It's amazing how far a life can travel from its intended path. In the last weeks I've had ample time to reflect on the issues of the past—too much time to reflect, if I'm honest—and in that time I've come to fear… Come to know… That I've spent my life walking that path blindly.
It was misguided of me to devote my life to the armed services in exchange for a paycheck and a fancy sounding title, but any eighteen-year-old, particularly one with such impressive credentials, might make the same decision that I did if no other prospects existed. With my childhood and adolescent experiences, the decision to serve was practically made for me. It was natural. Once enlisted, my superiors threw promotions and bonuses at me with blinding speed, and I spent years dazzled by success I'd never known before; success that I'm fairly certain no one ever expected of me. I never stopped to think that perhaps my acceptance of those offerings was entrenching me deeper into a system from which I would find it difficult, if not impossible, to escape.
Going into the military, I had enjoyed years of practice suppressing emotions of my own volition, of covering up negativity and positivity in equal measure, dependent upon the circumstances. The intense training I underwent as a proper soldier, formal training honed by years of professional analysis, allowed me complete control. Outwardly, it was possible for me to project the same front I had always used without anyone being any the wiser to changes within. Inwardly, I was calm.
Or I thought I was calm.
I realize only now that I have never achieved peace with myself at any point in my short life. Not even for an instant. Even during times where I believed myself to be composed there were emotions raging deep inside of me that I could not recognize and could never hope to control. They came out of me when the Quell had its hold, and I made stupid decisions while blinded by impulse. They came out of me when confronted by what I had done to M-204, and I panicked so frequently and so intensely that I was rendered incapable of making the simplest decisions. They came out of me when Hilde was injured, and for a stretch of weeks I was able to move forward, but I was so thoroughly blinded by rage that I can no longer look back to see the string of decisions which brought me to the point I'm at now.
Somewhere in that time I created a mobile suit monster, offensively balanced and recklessly incapable of withstanding any sizeable impact: A machine in which I would kill or be killed. I've got dim memories of its planning and construction, but those memories are clouded by anger and exhaustion. Somewhere in that time I made the decision to leave the Peacemillion, perhaps forever, and I did not say good-bye to those whose friendship I value the most. I said goodbye only to Heero, and that exchange felt in the moment as one of pure necessity. Somewhere in that time I accepted that I would commit treason by encouraging civilians to declare themselves independent of the Earth Sphere United Nation. And somewhere in that time, people decided to listen to me.
Since leaving the Peacemillion ninety-eight days ago I've completed thirty-seven separate missions targeting military operations on Earth and in space which may or may not have been related to the infiltration of its ranks by insurgent opportunists. I've made twelve addresses on behalf of the colonies that I've assisted as a part of those missions, and I've lost count of the number of times those addresses have been broadcast. Five colonies, including L-237, have declared themselves independent and were, at last check, beginning to draft their own constitutions and governing documents. The military organization has continued its internal investigation, upturning every leaf on every branch of service, and ousting no fewer than three hundred insurgents, each of who will be tried and almost certainly convicted of treason and conspiracy. Captain Charles Benning has still not been located, and Corporal James O'Keefe, the second in command to the operation, has remained bulletproof.
Aboard the Peacemillion itself, things changed as well. The last transmission I received, a long letter from Quatre, explained that he was going to remove Hilde from the stasis chamber so that she could live or die on her own willpower and he invited me back to the ship to rest. I don't know her current status. The remainder of the crew, by his report, was as frantic and disjointed as they could be, sometimes pressing forward in their own investigation of current events and occasionally stopped in their tracks attempting to manage a baby that no one expected to come so soon. I had wondered in the wake of his last message how Heero had been feeling, and Quatre's transmission explained that he'd been "distant and more quiet than usual." For a while this bothered me, but over time I came to realize that Heero was experiencing a similar life crisis as I was.
It's been four weeks since that transmission came in. It's been four weeks of floating in space. Four weeks wondering about the well-being of my friends. Four weeks without a mission or broadcast. Four weeks of radio silence. Four weeks alone. And in that time I've come to recognize in full what true silence is. I've come to appreciate the sound of my own heart beating, not in panic but at rest, and I've learned to contemplate problems completely and without interruption or distraction.
I used to believe that I could find peace in solitude while aboard the Peacemillion. I used to believe that I could find peace in solitude in highly populated areas of any kind, really. But now I've experienced genuine silence I understand that no corner I ever found aboard any ship or in any barrack could have offered me the isolation I needed to take stock of my life in any meaningful capacity. The conclusions I reached during those times of falsehood I realize now were rush decisions made with knowledge that I would have to get back to work soon, or that someone might come knocking on my door and interrupt me in a moment of much needed release.
Only in the confinement of this mobile suit cockpit have I ever had the room I needed to let everything go. Floating alone in deep space there is no one to listen to my thoughts, no one to judge me for the quality of my reasoning or the recklessness of my emotions. I can laugh and cry and scream and swear, and the only person to whom I have to answer is me. There's some comfort in that, in being able to admit that I was wrong about things and right about others, and that part of what makes me a human being is my capacity for error. But so, too, do I now know that part of what makes me a wholly decent human being is my ability to understand my motivations and myself.
I think back to all the nightmares I used to have and the anger, which must've exacerbated them. Specifically, I remember the visions I had of Sister Helen telling me to move along, to stop blaming myself for what happened to her and the Father when I was so young. I held on to my guilt because it became expected of me to feel guilty, because people looked at me and called me the Maxwell Church Demon and pitied me as the sole survivor. It's the same reason I continued to harbor guilt over Hilde. I wasn't responsible for the military coming in to destroy the church: If I had been present at that time I would've died alongside everyone else. I didn't fire the shot that wounded Hilde so grievously: I scarcely knew she was being fired upon until after the bullet connected and the damage was done. In both of these situations, I blamed myself because I expected that if I had been in control I'd have been able to stop the bloodshed. But there was no control, and the guilt I've been harboring is the result of my inability to rationalize the chaotic nature of human existence.
Since then, I've been able to admit to myself that very little of the tragedy in my life was my fault. I've been able to stop dwelling on what's been done and attempt to move on. That's what Helen told me to do in my near-death vision of her. I hope I can do her wishes justice.
For now, I must content myself with reality in this new and unfamiliar perspective. I imagine I'll take another week or so to finish thinking things over and decide how to proceed, to make sure that I'm really free of the anger and vengeful desires that drove me into this mess in the first place.
If there is one take-away from this, it is that I have found incalculable comfort in admitting that I don't know all of the answers, and that knowledge has freed me from the bonds of false optimism. I've experienced more personal development in the last two months than I experienced in my prior twenty-five years of life. More, my self-imposed separation from people to whom I grew too close has allowed me to finally figure out who I am and who I want to become. I have come to appreciate the power of insight and the value of honest reflection in the absence of friends and family.
I have come to appreciate the solace of open spaces.
-MSgt. Duo Maxwell
2
