War is a Drug, Part One

War is a Drug.

     I'll say it again. War is a Motherfucking Drug. I OD'd a couple of months back--that's me flashing the "Fuck yeah I'm still alive and just did a big shot of Tramadol horns" up there. There's a story to how this happened, but if you asked my photo self what just transpired, I'd probably just say "I got my bell rung"--explosive force and shrapnel are like that. I'd been near a detonation of a Russian style grenade. It landed behind me on the roof Myself, another American volunteer fighter, and four Kurdish Guerrilla fighters were occupying in Northern Syria. So how did I, a 35 year old college educated father of two end up in the middle of a rooftop grenade fight in ISIS territory? Simple, I asked to go. 

     My reasons for going were two-fold.  First, like a lot of people, I'd watched ISIS swallow up huge swathes of the Middle East like an out of control brush fire--sometimes literally burning alive their enemies. I read up on the situation, and found a kindred political outlook in the YPG Kurdish resistance, as well as a ready-made pipeline for entrance to their forces. It was as simple as good versus evil to me. Then there was the other factor--as a young man, I'd been Army Infantry set to deploy to Iraq. I never made it. I was kicked out for fighting (yes, really!) and found myself as an involuntary civilian  reading about friends of mine who died in my absence. It left a mark. I wanted badly to fight, and found myself with a second opportunity.  I took it.

     What does it mean to want to fight? To the uninitiated, it can look like many things; a game or a movie. I was trained beforehand and had no such illusions. I knew war would be hell. And I couldn't wait.