16/02/2015 06:12 GMT | Updated 16/04/2015 06:59 BST

The Nutrition of a Soldier - Combat

Fighting is thrilling.

In my life I've never been much of a fighter; I've had my scrapes. I never start them, I just happen to get involved when they gravitate towards me or my friends. I'm not interested in writing about drunk people throwing wild punches in the rough area of each others faces. Fist fighting is the least productive hobby on earth; broken noses, cauliflower ears, black eyes, the list never ends. It isn't worth the energy. I'm here today to talk about real fighting, the fighting that men do; I'm here to talk about war.

We aren't all built to fight, we sure as shit all have it in us to fight though. I've seen the kindest soul stand up and fight with ruthless rage. Why? Well, who wants to die? Not me. Eight years ago I joined the British Army, two tours of Afghanistan, and almost 6 years later I left. Everyday since I think about combat, I can't help myself. Sometimes I just want to be in a situation where I can fight again. I'm blessed with a very reflective mind; one question rings through my mind every time - why? Why do I need to fight again? What is it about getting shot at that makes me want more?

Who knows. All I know is that In another life, a life where I am alone; I'd be in Ukraine or Syria fighting whichever enemy my Government would legally allow me to. The first time I got shot at I didn't feel a thing; it was disappointing. I'd heard of people freezing, pissing themselves, crying, screaming. Well, not me. All I knew is that I wanted. I'm not some super soldier, I just reacted the way I did, why? Well, I guess I've played too much Call of Duty. In a fire fight it's you are them, you're receiving accurate enemy fire and giving it. It's an electrifying feeling, if I could equate it to something I'd say it's like being struck by lightning. One second becomes one hour, your perception of time is rocked. Your body is so full of adrenaline that you might as-well be one of Angelina Jolies cronies from Wanted. I've had a bullet land right next to me in the sand and sat there wanting it to happen again. It's great, and it is entirely impossible to articulate.

Who wants to fight? Not me, oh wait I do.

That is the thought process I feel everyday. Is there such a thing of having enough of fighting. I guess I'll never find out. I hope I never need to find out. I'm under no illusion that one day my kids will need to fight. The world is going in a nasty direction, I hope when the day comes I can keep my children away from it. I used to be someone who thought fighting was the worst thing on earth. Now, I'm hard-wired to find it. That first bullet forever tainted me, my first 'hit'; like a heroin addicted. I'm never going to stop wanting it, I'm just going to have to live with the urges inside.