Pawprints in the snow

So here I am, laying down in a travel bed at 0300, still in my uniform, still pondering events that happened the previous days. This is a regular occurrence. It happened last night, it's happened for the last three depressing, grueling months. I start work tomorrow morning at 0630. I'm basically running on fumes. The thoughts in my head? I'm missing home, I miss the little things, being able to walk to the shop, being able to go to the toilet without a rifle strapped around my back weighing me down. I miss not being able to sleep without the sound of gun fire and explosions in the near distance, tearing through the room like an earthquake.

As you can probably tell, I'm a serving soldier, currently into my fourth month in Afghanistan. I used to watch the news growing up, seeing the soldiers fighting for their country, the heroes. Its been a life long dream of mine, to make a difference, to help people and to pay my due for my country. Now I'm here, I realize everything I've taken for granted in my life, and it weighs me down every day, seeing friends moving on with their lives, getting married, having children and starting lies for themselves. I want to tell you my story, and how my mental health and battle scars were healed in the most unexpected of places.

0630 came the next morning when everybody got called on parade, the Officer in Command had us all stand there, in three perfect ranks, all a shoulder width apart. It's like a well-oiled machine, but it's beautiful to see. His facial expression wasn't a beautiful sight right now though, he was pale, looked confused and lost, I've never seen him look so lost. My body shuddered and like a strike of lightening has hit my stomach I instantly thought the worst, somebody had died.

'You're all going home' he said. The whole parade started to chatter and mutter, we wasn't supposed to be going home for another three weeks? I really needed these other three weeks to pay off my debt to be honest. I think I was the only person on that parade that wasn't overwhelmed with joy and cheering. He explained to us that the world is at a stand still, countries locked down, hospitals over full due to a new pandemic that has struck, the Coronavirus.

We all arrived back in my homeland, we all got given facemasks, and they quickly became merged with our faces. Usually what would be a long process of post tour admin was done in four days, and the Commanding officer of the unit sent us on our way. Well, the unit got put on dispersed working, working from home basically. Everybody in the block went home, except me, I don't really have a family, things happened in the past that had cast me out. They didn't even know I was in Afghanistan. They didn't know I had a little boy that I lost, so really can I call them family?

Being alone in a whole block actually started off pretty awesome, I could leave my room and walk to the kitchen naked, heck I could even stand there and cook my food naked if I pleased. I had no distractions and nobody here to disturb me. It seemed perfect. The novelty soon wore off after two months, Christmas had passed and my Christmas dinner was a Bacon sandwich and cup of coffee. My new year was wished in by a few friends messaging me from back home, but that was about it really?

The third month into this lockdown, that's where it all started. I'd wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror and I'd lose myself. I'd be back out in Afghanistan, I'd hear the screaming of my Sergeant when I came under fire, I felt the Baltic cold air of the Afghanistan mornings on my skin. I started hearing gun fire outside, I started smelling gunpowder as clear as day. My sleepless nights came back. I'd lay in bed trembling, in a puddle of ice cold sweat. I was afraid to close my eyes. If I closed them, I'd see the faces of friends I'd lost, friends that should be at home living their best lives.

Time went slow, but it went. Days, Weeks, and sooner or later it was the fourth month of lockdown. I felt like I was stuck in a forever cycle, like a loop in time, each morning at 0630 I'd hear imaginary alarms waking us up. I'd go to the toilet, and if I dared to look in the mirror, I'd see my sergeant behind me screaming 'where is your rifle soldier!' I haven't eaten in about two days. This is also becoming regular, my stomach felt like it was eating itself. I had no energy to eat. I was exhausted, malnourished, I could see my rib cage, I could feel the weight that has just shed from my body. I made my way to the kitchen to try and rustle up anything, even the smallest of meals, but I didn't really do much cooking.

I walked in the kitchen and it actually looked like a bomb had gone off, there was a rubbish bag shred to pieces and its contents dragged around every inch of the small kitchen, the pots and pans I left besides the sink were on the floor either smashed on just amongst the filth on the floor. My body filled with so much unsolicited rage it was unbelievable. I marched around the whole block banging on doors to see who was here, who trashed my wing. I must have knocked each door at least five times. Either I was going crazy or the nature of my constant pounding and screaming into the rooms intimidated anybody. After two hours of hunting I found nobody, so I went back to the kitchen, as I barged through the kitchen door the smallest of figures shot up onto the counter and out the window into the white blanket of snow.

I didn't clean the mess straight away, I stood there, frozen, emotionless. The rage inside me had gone. There was a conflict inside my body tearing me apart. I wanted to be angry and wanted to go out there and chase this kitten, I assumed it was a kitten from the small delicate pawprints it left on the counter. On the other hand, I felt bad. The compassionate side of me wanted to hunt the kitten and make sure it was alright. It's got to be -3 degrees out there, where does this kitten live? What if it has nowhere to go? It was killing me, and didn't really help with my headspace right now.

The next few days I actually got around to cleaning the kitchen, I've had a few meals to just sustain me and things looked better. Physically for the block it was better. Mentally for me I was on a downward spiral, I didn't know how much longer I could take this. I was alone, I hadn't had any human interaction for three weeks, I was going insane. I find myself pacing around this tiny room I called home more often than not, it is literally worse than a prison right now. I'd stand in the bathroom and scream at the mirror sometimes, tears streaming down my face 'Why does nobody love me?' and 'Why does nobody care?' I felt so alone. I just wanted it all to end, and trust me, the thought was at the front of my mind right now: I'm going to end it, I'm going to take the pain away. I stood in a puddle of tears lost in the moment, and then SMASH! I hit the ground so fast I nearly broke my elbow, until I realized the noise came from the kitchen.

I ran to the kitchen and smashed through the door again. I was met by exactly the same blurry image darting out the window and into the bush a few feet from the window. I looked out the window and there was a piece of mouldy bacon that the Kitten must have dropped in the commotion, and that's when I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my keys and drove to the local shop, facemask on, fresh clothes, and I was focussed for the first time in months. I rushed around the shop, picked up a food bowl, and a few packets of cat food. I got nothing for myself. That thought didn't even cross my mind, I needed peace of mind that this kitten will be ok.

Back on camp, I put some food in a bowl, I didn't leave it in the kitchen though, I left it on my windowsill in my room. I needed to know this kitten was alright, I couldn't forgive myself if I found the body one day, knowing I could have made a difference. I watched that food bowl like a hawk, but nothing, no sign of the kitten, and that's how it was for the next few days. It put my mind at ease, thinking it went home. For the first time in four months my mind didn't wander. My mind stayed with me, I never lost focus, but that was slowly going knowing the kitten was safe.

I put the food out for one more night, 'This is the last night' I kept telling myself, hoping the food was still there, hoping the kitten is safe. The next morning it was different though, the food bowl was empty, licked clean, you would have sworn it was a brand new bowl, and that hurt my heart. The poor thing must have been starving, so I topped it back up and watched like a hawk once again. This time it must have been about 4pm when I heard the faintest of noises from behind my curtains and as I made the slightest of movement to see what it was, the bowl fell onto the ground and I could see more clearly the smallest of kittens shoot away without looking back. And that's when I realized I need to get help for it, but to get help I needed to get it to stay. The next night I put some more food out, I decided to get my sleeping bag and sleep in the communal area, it was Baltic, but I wanted to see if the kitten would stay. I was hoping it would stay.

Sleeping in the communal area I had a good view at the outside, The snow was hammering the ground from all different angles, it wasn't graceful as you'd usually see snow, it was a blizzard. I couldn't see two meters down the path. My mind was in one place though, the worry, I felt anxious and nervous for this kitten. I was restless through the night, kept awake by the wind howling through the doors that don't close properly and the blistering cold filling my sleeping bag through the face hole in my sleeping bag. I spent about two hours tossing and turning until I shot up, 'I have to go check' I thought to myself in a panic. I rushed to my room and tried to slowly open the door. It was dark, too dark so I had to turn a light on. The second I turned the light on, I froze. This tiny white and black kitten trembled as we had a stare off. I could see it shaking, it almost looked as if it was crying, it was on my bed and as I tried to step forward it let off a high pitched 'Mew' and rushed out the window.

That night haunted me for the next two weeks. I've woken up to full food bowls, I've spent countless nights out in the communal area sleeping on the hard cold floor, but nothing. I think that night caused some sort of chemical reaction in my head that has turned everything on, all the bad feelings and more. The next few days were brutal, unbearable, and then I realized, I couldn't do it no more. I needed a way out. I spent four hours crying and drinking a bottle of rum that was bought for me as a gift. I had a pen and a blank piece of paper in front of me, it stayed blank. There was nobody I could say goodbye to, nobody would care, I was alone, and I'm going to end it alone.

I gathered every sort of pain killer I could find in my room, about four boxes of Ibuprofen. I unscrewed the blade from a sharpener. My heart was heavy. My eyes streaming, I pondered in the mirror, I weighed the odds. The thoughts that were going through my head was travelling at a million miles per hour 'You're useless' and 'You couldn't even help a cat' and 'Nobody will miss you.' Those were just a few of the thoughts, and they were fuelling me. I wasn't afraid anymore. I had no reasons to not do it. I lifted a handful of pills up to my face. My hand was trembling, I couldn't keep it still, I couldn't see with the tears filling up my face. I took a deep breath, and in that moment, I heard a a familiar noise, the same high pitched 'Mew.'

My head and eyes shot so fast over to the window I could have given myself whiplash. And standing there next to an empty bowl was this kitten, the most beautiful little thing I had ever laid my eyes on. It didn't flinch at my sudden movement, just 'Mew'd' again and the purring rumbled from its throat. I fell to my knees, and broke down, and then I found myself, what was I thinking? I am better than this. The kitten jumped down and approached me, and this was it, I realized, even if I didn't need myself, no matter how low I felt, this kitten became dependent on me. It needed me. I threw the pills out, threw the blade out, turned the heater on and fixed a bowl of cat food. The kitten slept on the bed that night, and this is the first time in years that I felt wanted, I felt needed, I felt like I am important.

This is a story about how one act of kindness can save more than one life. No matter how low you feel in life, somebody somewhere will need you. You can make a difference. I don't know whose act of kindness in the story made more of an impact, simply buying cat food for a stray, or the stray coming to me when I needed somebody the most. Kindness comes in all shapes and forms, so stay humble.

I am the soldier, and until I met my best friend, my companion, my kitten named Hero, I felt like there was nothing left, but then I realized: there's always something.