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?