe it's been 12 years.  And just like the turd that's floating in someone's punch bowl at a fancy gala, everyone's talking about it.  I; too, despite my willingness to set it aside and concentrate on now, feel obligated to say my piece about that day.

I was a senior in high school.  And back in those days, I was still mostly unaffected by the cynicism of the world.  I was a happier person, and I lived my life because I loved my life.  Sure, I had my problems, I had my issues (because what High School Senior doesn't?), but I like many people at that age were still relatively untouched by the evils and horrors of this world.  And then the day came that changed the world, certainly not least: me.

On that day, I lost someone special to me.  I lost my then-girlfriend in the midst of explosions, falling debris, panic, smoke, confusion and terror.  I wasn't even sure what to think... I went numb.  I went cold.  I lost all sense of myself, and I'm sure that was the day the Tony-Man that I knew and admired disappeared.  Yes, America lost something that day, but I didn't even care about the bigger implications.  I didn't know how this event would fundamentally change who I was.  And for roughly a year and a half, I was on mostly autopilot.  For a year and a half, I didn't laugh, or cry, or get angry, and I began to lose my sense of self.  I stopped being social, I stopped trying to be everyone's friend, I felt a rift between myself and the world.  Because she was just that special.  When I finally felt like I could feel emotions again, I joined the Army.

I kept telling myself, that I was joining the Army, because I wanted to protect my friends, I wanted to protect my family, I wanted to do something worthwhile for my life.  I wanted to believe I was doing something noble, but really when you take away all the bullshit... I simply wanted... revenge.  I learned just how powerful my sense of vengeance was.  I was an ugly, ugly person inside.  And I wanted it in the name of self-righteousness.  I got to do something about it.  It wouldn't be long until I got my chance.

Because I got my chance to exact some sort of measure of revenge, I became darker, I became more morbid, I became something I had once hated.  It's a little funny now the contrast between what my aspirations were, and what I had compromised myself into even to this very day.  War changes a person.  Fighting in combat does things to a person.  Shooting a mother in front of her son, is not exactly a picnic.  Neither were other combat situations I found myself in.  I told myself that I hated to do it, sometimes even now I force myself to believe it... but at the time, such deaths felt... well, not good per say, but satisfying.  I felt justified.
 

I walked the city lonely,
memories that haunt will pass me by.
A murderer walked your streets tonight
Forgive me for my crimes
 

Don't forget that I was so young,
Paths so scared, and remember God
And country...

Only... I had my doubts that God was there.  Maybe, but if he was I didn't know it.  All I knew was that I had traded my humanity for revenge, and now I wonder if indeed I will ever fully reclaim it.  To be honest, I wonder if I truly ever had it to begin with.  September 11, 2001 was in some ways, the day that I died.  It's been twelve years now, and all I really want is for my nightmares to go away.  To find peace with myself.  To know that I am a good human being, a fine upstanding man, and someone that others could find love with.  Since that day, I've been a broken mess.  Even in the days when I thought I had all of my shit together, inside I'm a complete and horrid mess.  The worst part... is that I'm self-aware of my tragedy.  I may not have been literal, but I count myself as one of the unspoken casualties of that day.

Never forget.  And, I am not a hero...