B. Balek

I kept a journal in Iraq. It was, for the most part an easy way to release my emotions and keep track of events. As I’ve gotten older, reading over the journal entries has been both therapeutic in the sense that I can reflect on the absolute shittiness that consumed my early 20’s and be thankful that the day I am reading the journal isn’t the day I was writing it. Painful in the sense that it brings up vivid snapshots of things I’ve worked hard to lock away in the recesses of the darkest areas of my memory boxes. This book is very reminiscent of my journal from Fallujah, same size, same kind of strap on the front. It’s nostalgic, but right now I don’t fear any of the emotions affiliated with previewing my old memories. Why? I’m still thinking about the shark that I fought so hard to catch today. I was consumed by the moment…still am. Hooked a shark, lost it. Hooked a second one, lost it. Got pissed off. Hooked a third one and was not going to let it get away. Fought it slow, fought it smart, let it take line, tire it out, when it’s tired, real like hell and pull the rod tip up, repeat. Well, I landed that bastard, I was elated. Sat down, took a breath and reflected on the fight. Sometimes you lose when you try, sometimes you lose when you try a second time, life sucks, you can quit. Some people can’t cope with problems. I have issues sometimes. Withdrawal is my biggest vice when it comes to facing situations I’d rather not be in. I figure since I’ve already been in the shittiest situations I’ll probably ever be in. Since I’ve proved I can handle tough situations. The problem with that is that I want to solve problems but am sometimes scared to completely commit to them. Throwing a line in the water for a 3rd time for a shark isn’t a big deal but I didn’t want to lose another one, so I admit I was scared of loss. Turns out things can work out pretty well, even if you do take a couple losses along the way.
I feel alone quite a bit with trying to relate to people in the civilian world who haven’t witnessed, let alone, participated in the horrors of war. I block people out. The fear of opening up and not being able to relate to others is a natural fear. But compounding combat and the things I have seen makes me all the more pissed off or unreasonable. Last night I took a chance threw a line in the water and opened up to Brad Boisen. He isn’t a combat vet, he isn’t a psychologist, he’s a chiropractor, a dad, a husband, a fisherman and a good person. I’ve told him things I haven’t told my parents, it was therapeutic. He listened and conversed without making me feel like a leper.
I’ve been emotionally closed off about combat trivia for over a decade. If anyone asks me about this I politely decline to share because I feel like they are either asking because they are just making conversation and don’t really want to get into a discussion or I don’t really like that that person would need to hold onto those images for the rest of their lives. I feel like those shitty memories are my burden to bear so no one else has to. This weekend was an excellent exercise in taking a chance in opening up to a stranger, to alleviate a burden that drags me down on a daily basis. I haven’t cried in 11 years and broke down this much. While holding Brad’s dog Vonnie, watching the waves roll in, I let go of my burden. This self-imposed, stupid thing I carry. I hugged the dog, released my tears and felt pure.
This trip was unreal. The Boisen’s were the best hosts I could have imagined. Excellent, every moment.