It’s Veteran’s Day, again, and a highly annoying question I was recently asked on Quora just rushed to the forefront of my mind:

What’s the most sensitive way to express skepticism towards a war veteran’s stories from battle?

My answer was as raw, unfiltered, and as scathing as I think I’ve ever gotten. Fair warning and full disclosure: If you have a weak stomach when it comes to blood and carnage, this Diary entry is not for you:

Umm, so, let me ask you a question, “Anonymous”. When’s the last time you witnessed someone’s head getting blown off two feet in front of you? When’s the last time you had to pick someone’s arms and legs off your own face? When’s the last time you had to throw an M26A1 into a village full of women, children, and babies, then “watch a young girl cry and her mother scream” knowing full damn fucking well it was you who’d be making those angels fly away? When’s the last time you hid in a trench while LITERAL hell on fucking Earth was airborne over your back and all you could do was pray to GOD that you’ll get to see your family’s faces again?

Unless or until you can get back to me with the firm date and time that you had to participate in any of the living nightmares listed above in the name of your god and your country and tell me how you “just got over it”, I think you should go wash your brain out with either a bucket of soap and water or some battery acid.

I mean, seriously? I’ve never been in the military nor an actual war, but I have watched my own child die in my arms, watched the first true love of my life hit a brick wall on his Harley going 90 with no helmet (to which my immediate response was to actually attempt to put his brains back into his head to no avail), and I also live with the daily knowledge that the second true love of my life, my late husband, blew his own fucking brains out in a dirt lot just a block away from our home that I still live in but can’t move away from until our daughter graduates from high school, because I’m trying desperately to keep things stable for her to the best of my human ability despite the fact that I have to drive the FUCK by “the spot” sometimes multiple times a day.

I also bear the honor of being related to a retired brigadier general, and have spent time in the company of many other combat veterans I’ve been in PTSD group therapies with over the years. As such, I’ve “heard stories” that I’ll both never get to unhear or forget. As it turns out, NOT dying with your boots on is of one of the cruelest ironies of all and can keep a soldier “dead alive” in a mental prison on the exact “Wrong Side Of Heaven” forever.

My point being this: Who the fuck are you to question the validity of a war veteran’s “stories”? PTSD is a bastard fucking demon like no other on the face of this Earth, and if, as I suspect, you haven’t ever tried it, I cannot NOT recommend it enough. Maybe then you’ll know better than to write unacceptable, bullshit questions like this ever again.

Fuck you, ya Jean-Claude Van DAMN little mega douche.

(PS) I hope this answer wasn’t too “insensitive” for you!

{The Real Cat Williamson On Quora}

THE WRONG SIDE OF HEAVEN

I spoke to God today and She said that She’s ashamed. What have I become? What have I done? I spoke to the devil today and he swears he’s not to blame. And I understood, ’cause I feel the same. Arms wide open, I stand alone. I’m no hero, and I’m not made of stone. Right or wrong … I can hardly tell. I’m on the wrong side of Heaven and the righteous side of hell. The wrong side of Heaven and the righteous side of hell. I heard from God today and She sounded just like me. What have I done and who have I become? I saw the devil today and he looked a lot like me. I looked away. I turned away. Arms wide open, I stand alone. I’m no hero, and I’m not made of stone. Right or wrong … I can hardly tell. I’m on the wrong side of Heaven and the righteous side of hell. I’m not defending. Downward descending. Falling further and further away. Getting closer every day. I’m getting closer every day to the end, to the end, the end, the end. I’m getting closer every day. Arms wide open, I stand alone. I’m no hero, and I’m not made of stone. Right or wrong … I can hardly tell. I’m on the wrong side of Heaven and the righteous side of hell.{Five Finger Death Punch}