I find my heart filled with hatred and discontent, which means, that's right boys and girls, time for a new journal entry.

It's funny how all of my old friends ditched me when I came back from Iraq. Like, people I've known since we were little kids, that I grew up with, that I hung out with constantly, that I got calls from at 2 in the morning because they needed a shoulder to cry on, that I shared victories and defeats with, drop me in a heartbeat because I suddenly don't like crowds. Because loud noises scare me. Because I have trouble being in open spaces. Because it's hard for me to patient with people I don't know.

Let me tell you a story. There was a Marine that I counted as one of my closest friends. During the work week, we'd sit in a muddy hole in the rain, freezing our asses off, talking about our plans for the future. I'd talk about my "best friend" back home and how much I loved her but was afraid of making a move and losing her, he'd talk about his new Mustang and how he was saving up for a carbon-fiber hood and new rims. On the weekends, we'd take the Mustang out and chase tail, usually ending up with him puking his guts out in a parking lot while I tried to convince him he was too drunk to drive. Later on, I got knocked out by a rocket blast, and this Marine, who was half my size, picked me up and carried me to safety. Months later, I found myself standing in front of his mother and father in my dress blues, telling them what a great man he was, and how sorry I was for their loss. To all my old friends, I'm sorry if that altered my attitude and my habits in any way, shape or form. I'm sorry if I don't like to play paintball anymore. I'm sorry if I don't have as much patience as I used to. I'm sorry for everything.

When I got back, I didn't need false hope, I didn't need a new girlfriend, I didn't need to hang out in our old spots. All I needed was somebody to talk to that would actually listen. I guess that was too much to ask.