The Suicide Bomber · 12:15am Nov 13th, 2012
Hey folks,
Art has long been known to offer therapeutic benefits to people -- soldiers or not -- trying to overcome traumatic experiences. The Egyptians believed (as this article details) that writing words on papyrus, soaking them in liquid, and then ingesting them would allow a sufferer to overcome their trauma.
Today the military uses art therapy to reveal the hidden wounds of war, and by revealing them acknowledge their pain and begin the healing process. Painting, writing, poetry; they all work. They all engage the creative side of our minds, which is often the first part crushed and rejected when the bombs start going off.
I'm fortunate. Despite nearly three years in Iraq or Afghanistan, I've never had any trouble with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Like all of us who have been in combat, though, I do feel stress. That's a normal, human reaction. As we've learned over a decade of war, these strains are cumulative, and when the coping mechanisms aren't enough, bad things like PTSD begin to appear in the force. Like everyone I do feel those strains, and I have to find ways to re-balance.
Exercise helps. Lots and lots of exercise. Also, as you've probably guessed, I write.
Let's think about how odd that is for just a moment. This website and the wonderful community it has engendered actually helps a soldier get through a war. And I know I'm not the only one. Being a part of this community has helped me more than all the silly wellness videos the military makes us watch. Thanks, guys. You all rock.
So the next time you're tempted to feel silly for liking a children's show about magical pastel ponies, take a moment to remember that art -- in all its forms -- is a force for good in the world.
* * *
So, about that title. What the heck, Gardez?
One of the things that's bothered me lately about war is how suddenly death can come for the wrong people. I realize that's not an original concern – in fact, it's one of the most common. It's hard not to feel sympathetic for the civilians caught in the crossfire.
There's another side to this concern, though. War also injures the people who do the killing. It took me years to realize it, but taking another life – even in combat – is a damaging thing. The soldiers who are so excited to get into the fight and get a confirmed kill are usually the young and inexperienced ones. They aren't mature enough to realize this yet. Hell, I'm barely mature enough.
Anyway, all this leads to my latest story, The Carnivore's Prayer, which touches on some of these issues. If you're curious about the first time I actually confronted them in real life, read on. Consider this a short bit of writing therapy.
*
May 1, 2007
The first suicide bomber my team encountered was fairly bad at his job. In hindsight, this makes sense – you probably don't send your best people out on missions you know will get them killed. You send the people who are expendable and have no other useful skills.
We were a few minutes late to the bombing. Instead of targeting us, the bomber attacked a group of Afghan police who spotted him from some distance away and started shooting. He blew himself up in the middle of the road at least 50 yards from their position. The police were just fine; startled, I would imagine, but otherwise fine.
By the time we arrived, the police had already set up a rough cordon and were keeping everyone else away. Our arrival was completely by accident. We'd spent the day at a government radio station up north and were driving back to Gardez when – surprise! – suicide bomber. The police were thrilled to see us and immediately turned things over to the convoy commander.
I was the only person on the team with a camera, and I got to work documenting the site. It was the first time I'd ever seen a dead body outside of a funeral home.
Calling what we saw a body is, perhaps, being overly generous. Body implies some sort of cohesion. An entire, whole thing. There was little left to fit that description.
The weathered gray road where the bomber stood was scorched black. Tiny pits scarred the road where shrapnel struck hard enough to leave a mark. Those same marks were still there when we left a year later. They're probably still there today.
A foot or so out from these scars, streaks began to appear. Like rays emerging from the sun, thin lines of scorched blood and liquified flesh painted straight reddish-black bands on the road, all of them pointing to where he had detonated the explosives. Some faded after a few feet – others ran all the way across the road.
Interesting fact about suicide bombers – the legs and head almost always survive. This one's legs were lying about ten feet away in reasonably good condition. The clothes and shoes had been blown off, but they were still recognizably legs. A policeman was picking one of them up by a toe when I started taking pictures – I gestured at him to put it down. For some reason, I thought the legs' position might be some kind of evidence, like in CSI or Law and Order. “Hmm, the leg landed 3.5 meters away with the toes pointing 254 degrees. The bomb maker was clearly of foreign origin and will strike again in 24 hours.” Something like that. Be kind, I was new.
The head was a little further away. Perhaps it rolled? I don't know. Again, it was in pretty good shape, except for the fact that it was a severed head. The bomber's mouth was open, and some of his teeth were chipped. I got as many pictures of his face as I could.
I should mention that we received some extremely good training before heading to Afghanistan. Our training could not, however, cover every conceivable situation. How to clean up after a suicide bomber was one of the situations we missed. We started discussing it, and at some point I mentioned that we should try to find the bomber's fingers. Because, you know, fingerprints.
In retrospect, there was absolutely no chance we were going to find this guy's fingers. Parts of him were spread over hundreds of yards. There were literally dozens of acres of grassy fields and farmland to search. But when you're in a stressful situation, like picking up after a suicide bomber, you tend to cling to any plan that makes sense. For some reason, fingerprints made sense to us.
So we started looking for the bomber's fingers. I teamed up with one of our medics, and we began walking around. We never found any fingers. We did find some other things – about a hundred feet away we found part of his shirt wrapped around a bush. There were no fingers in it, so we moved on.
Hundreds of feet in another direction, we found a shapeless hunk of pale flesh stuck in a tree over our heads. We stared at it for a while, completely baffled, until the medic finally said, “Oh, it's a spine.”
I stared at it a bit longer. It looked nothing like a spine to me. Just a tattered mass of pink and gore.
Around that point the futility of our search sank in, and we walked back to the convoy. They'd packed up the body parts, and we returned to Gardez. Our mood was good – a dumb suicide bomber had killed himself, and no good guys got hurt. Score one for our team.
It wasn't until almost an hour later that I got called to the clinic. While we were picking up after the bomber, an eight-year-old child had been brought to our FOB. He was playing with his friends on the road near the police when the bomber blew up, and a single ball bearing struck his skull just behind and below his ear.
The docs had to point out the injury for me. The rest of his body was completely unharmed. He looked like he was asleep, except for the tiny hole hidden beneath his short hair.
It was probably the worst place to get hit by a ball bearing. The ball cut right across his brain stem, then bounced around inside his skull for good measure. Death was most likely instantaneous. His uncle brought him to our FOB because, like many Afghans, he had an outsized belief in the power of our medicine. We can fix anything.
We can't. We couldn't fix him. Dead is dead is dead.
Looking back, what’s most extraordinary to me was how little I felt. Before that day I had never seen a dead body outside of a casket; by the day’s end I had helped pick up the pieces of one body and found a naked child lying dead on our clinic table. Yet all through it was a sense, never vocalized but ever present, of being cool and professional and emotionless. No one wanted to show any sort of weakness, especially so early in our deployment.
I’d like to say it was hard, that it was difficult to suppress the horror and sadness that humans are supposed to feel in such situations. I’d like to say that, but I’d be lying – it wasn’t just easy, it was effortless. I remember laughing with our squad leader at some joke he made about needing gloves. Years passed before it even occurred to me that there was something deeply wrong about how we felt that day.
It was already dark when we returned the boy to his family, so he was buried the next day. I don't know when or if or how the suicide bomber's remains were ever buried.
Like I said, there wasn't much of a body.
Aw, dude, that sucks.
Stating your name makes sense to me now seems like something stupid to say, but, still... Might as well try and restore normalcy...
I'm glad you are doing well, though.
NOW BACK TO WRITING~!
*whip, crack*
Dude, my respects for you and all other soldiers of any rank. There's too much to say besides what some simple, written words of gratitude can make justice to, but, for what it's worth we really appreciate what you do. I'm glad that writing has helped you through all you're going through, and that we as a community can help in some way. That's a very powerful story, even for a non-combatant like myself, who can only get a portion of what it truly means to see that.
Again, thanks for sharing, and glad you're part of our community. Stay safe, bro.
Wow, that was pretty deep. I'll be sure to check this story out.
I was told that I won't deploy for a while but you never know.
Honestly, I'm kinda neutral about it right now. If I go, I go. If I stay, I stay.
I really don't know what to make of it at this point.
I just got out of tech school about two months ago and I'm only an A1C so I really don't know anything yet. Can't really give good input to this or an experience or nothing like that.
But the general idea I grasp, or at least I think I do.
The media and whoever else gives so many misconceptions about war to the public nowadays, and because of that many don't understand what really goes on...myself included.
It was a good thing that you brought this into light for everyone to see. So that those that don't understand will or are at least exposed to it, and those that already do are reminded that they are not alone or forgotten.
Like I said, I'm just a dumb, young Airman who doesn't know much, so you can disregard my comment if you'd like. Just thought that I was obligated to leave a response of some kind. I don't know why honestly.
Ok, enough of my useless rambling.
Thanks for sharing this Sir!
Silver out!
Wow... thank you for sharing that even though it probably was't easy. And above all, thanks for serving in the military. I'm glad that you've been able to use writing and MLP to... recover I guess? Sorry, I'm not quite sure what to say so thanks in general for everything.
I haven't read The Carnivore's Prayer yet. I wonder about how war experiences influence writing. Writers I love, such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, were soldiers too once. Do you usually try to integrate something of your experiences in your stories or is writing usually more of escapism for you?
[Sorry if my comment's a bit colorless after that story. I was just thinking, trying to imagine what those two lives might have been. It's heartbreaking. Your comment about war injuring those who do the killing is something I see a lot of truth in.]
This reminded me of Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried.
I'm not really sure that there's anything that can be said in response to your story. I'm not sure anything would do it justice ever.
Gripping.
I'm glad to know that all of this pony silliness can help people cope with the horrors and traumas of our complex world.
237884
I definitely think it's worth deploying. As much as war may suck, we are accomplishing good things over here. I have volunteered for every one of my deployments and I feel that every one has made a positive difference in this country or Iraq.
Whatever you end up doing, best of luck.
I wish I could Favorite blog posts.
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Thank you sir!
Do you have any other advice for a new Airman?
I'll take anything you can give me.
Silver out!
Wow.
Well, damn.
That was... wow.
Uh...
Wow.
Gritty and real. Painful. Enlightening. Thank you for sharing this with us.
You know, though I may read this blog a hundred times over, I'll never know what it was like to be there and experience all of that--but that's the point, isn't it? You're over there so I don't have to be--you witness the hell, you fight and you endure things no one should so that others never will. You guys keep my ass safe and sound over here. I could never say this enough, but thank you. You have my highest respect man--I'm praying for ya, and I'm glad you have ways to cope with that crud. I tell ya, I'm proud to call myself an American, if only because of the brave and courageous soldiers we have fighting for us.
Here, have a Fluttershy!
Like 237963 put it -- I'll never be able to comprehend your experiences.
But trying to is sure having an impact on me.
I just... Wow.
That's pretty grim, but thank you for sharing this.
I've seen death before. It's not always this gruesome, but it is seldom dignified. At any rate, dead bodies, or pieces thereof, are not actively going to harm you, save the sheer sight of them. That said, use a barrier. You don't know where he's been. Just gather the pieces with minimal risk to self, and let someone else deal with it from there.
I'm on a federal grand jury; which includes murder cases. I've seen two autopsy reports so far. I am the second youngest (22) member, but I get the feeling that I was one of the few who actually viewed them all the way through. Yes, seeing an empty cranium and a torn heart affected me, but regardless I ate my lunch an hour later. I am about as seasoned as middle-class person in the US, who lived a reasonable life, can be to that sort of thing. I watched most of my family die one by one through the years, and several others. I think I should make a list sometime, as I can't remember them all at once. At any rate, when people die, I know to keep a stiff upper lip and do what needs to be done.
Seeing some idiot blow himself up in front of me like happened to you would be a shock, but I wouldn't care much in the long run. Seeing people I am close to die, myself being powerless to stop it, would bother me far more. It has, and always will, but I've learned to it well, which is a skill I wish I didn't need.
I too intend to put my experiences in my stories, eventually. I fear the server may fail before I get the chance. Thankfully, I have other accounts. I especially like the civilized savagery in A Separate Peace. It examines the reasons for conflict and death in our world.
And that kid with the torn heart i mentioned? He was a kid, in some one-horse gang. He was shot with a small caliber pistol, I'm guessing it deflected a bit off a rib, and straight into his heart - I mean right in the middle! Left a hole with petals tearing out radially. From external appearances, despite some blood, I expect he'd look mostly normal. Of course, in this case, there was all kinds of paper work - and transcripts, oh, the transcripts! Out there, it's the wild west. Guns are the great equalizers, and the dead (things) get buried, period.
I look forward to reading Carnivore, when I get the chance.
ΔΓ
Not much I can say. I've seen and dealt with some nasty shit. You've seen and dealt with 100 times worse. Pony on.
(Kind of the reason I facepalm so hard at gorefics. I'll bet most writers have never dealt with real gore. They wouldn't be so enamored with it if they had)
I've already told you this, but thank you and all of those you serve for their service. I imagine that words fall short of the reality you live with on a day to day basis. Can't think of a group of people I have more respect for than soldiers. I'm always impressed by what soldiers will put themselves through for the sake of people they don't know, never will know, separated by miles and years and cultures. It takes a certain kind of person to do that. Thanks.
As a current military brat, I thnk you for your service to this country. My father has been deployed to Iraq twice, and expects to go one more time before his service is up. Luckily, he doesn't have PTSD either.
I don't have much to say about this other than I'm glad you've found a safe outlet for your stress. I can't even imagine what's going on over there and you're three times the person I am for sticking to your duty. Please be safe! You're one of the best and we look forward to your return!
We seriously need to show this to Lauren Faust, Tara strong or John de Lancie. It's inspirational (that being a Brony has helped someone like you). And also highly emotional, I wish you luck in all of your endeavors.
>and were driving back to Gardez Aha! Ahem. This was an interesting read. Stay safe, CiG.
Thank you for writing this blog, Cold in Gardez. I don't think it was easy on your part, especially for the second half, but you've done what you set out to do: you've given the rest of us an idea of what it's like both as a fan of the show and as a soldier.
I don't think it's that strange that a cheerful and optimistic show could be of great help to someone like you. For one thing, art was made by people, for people, to delight them as well as to instruct them (as Horace said in Ancient Rome). Art helps us make sense of things, which is key to helping us deal with difficult times. You yourself said you didn't suffer from PTSD, at least not as much as others, so maybe that's evidence that the art therapy works?
That said, I sincerely hope I never have to see the carnage of war up close. I've seen Band of Brothers and I've just read your account of that suicide bomber. It was both fascinating and haunting, but mostly the latter. I wouldn't trust myself to cope with it outside of my imagination, which is why I cannot adequately express my appreciation for the fortitude of people like you who tackle this sort of thing as part of their job.
I think we have plenty of reason to raise our eyebrows at people who'd scoff if they knew we were interested in MLP:FiM, "a girl's show", especially if they haven't watched it themselves. Such people are like those ones 238061 mentioned (with the gorefics): they are too superficial and too wrapped up in unrealistic ideas to take seriously. MLP: FiM didn't change my life in the same way it's changed yours (how could we possibly compare?), but it's definitely changed my attitude in day to day business and done me some therapeutic good ever since I discovered it.
MLP:FiM is living proof that calling something girly or feminine is, and never has been, a bad thing, not unless you buy into certain assumptions about gender. It's shown potential in places where most show producers wouldn't dare venture, and set a precedent in doing so. And it would still be a great example of entertainment even if it wasn't so innovative: the characters are superb, the artwork amazing, the setting well-realized, the stories well-written, the comedy well-rounded, and the mixture of genres excellent at keeping it fresh and interesting. This is before we even move on to the fan base it's inspired. I don't think that's anything to be ashamed about.
I have nothing to say but to pay respect. Things like this are not plesent. My emotions are mixed and trying to figur them out is something I can't do. The picture got in my head was scary ones.
Stay safe my friend. Stay safe.
Every time I read one of your blogs I come in believing that this will be the one where I can leave some insightful feedback. I always leave without having posted a damn thing, my mind full of thoughts, and the realization that anything else I had come to the site to do today has suddenly become very ephemeral and fleeting.
Stay safe.
Wow. This is why I have nothing but the utmost respect for those who are able to go out and do things such as this. My heart goes out to you and your comrades in arms and to the people trying to survive while this happens.
Your story is truly haunting.
Wish I could fave blog posts.
I started trying to type out a comment a little while ago. I felt I had to acknowledge, at least a little bit, how affecting this was. How oddly powerful the thing seemed given the context in which I was reading it: a blog post on a pony fanfiction site, surrounded by a large banner joking about server issues and a few of the most popular comedy on-shots cycling in the top corner.
I realised I couldn't. I have nothing at all to say, no frame of reference or experience in which to add anything to that story. All I can do is just nod, stare at the words, and sit here some more trying to think of what on earth to say.
Then I noticed something. Something that I think does need commenting on. It's almost offensively trivial when compared to the subject matter, so I'll keep it brief.
In, what, three hundred words of prose with precious little description, the bare minimum of factual content and no explicit emotional exposition, you managed to convey a set of images and feelings with blunt power of a punch to the face.
I cannot say anything to your experience as a soldier; there's nothing I can offer except platitudes, useless respect or faintly patronising sympathy. But damn, you are a hell of a writer.
You fill me with a terror and thoughtful dread that afflicts all too few people. You terrify me.
238474
I think that's where it becomes powerful. The author isn't trying to force what he feels (or what he thinks we should feel) onto us. The description is enough to get a clear picture without force-feeding any potentially distracting details. Simple, powerful.
To Cold in Gardez: thank you for your service. Hopefully one day humanity will collectively realize how stupid we've been and make a world where parents don't have to bury their children. Until then, stay safe.
238174
Got me :) Didn't even cost you a beer.
Thank you for serving our country.
I'm glad MLP helps you get through some PTSD problems.
As for civilian casulties it is a sad fact of war, even sadder when its your enemies killing their own people.
I really can't stand media today. Always labeling civilians caught in cross-fires among the 'insurgents' and treating our soldiers lives as mere numbers as to how many more we need over there or to bring back. You never hear about the soldier who had to disobey orders to gun down a churn because his sergeant was too gutless to do it himself just because known civilians were in there and a lot of them children.
You never hear about how much pain goes through a man you once used to talk about video games and wrestle with to test our skills, to hear him break down and cry over how he misses his ill grandmother who raised him like a mother and how he can't be there for her as all she can do is pray, that she gets to see him return unharmed before her passing. The letters that try to hide the fears and regrets of has and what might happen the next day.
My best friend left to Iraq looking for a better life than what he could hope to get without aid of the armed forces. The perks were too much and while scared he did it for himself, for wanting to be a part of something bigger and make a difference. He may have lost whatever innocence he had left and become a far more colder and stern judgemental flies off the handle at the slightest provocation of challenging his way of doing things (poor choice of words) but he loves his daughters, fights hard to keep his job at hood, and while his new gf and his responsibilities keep us from being able to hang out in person, he'll always be my brother-from-another-mother and I'll always try my best to keep him steady.
He suffers from PTSD, he refuses to get help. He's only just months ago started seeing a therapist as he thought I'd be more then enough of a therapist so to speak and be well enough. He hides his feelings too much but I know him too well to see past his power face. He'll always be my best friend. War changes people, it ALWAYS changes people. I'd be more worried about the ones who claimed to be unphased by their experiences in Iraq or any war.
I don't think I can continue any further without more tears escaping but I am glad you found and embraced such a great way to express your experience with us and hope this gets around more. I'll be sure to share this with my friend. I can't imagine what it must be like to do what you all felt during all that but this was a great story among many that imho would be nice if more of the younger generation can take something from all this and appreciate the freedom we all so much take for granted.
Man, that's just... Damn.
It's good to see you're still hangin' in there. I don't know what I can say, really, save that I hope you're still around for a long time. Thanks for your service, and know we're all praying for you and all the US armed forces and their allies.
That was... horrifyingly fascinating. Thank you for sharing this with us, and keep safe.
FUN FUN FUN! You describe it as if it was nothing!
That must be incredibly sad, whenever someone brings a body in like that. It managed to strike a chord for me.
---
Completely unrelated comment: I'm using Chrome, and I somehow turned the webpage background completely black by dropping my mouse. I thought it was inverted at first, then I thought better of it.
I got directed here by Wanderer D, and I don't really know quite what to say. I could share my own experiences, but I feel it would cheapen your own touching story. No one will ever know what we really did over there, except the ones we served with. Godspeed.
-Helmand, 2009 and 2011, 3rd Marines. Fortes Fortuna Juvat.
True heroes don't wear boxers outside of their outfit, true heroes wear dogtags. You are a true hero of the world
You put your life at stake for something you believe in, not because you are told so. You shoot back, not to kill but to not let them kill.
What you see out there, whay you have to do to save your friends, the frineds you couldn't save... I haven't been in the army but i know one thing; there is no way to understand it but experiencing and seeing it
Some say that if you want to kill you just join the armoy and dress in green. Boy, they are wrong. The army is about putting everything at stake for something that matters, something you care about.
That i want to be a part of. I don't know what i am walknig into, nobody does until they stand there, but i stil want to do it. Not because i want to pull the trigger, but because i want to make a change, help those people living with hell outside of their doors, give them a better life.
Also here via Wanderer. Damn. I wish I had something more to offer than the knowledge that this will be sticking with me.
I don't know if your words-on-papyrus here are helping you … but shining a light into the dark of the senseless is one of the most powerful things a writer can ever hope to achieve. In so many ways, you have made — and are making — a difference.
Thank you.
Huh.
I don't really have anything else to say except that.
I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to write this without sounding like a massive, massive jerk - so please aim for intentions rather than wording if that happens. One of my own failings as a writer is a singularly uneventful life, and it's experiences like that which open your eyes wider to the... not "true" or "deep" nature of the world so much as "the world" itself.
Deeply troubling, but powerfully maturing experiences can make a much more capable author. I think you've turned your experiences into growth, and the true horrors of war, suffering and death have done (in a strange way) good. Now if only we could be further towards a world where shit like that doesn't happen.
I don't suppose you'll ever restore the story someday? I found it very provocative, and helped me understand your writing and brony literature more in general.
Anyways, thanks for being so snazzy.
-SS&E
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If I may...
http://onemansponyramblings.blogspot.ca/2012/10/the-story-of-your-life.html
Check out the fifth paragraph below the line, especially this sentence: "Just because the surroundings are mundane doesn't mean the passion isn't real." If you think your writing will suffer just because life comprises of nothing but the ordinary, then I encourage you to read some books closely while seeking their themes. For the most part, I'm sure you'll find, the books deal with everyday themes and emotions.
The greatest stories emerged from a passion for the mundane.
This is something I've always kind of wondered about. I have very little experience with death; I toyed around with the idea of the air force back when I was younger (it would have been very shortly before all of this got started—I worked as a civilian contractor on an AF base during the summers of 2000 and 2001, which was when I got the idea in my head) but I was desperately out of shape and the recruiter I went to see to learn more told me that'd need some fixing, and anyway, like I said, I was just toying around with the idea. Oh youth, when you can "toy around" with ideas like that...
Anyway, I was saying, I have very little experience with death. But my grandfather and two of his three sons were all involved with the military to some degree. Only my grandfather ever saw combat, though—in North Africa and Italy. He's in his 90's now, and we (his sons and me, his only grandson) have often wondered what the experience was like for him. But we don't ask, because he's made it pretty clear that he has no interest in dwelling on what he went through. Still, it's an important part of his life, and it's often a bit like a black hole for us. We know details of the campaign, we know a bit about how he won his silver star from the citation report, and he's always been fairly happy to tell us about the sort of mischief he and his men would get up to. But never anything about combat.
It's one of those experiences I just don't have, and that I'll probably never really understand. Feeling very little in a context like the above, honestly, seems kind of natural to me. I suspect we do less emotional processing of both extremely ordinary situations and extremely novel ones. In the first instance, there's really no need for processing information at all; in the second, there's too much information to do more than process the bits that seem important. So it makes sense to me that the strain might be largely cumulative, as particularly horrible situations normalize enough that they can be more fully evaluated.
Which is all pretty much just me musing. Not a lot of real relevance there. Except that I'm very, very glad we, in this community, can provide that sort of positive outlet for people who need it.