Nailed

I don't remember who first pointed out that my name is an anagram of the word "denial", but I have been accused of it throughout my life. My earliest memories of my mother are of her telling me that I was in denial about one thing or another. In fact, I was so often blamed for avoiding reality, that I became convinced I couldn't discern it from what I thought was real.

This, though, isn't entirely a fabrication. I often find myself making excuses for the way I am by weaving complicated justifications, and through convoluted manipulations of logic and reason. It is how I convert an obstinate opinion into near-dogmatism.

Paradoxically, it is also the reason by which I can remain entirely objective on a subject. In order for me to construct a viable and believable alternative to reality, it is necessary to first gather as many facts about the truth as possible. Only by taking this crucial step will the mechanism be least likely to fall apart under scrutiny of The Absolute. Thus, although in a state of perennial denial, I am aware of reality and simultaneously constantly seeking to expand that awareness.

Buried somewhere in the last paragraph is an explanation to my current deep depression, extreme paranoia and defeatism. I live in a reality right now where there is no leaving Iraq alive. I am so convinced that my life after the Army with Holly will be so extremely happy that it has become impossible to comprehend. The chasm of differences between this reality and that one have led me to believe that there is no possible way they can exist simultaneously. The only way to resolve their coexistence is to come to terms with the fact that I will not survive this one. The death of a very close friend in Iraq last year was the nail on the coffin of denial.

In a bid to defeat a defense mechanism flawlessly constructed from the finest counterlogic, I am having to produce some poignantly decisive and conclusive truths. An unfortunate side-effect of tearing down an artificial reality, though, is coming to terms with the things it was built to protect against. Lately, a torrent of memories of the first war have been infiltrating my subconscious in dreams and in my waking thoughts. I have developed an infatuation with death, and have tortured myself of memories from the war.

I hope to come to terms with the suppressed memories and deal with my fear of death. Most importantly, though, I want to believe that I am going to survive Iraq. I want to believe that there will be a day when I will not be in the Army, and I want to believe that I will see Holly again. But tonight, I don't believe in anything. Tonight, I am Daniel of Denial.