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.