Veterans Day reflection is that survivor's guilt 

A Reflection on Trauma, Trust, and the Search for Connection

In moments of profound solitude, when trust in others has completely eroded, one is left with the raw need to articulate the thoughts that torment the mind. This is the context of my current reflection: an attempt to organize the internal disturbance that has defined my life, recorded only for my own phone. Today, Veterans Day, serves as an ironic and painful catalyst for this self-examination.

The well-meaning but hollow phrase, “Happy Veterans Day,” is a dissonance that cuts deep. There is nothing inherently happy about war, nor its lingering consequences. For me, military service was a deliberate, if subconscious, pursuit of a cause equal to the chaos I already felt. A disturbing childhood was not a sufficiently “cool” reason for being “extremely screwed up,” but being a combat veteran, I reasoned, offered a socially acceptable justification for profound internal disturbance.

The root of this lifelong disturbance is a devastating sense of being unloved. This deficiency, originating in a childhood with absent or neglectful paternal figures, has instilled a universal distrust. If those closest to me—family and former spouse—have failed to provide love, it forces a troubling doubt about the very existence of love in the universe. This deficiency is compounded by the unbearable weight of survivor's guilt. I survived a war I almost wished not to, while good people who were loved by their families perished. Veterans Day is a recurring reminder of this heavy, undeserved burden.

This combination of deep psychological disability, trauma from war, and a core deficit of trust makes the prospect of finding future love impossible. I am functionally incapable of the vulnerability required for a loving, long-term relationship. I live in an emotional fortress, where distrust of everyone but my children is the governing law, even preferring a state of abusive co-dependence over utter, permanent loneliness.

My greatest source of pain lies in the failure to break the cycle of generational trauma. I inherited neglect from fathers who failed me, and I vowed to correct their mistakes in my own family. That vow became the driving force behind my desire to be an attentive, loving, and unconditionally caring parent. Yet, despite my best efforts—including enduring an unhappy marriage for the sake of my stepchildren—the family unit disintegrated. This separation from my children and the denial of the simple privilege of being a present husband and father feels like an epic failure, especially knowing my capacity for intense, albeit disturbed, devotion.

The failure to find connection is mirrored in my interactions with my extended family and my personal journey through faith. My family’s emotional distance and lack of engagement leave me feeling disrespected and unworthy. This neglect is magnified by the hypocrisy I perceive in self-professed devout family members. My own deep study of theology and philosophy led me away from the Christian faith I once held. While I yearn for the comfort of a divine creator and lean toward agnosticism out of a wish for God's reality, I cannot logically reconcile that desire with the recognition of how manipulative and cult-like religion can become for some.

Ultimately, my life is shaped by a confluence of poor genetic and epigenetic luck—a brain that has "never worked correctly" due to environmental factors like abuse and confusion—and the crushing weight of military trauma. Today, on Veterans Day, I am forced to confront the wreckage: the lack of love, the unbearable guilt, the crushing isolation, and the devastating realization that I am still living with the consequences of a terrible, unguided beginning. This is the messy, unhappy reality of my present.

I have a couple of thoughts I need to say, and I have nobody I trust. I have nobody to talk to. I have no family that seems to care about me. So, I am speaking aloud to my phone to get these thoughts out.

It's Veterans Day. A couple of people told me "Happy Veterans Day," which is a strange thing to say because, frankly, there is absolutely nothing happy about war or veterans. It’s a weird thing to say—like, "Hey, happy going to war." I felt I had to go to war. I was so disturbed that I needed a good reason to be that disturbed. A bad childhood just isn't a cool enough reason. At least being a war veteran is a good reason for being extremely screwed up.

God damn it. My biggest problem is I don't feel loved. I don't feel like anyone has ever loved me. Nobody. Not my ex-wife, not my family. I don't feel loved by them, or by anybody, which makes me doubt the very existence of love in the universe. That’s truly troubling.

My Veterans Day reflection is that survivor's guilt is an awfully heavy thing. I have survivor’s guilt for surviving the war. I almost didn't want to survive. There were many other good people who wanted to survive, who had families that loved them, and they did not survive. It’s an unbearable guilt, and it's hard to deal with. I’m constantly reminded of that on Veterans Day.

I say I never felt love in my life, and of course, a part of me says that it’s not too late. I'm still alive. The problem I see with that is I am so significantly disturbed and disabled that I can't see myself pursuing any kind of relationship with anybody, let alone a loving, trusting, long-term relationship. It just doesn't seem feasible. It's also very unlikely that I would ever put myself in a situation where I could be vulnerable and trust anybody, because I don't trust anybody in the entire world. I actually walk around my apartment saying to myself, I hate everybody in the entire world, with the only exception being my children—my stepchildren, whom I call my children.

Which brings me to perhaps the thing that is troubling me the absolute most. I didn't have very good parents. They didn't make me feel loved, and they’re why I don't trust anybody. I had a dad and a stepdad, and they were both, frankly, rather lousy in their own ways. Like a lot of good people, I vowed to myself that if I ever had children, I would correct the mistakes my parents made.

My dad and my stepdad—neither of them wanted me at all; that much is extremely clear. Neither of them invested in me or gave me guidance in any way, which, of course, led me down a completely unguided path. That path led me to going to war, which resulted in survivor's guilt, feeling unloved, and the unbearable sadness of not having a family of my own, not living with my own children, and not being able to teach them.

I loved my stepkids so much that I was willing to stay in an awful marriage for their sake for a couple more years until they graduated high school. My ex-wife was unfortunately just as broken as I was, and it ended up being a complete mess. It feels like such an epic failure on my part not to have had the joy and privilege of having a wife and children, like most people get to have.

Even though I’m incredibly disturbed and extremely disabled, the one thing I can do is be extremely attentive, loving, and caring. I wanted children because I wanted, first, to give them incredible, unconditional love that I never got myself. I am actually incredibly intelligent—book-smart—but I have never had good common sense or street skills. I’m so easily taken advantage of. How did I get to a place in my life where I allow people to abuse me, yet that is somehow more preferable than being utterly alone forever? I don't know what’s worse, but here I am.

I am extremely unfortunate to have had a rather terrible family. They don't make me feel loved or respected; I don't think they treat me with dignity or respect. Whatever they did to me when I was young messed me up something wild, and I’m living with the consequences of that.

My mom called me today to say "Happy Veterans Day" and, I think, invite me out to lunch. When she called, I was in a rather frantic state of distress, which is a common thing for me. I have bipolar disorder, which is not genetic but epigenetic—something that happens as a result of environmental factors such as extreme abuse or confusion. My brain has never worked correctly because of—I don't particularly want to blame anybody—but my parents failed me. Both my dad and my stepdad neither love me nor care about me, nor do they visit me or gave me any guidance growing up. The funny thing is, they both blame their dads for not being good fathers. What a way to pass on generational trauma to me, which, of course, I had vowed I would correct. I’m just so devastated that I don't have children, and I’m so messed up now, I probably will never have a normal relationship again.

My mom called me, and I didn't answer the phone as I was freaked out. My first thought was, "What is it? It must be a trap." Why is she calling me? She knows my stepdad has forbidden me from talking to my mom when I am manic, depressed, or have any problems whatsoever—just don't talk to her. He called me about a year ago and told me that, and it's completely ruined my honest relationship with my mom. Now she calls me, and if I don't feel good, I feel like it's some sort of trap, which is obviously twisted thinking on my part.

Nobody in my family cares about me at all, it feels like. None of them visit me, none of them call me, none of them check on me. I’m the only veteran in the family, and at least I’m an honorable veteran, but none of them care. My sister and her husband are both self-professed devout Christians, which I thought I could rely on for some family support, but they have turned out to be almost the worst of all. My sister completely flat-out dislikes me. She doesn't say that specifically, but she doesn't like a single thought I have or anything I have to say. She thinks I have no value whatsoever.

But boy, is she self-righteous going to church every week, which doesn’t make sense to me. I would think Christians are commanded by God to reach out to the "least of us" and the people that need the help the most. You would think that they could skip church maybe one Sunday to visit me for charity—consider it charity. But they both have, I think, fallen under the manipulative spell of religion. They’ve made it a cult themselves. They treat their church like a cult—almost despising everybody that doesn't go to church, which I recently told them I have become agnostic.

As a studier of philosophy, and having intensely studied theology—I was a Christian for ten years, and my ex-wife was a devout Christian—Christians have turned out to be some of the worst people I have ever encountered in my life. So, on my own personal journey, I’ve just lost faith that there is God. I don't believe that God is real. Yet, I’m not an atheist; I don’t know that. That is why I call myself agnostic. Being a believer or an atheist is both presumptuous. Nobody knows, which is why agnostic is the correct answer. I lean towards agnostic because I want God to be real. I just unfortunately recognize how manipulative religion is, and I understand why people turn it into a cult. It feels good to have an ultimate creator looking out for your life, having a purpose, and having all your enemies burn in hell—people love that stuff. Unfortunately, I recognize as a logical person that something like prayer is wishful thinking at best. Any logical person knows that speaking words or thinking thoughts has absolutely no impact whatsoever on the environment through some sort of divine power. It’s either a coincidence or you’ve got bad luck.

Anyways, my point is, I'm a mess and I’m really unhappy. It’s rough.