The price we pay

I went to Iraq. I don't usually talk about the fighting itself. Most of the people who ask me about it don't actually want to hear about people killed, friends hurt, or the little spike of pain that flares in my heart every single time I hear that another Marine has been killed or wounded.

And truthfully, I don't really want to talk about it.

The above link is an article that I can agree with as a veteran of Iraqi conflict. I know (and knew at the time) that we went to war not for freedom, or the removal of nuclear weapons, or even for the safety of America. We went because the duly elected Commander-and-Chief of the U.S. military said to go. As we prepared to cross the border I was filled with the idealistic hope of freeing 26 million people from the fear and tyranny that they had lived with for decades. By the time I left I knew in my heart of hearts that we'd failed to do that, that we'd failed the Iraqi people and ourselves and that the best we could do was hope that somehow God (or Jesus, or Allah, or whatever you call him) would make it come out for the best.
That hope is still the only thing that helps me control my responses to the current situation. When another ignorant, propaganda fed jackass comes by flaunting his Dub-ya stickers and talking about fighting terror, my first two impulses are to slit his throat so he can't annoy me and / or breed or to tell him to go enlist before he talks any more. Until you've been there, done that, and had to live with it I don't want to hear your opinion on this. If I want to know what cake tastes like then I ask someone who has tasted it, and it is the same with Iraq. Until you've been there, seen it, walked it, and lived it don't talk to me. I really don't want to go to jail for murdering your stupid ass.