PTSD My nightmares are violent; rifle jammed frustratingly dead, broken stock useless as a club, only a k-bar knife

and free hand reaching for those darting figures leaping over my fighting hole. The night terrors are far worse; bolting upright out of deep sleep screaming from hidden memories, violence lost while it occurred, these trauma never remembered hidden so very deep in my psychic. My days and nights span endlessly while sitting alone in an empty room, sightless but seeing forty years ago, no longer living in the relevant present the past becomes my personal quagmire; a Hell beyond address never resolved. Coping with a forced duality of life accomplishments mean little, every success is infused with doubt, past decisions are seen in darkness and the future unnecessary unwanted the value of my life feels wasted. Old thoughts and desires surface, my death in Vietnam more merciful, I lived while more deserving men died they may have avoided a faulty life without a repressed and shattered mind; how these feelings echo among Veterans.

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