Personal Narrative: My First Vietnam War

When you are someone’s support system you take on multiple roles that indirectly deteriorate your self preservation. Being a listener or a shoulder to cry on, requires sacrifices that, in the moment, you do not even recognize as imposing. Voluntarily and willingly being there for someone begins with the unwavering doubt that you and your own problems cannot and will not prevail over your person’s immediate crisis. Depending on the duration of your duty, a somewhat selfish thought of inconvenience is bound to surface. But, that wave of retraction is almost always combatted by a riptide of dedication and loyalty that brings you back to sea, where all you can do is tread. In turn, the suppression of self regarding issues regularly comes with a layer of obligation and a sting of bitterness.
I was marching knee deep in the mud of the trenches, hoping the war would cease, while knowing that that day would never come. Yet, when that day did come, I was reluctant to leave my post. Getting shipped back home, meant I could finally address the issues that I was ignoring. While I was in it for the long haul, I never allowed such thoughts to invade my fame of mind. I was so used to walking on egg shells that I had forgotten how to walk without worrying about possible land-mines under my soles. So, as the flood gates lowered, I realized that I was unable to enjoy the privilege of self pity. This part of my life was the trump card that made me fold, whether or not I had a convincing poker