Afghanistan. Afghanistan.

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Just for the record, if any one doubts my position, I think we should declare victory and bring our troops home. Oh, and, BTW, let the contractors (this means BlackWater, KBR/Halliburton, etc) find their own way home--then fine them substantially. Then, subtract the cost of replacement equipment--Humvees, tanks, tents, anything--we are forced to leave in situ, from their next payments to be received from us (the US Govt).

In addition, we (this country) must take care of the returning veterans for years and years.

"The true cost of the war in Afghanistan, like all wars, must include a lifetime of support for veterans and their families. As important as the number of planes, trucks and weapons allocated to Afghanistan are the number of surgeons, psychiatrists and case workers resourced at home. The men and women who serve in Afghanistan, hundreds of thousands of whom have already served multiple tours, cannot afford another Walter Reed-type situation."

Postulate: in WWII, we won against 2 advanced military powers in 4 years, but we can't defeat the Taliban in 8!

Now--

More U.S. military personnel have taken their own lives so far in 2009 than have been killed in either the Afghanistan or Iraq wars this year, according to a Congressional Quarterly compilation of the latest statistics from the armed services.

Moreover, the total number who have killed themselves in 2009 is probably higher than 334, because the figure does not include unavailable suicide statistics for 2009 for Marine Corps reservists or veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan who have left the service.

Thank about that.

Let it sink in.

Now, go back and read this post from 7 March 2009.

"And it's - ONE! TWO! THREE!
What are we fighting for?
Don't ask me..."

(Country Joe and the Fish, I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-to-Die Rag, 1967)

It's deja vu all over again!

And it is not worth it this time either.
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This You Must Go Read -- Then Weep

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What have we done to the best and the brightest of our nation?

I say "we" because even though I did not agree with the war in Iraq--vehemently did not agree, they went in my name as well as yours. Everything they experienced, everything that was done to them, everything they had to endure, was done for our sakes -- yours and mine. We are guilty of doing this to them. You and I are guilty. All of us are guilty. Guilty.

Kayla Williams offers a penetrating, riveting, disturbing, spot-on, tear evoking account.

• It is 2004. I have been back from Iraq for a few months.
• The gun is heavy in my hand, cold, solid. I sit on the edge of my bathtub and stare at it. The door is shut and I am alone. I can hear my own breathing, uneven.
• This I can control.
• It feels like the only thing I can control. I can't control my anger, which flares up unexpectedly, making me lash out at those closest to me. I can't control the moments when my boyfriend, who sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury in Iraq and has severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, gets lost in his own rage and isolation. I can't control whether or not the Army will stop-loss me, or let me out and then call me back to Iraq before my contract is up -- back to another year with no control over where I sleep, what I eat, if rockets will fall on me in the Port-a-John, if an explosive will blow off my limbs.
• I can't control the memories that suddenly, with no warning, invade my consciousness: images of men screaming, thrashing, bleeding on the ground. I can't control that the smell of diesel makes me feel like I'm in Iraq again. I can't control my physical reactions, swerving to avoid trash in the road, flinching at sudden noises.
• Can't control my dreams.

• I can't imagine going to my Chain of Command, being put on public, humiliating suicide watch with no shoelaces or belt. I can't admit these feelings of weakness in front of my leaders or -- worse -- my soldiers. Can't own up to the shame of not knowing if I can do it anymore, take it, keep going at all. Can't talk to my friends from before -- can't even conceive of explaining the war to them; I'm not who they used to know. I can't burden my family with this, they are dealing with enough. I can't let everyone down and face them afterward.

• I sit and stare at the gun. This is mine, my choice, my way out, my freedom, my escape from fear and hopelessness and desperation.
• What will they go through, my boyfriend and my roommate, dealing with blood and brains and death on the bathroom floor? What about my father? I'm his only surviving child; he lost his sister to suicide.

• To all those soldiers still struggling today, know that you are not alone. You are part of a community of veterans who understands what you're going through. Civilians may not understand, but they do care.

Yes, we do care. We do care. We do, do, do care.
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