I’m not psychotic. I’m not fucked in the head, no more than anyone who’s had to live through some shitty times in life.
I’m not depressed, at least not in a suicidal sense. I just… miss being at my best. What I saw as my best.
I’m not injured anywhere nearly as bad as most guys that served, but my body is failing.
I see videos of the grisly realities of war, and I don’t flinch. I actually yearn for the memories I have of the war.
I remember gunfights. I remember having my life on the line. I remember feeling most alive when I almost died. I remember every single shit moment of deployment in a combat zone with nostalgia.
I don’t remember much else. My mind is there, but it’s not. I have trouble remembering simple things. My birthday. My name. Where I lay my head at night. Why the sky is blue. How to fix a seized engine with a block of wood and a mallet. I have to focus to remember those things.
I find my escape in reading. I lose myself in writing. I hate most of what I write.
I refuse to get into a romantic relationship again. My problems are mine. I’m not going to saddle someone else with them.
I stay awake until I pass out from sheer exhaustion. I listen to music too loudly.
I have trouble making words work. Talking is difficult, at times. Alcohol is more than just social lubricant, it’s the only way I can conquer my anxiety enough to not make other people uncomfortable. I avoid my friends to not make them feel awkward because of my presence.
I go to bars and restaurants to people watch. I go to parties and want to leave within the first 10 minutes.
I fake having orgasms so I don’t insult whichever woman I’m with. I can get it up, I just can’t get it out. Psychic impotence is a bitch, but I don’t want to change it.
I can’t have kids. I wanted kids, back when I was in a happy, committed relationship, but I don’t want to think about a future like that, anymore.
I want my friends to check up on me and leave me the fuck alone. I want other people to take responsibility away from me. I want to be able to stop doing my duty.
I want to be able to walk off into the sunset.
I want to be a fond memory, and nothing more.
I want solitude.
I want rage.
I want war.
I want peace.
I need another drink.
Fuck me, right?