Horror. What is it exactly? It’s a word to be sure. It’s most certainly that. Upon hearing it, many people conjure up different images, most likely of scenes from movies like Saw or Friday the 13th, depending on their respective ages. But have they known real horror? It’s a difficult thing to explain to someone that hasn’t experienced it. I remember seeing all the news coverage about IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) around 2005. The term had become ubiquitous in the media and I remember saying to my girlfriend at the time, “You people hear this term "IED” on the news and it’s just another word to you, but when I hear it I FEEL it. To you it’s just another tragic story. ‘3 soldiers were killed in an IED attack in Afghanistan bringing the U.S. casualty count for the month of July to blah blah blah…’, and then you change the channel and watch fat people cry because they can’t stop eating or whatever. When I hear it, I literally smell smoke and motor oil and burning rubber. I see the motor oil on the ground mixing with the blood and forming pools in the mud. I feel fear and panic. I hear screams and people saying things like “Stay with me! We’re gonna have a beer together when we get out of this…” They won’t. My insides churn and I’m left empty and hollow.

I felt something similar when I watched the news coverage of the Boston bombing. I was in CA at the time, visiting a close friend of mine. My girlfriend and I had flown up from DC for a few days, and we were driving along the Pacific Coast Highway. It was beautiful. We stopped at a gas station and I went inside to grab a red bull. I saw people crowded around a television and pushed past them, annoyed at the inconvenience. As I opened the refrigerator door, I heard a newscaster saying “The President says… they’re not ruling out terrorism…. reports still coming in…” My heart sank. I knew what it was before I looked. I forced myself to watch and was horrified at what I saw. I wouldn’t exactly call it a flashback. I didn’t actually think I was back, but it was about as close as a person could come while maintaining their tenuous grasp on reality. I made my way back to the car and told everyone that some shit had gone down in Boston. When we got back to my friend’s place, the news was turned on and I sat there trying to hide my discomfort. I stared at some unlucky corner of the room as my friends commented on what they saw. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the screen, all the while terrified that someone would see my weakness. I remember my girlfriend saying “Oh my god, I hope it wasn’t a muslim”, to which I responded, “Who the fuck do you think it was!?!?? Who fucking blows shit up in this country, or any country for that matter???” A rash judgement to be sure. I found myself angry, familiar territory to me at this point.

I remember another incident in the months after returning from Walter Reed. After spending a few months there undergoing various surgeries, I was allowed a month home in NY for convalescent leave. Needless to say, I was doing a lot of self medicating through the liberal application of alcohol and other substances. For some reason, while hanging out with my brother and sister, I thought it would be a good idea to watch “Platoon”. Looking back, it seems pretty absurd and self evident, but at the time I really don’t think I realized that I was different. I had watched this movie a thousand times before going to Iraq, had derived enjoyment from it, and saw no reason why I shouldn’t continue to do so. Everything was fine until one scene where they clear out an NVA bunker and find a booby trapped ammo can, blowing off the arms of the soldier trying to pick it up. About ten minutes before this scene actually happened, I had the sudden realization that it was coming and I knew that it was going to be a problem for me, but I was already committed. After all, it was my idea to watch the fucking movie in the first place. Looking back, I realize that it probably would have been perfectly understandable for a guy to say to his own brother and sister that he had just been wounded in a war and that a war movie was making him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, at the time, I didn’t consider that an option. What I felt at the time was that showing any weakness was completely unacceptable and spent the next ten minutes in terror trying to figure out what to do. It was a nightmare. My heart raced uncontrollably as I did exactly what I did while watching the Boston bombing coverage. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and stared at a corner of the room while hoping that no one noticed my discomfort. It eventually passed and I left the room to smoke a cigarette.

Horror.

It’s not just a word.