Tatemcallisterr-blog

beautifulburnout:

In a lot of ways Tate was like the second younger brother Jonny never had. He was the polar opposite of Henry, of course, but it didn’t mean that Jonny cared for him any less. It was hard for him to see Tate like this. He was clearly suffering and Jonny knew that the stubborn ass wouldn’t be taking any advice any time soon. But that didn’t dissuade him from trying to look after the younger man either. After mixing the sugar into his coffee he sipped on it but he was glad he piqued Tate’s curiosity. “It’ll actually help you sleep and make you wanna eat.” He knew that Tate wasn’t open to a lot of suggestions right now, he was pretty resistant to most things lately, including taking care of himself, so Jonny wasn’t sure how he’d take the suggestion. “Weed,” he replied matter of fact as he took another drink. The artist sighed when he heard about Tate being unable to sleep, but he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t imagine what he was going through right now but he could at least try to help. “I know it sounds like hippy bullshit, but it’ll make you feel better. Relax you at least.” Jonny paused as if he was considering something. Yeah, it was early as fuck but it wasn’t like either of them were going to sleep any time soon. “If you want you can come over. Have a joint, play with my puppy and chill by the koi pond. I know you haven’t felt up to much lately but it’ll just be you and me. No pressure.”

Tate should have been grateful that he had people like Jonny and Jaxon to try and look out for him. But every time either one of them tried to cheer him up or give him a suggestion he just sort of shut down. Taking suggestions meant that he had a real problem. And god damn, he did not want to think about having a real problem. Honestly, since Jaxon had suggested smoking days earlier the more he had thought about it, the more he thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, he wasn’t enlisted anymore. No more drug tests, no more having to worry about what could go wrong if he did do it. While Tate seriously weighed the pros and cons of Jonny’s offer he continued sipping on his coffee. Honestly, what the hell else did he have to do today? And what if it did end up helping him? His doctor kept telling him to get out of the house more and do whatever he thought would help. Maybe this wasn’t exactly what the doctor had in mind, but who cares? “Yeah, I haven’t felt up to much lately.” He replied before setting down his now half empty coffee cup and letting out a quiet sigh. “What the hell -- why not? It’s not like I have anything to lose, right?” He shrugged.

theprodigalsoldier:

jaxon sighed at tate’s response— it was the one he expected. and feared. it seemed like no one left the war whole. physically, mentally, emotionally. they were all tainted and damaged, and nightmares fucked with sleep and sanity in a very special way. he wished he had an answer for tate. a way to help make them go away, or even ease them slightly. but fuck… he’d been searching for that answer for two years and had come up with very little.  “ hey, man. it’s alright. don’t think i’ve ever met a soldier that didn’t have nightmares. yer not alone there, ” he offered quietly, intimately familiar with feeling weak or broken for struggling like this. fuck, he still felt like that a lot. but it helped… knowing his brothers felt like it too.  “ why aren’t you supposed to be drinkin’? i thought you were all healed up. ”

It was hard to talk about, even with someone like Jaxon who could relate so strongly to what he was going through. That was a big reason Tate kept insisting he didn’t need to see a therapist or go to any support groups. Talking about things had never helped him deal with them anyways. “I know it’ll probably never go away completely ---- I just wish it would get better. I’m fucking tired.” Tate knew he wasn’t the first person to go to war and come back having nightmares about it, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. But when he wakes up at night, alone, in an empty house, it’s hard not to feel isolated. “I am for the most part. Doc just found some problems with my liver when they were doing blood tests. It’s not a big deal.” At least that’s what his doctor had told him, it wouldn’t be a big deal as long as he didn’t drink so often. Which was proving difficult when it was his go-to coping mechanism. 

                       he can’t outrun the sentiments that poison his body.                                they make him sick, vulnerable, w e a k.                                             they rot him inside-out.

                                                              ( && ) 

                          how do you heal from such internal damage?                                         in reality, he knows he can’t.                           ——— but there’s no way he’ll be eaten alive by                                                  his own conscience.

                                         he resorts to drugs, to alcohol.                                 to the numbness it gives him no matter                                                     how temporary. 

https://youtu.be/uY6dWKpq1Sw

myhemsworth:

Surfing in Malibu [April 8th; 2017].

⌚ :))))

“ i served with this kid for years, and yer gonna make me pick just one? ummm… fuck your rules, you get two. 

so over there… its so much fucking desert, and sand, and that shit is fuckin’ awful. it gets in your guns, it gets in your gps, it gets in your fucking lungs. sometimes there are these sandstorms, right? it just blows and blows and blows. and you can’t see shit, you can barely breathe, you can’t hear. yer just stuck in this browned out haze. and then… then sometimes it starts fuckin’ raining on top of it. so its just a mud storm. and then yer on your belly, trying to get out of the wind, and you get even more muddy. anyways. its awful. one night, tate and i are walking the perimeter, and before he reaches the end of his sentence, the wind starts up, and while i’m finishing settin’ up the standard issue tent for this kind of shit, it starts raining. so we’re both fuckin’ covered in mud, gettin’ this shit set up, trying not to lose hold of the damn thing. and mind you… it’s a one person tent. so we’re both soaking wet, and caked in mud, huddled in this tiny ass tent, waiting out the storm. and i mean… you get bored, ya know? so mcallister pulls out his pack of cards, and we know its gonna get ruined because we dont have a clean fucking scrap of material between us. but what else do ya do? so we sit there pretty much all night, playin’ every card game we can think of, talkin’ about everything and anything we can think of. and honestly… despite the storm, it really wasn’t a bad night. i think he lost a patch of hair because we let the mud dry and tried to pick it off. anyways, after that, i kept the ruined deck, and got him a new deck of cards, and ghetto laminated them with packing tape. i thought i was funny. 

so that’s one. that’s when we were serving. my other favorite memory is one i can barely remember. we were headed home on leave, but our flights were delayed because of atlantic storm. so we spent a couple days in dublin. and i mean… we were young, dumb, antsy marines back then. and we were in fuckin’ dublin for gods sake. so of course… we go out and get absolutely smashed. you’d think it was fleet week the way we tore it up. we were bar hopping, and making friends all over the place, because the irish fuckin’ love americans. i think we did karaoke at one point. or maybe we just sang real loud in a pub. anyways… i wake up the next morning, in someone’s hotel. tate is passed out on the floor with a bruise on his fuckin’ neck. i’ve got a split lip and a scrape on my cheek and my shoulder. there’s marbles in my pockets, a jacks and ball set on the coffee table. and a fucking red balloon tattoo on my foot. how we got from one point to the next is a little hazy,  but i do remember we had a whole god damn bunch of fun. we were both hungover on th’ plane going back to the states, but it was fun drinking bloody marys and trying to piece together the night. 

there’s lots of nights like both of those. but those two stick out, and just remind me that tate is a real ride or die. even when he definitely doesn’t agree with the stupid shit i wanna do. he still goes along with me, and makes sure that i don’t die. ”

@tatemcallisterr