Hidden but Seen

Hidden but Seen

Do not judge me because I am not you.
Do not judge me because you cannot see
the battle I fight.

Do not judge me because you think
my emotions are erratic.
Do not judge me because you cannot feel
compassion in your own heart.

Do not judge me because I am not successful in what you consider important.
Do not judge me
because I cannot "get over it."

Do not judge me as insignificant
because I do not fit into your proper and polite world.

Do not judge me because
I break out in cold sweats in middle of a conversation.

Do not judge me because I cannot hide my emotions.

Do not judge me because you are not me.

Do not judge me because I remember.

That Time of Year

PTSD is indiscriminate.

We cannot hide, and we cannot run.
What do we do?
We fight.
We fight it with every ounce of strength that we can muster.
We fight until we cannot fight a moment longer and fall into the oblivion of our own hell.

Every year, the end of September brings something extra for me.
Every year, the day after Christmas, I begin to feel relief.Every year, I think next year will be better, easier.
Every year, I forget what October will be like.Every year, I remember.

Every year, it gets harder.
Every year, I wake to a new level of torture.
Every year, I am reminded I am incompatible with the rest of my world.
Every year, new memories rock the foundation of my soul.
Every year, I cry out in agony, reliving every moment.
Every year, he comes into my room.
Every year, he touches me.Every year, I seek the meaning.
Every year, meaning does not reveal itself.
Every year, I loose my passion for living.Every year, I face the nightmares and cold sweats.Every year, I cannot be alone because I have to be babysat.Every year, I lose friends because they cannot understand my war.
Every year, I fail to make new friends because I cannot control my emotions.Every year, I remember.Every year, I fight.
Every year, I adjust to the new memories.
Every year, I breathe a sigh of relief when December has passed by.
Every year, I believe it will be better next year.Every year, I believe I have accomplished a victory because I am alive.
Every year, I am all too aware that people do not accept me for who I am. Every year, I think "if only I could make them see without judging me."Every year, I remember.Every year, people tell me "Get over it."
Every year, I feel like a burden to my family.
Every year, I become someone who I am not.
Every year, I lose stretches of time.
Every year, I get lost in the flash-backs.
Every year, my mind betrays me. Every year, I remember.Every year, Hope hides in the recesses of my mind.
Every year, I am plunged into the darkness of hell.
Every year, I have to crawl my way out.
Every year, I chip away at the muck and mire he left me covered in.Every year, I feel numb.
Every year, my body remembers even if my mind does not.Every year, I remember.Every year, I am suffocated again by his stench and musty smell.
Every year, I am a child locked away in her closet.Every year, I am the teenager pinned down with the knife to her throat.
Every year, I am the girl in the dumpster searching for food to eat.
Every year, I am the child sent to school without food.
Every year, I am the sister shivering on the steps with her siblings, praying we are not next.
Every year, I am the neighbor girl every one talks about, feels sorry for, but does nothing to help.
Every year, I remember.

Does Anybody Hear Her?




  Every year, I remember.

Plato Knew...

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."


Recently, I heard the news that a very dear friend of mine had committed suicide. In shock and disbelief, I scoured the Internet to find the news in our local paper or a clip from the news. Nothing. Nothing was found to be found here in the local media. I finally found his death notice in his hometown paper.

Why?
Because my friend was a soldier. A medic for the US Army. The officials apparently thought it best not to let the information leak that a soldier had taken his life.
Why?
Scared that maybe some of the other killing machines they have created will get the same idea and off themselves and THAT would make the United States of America look bad? Our leaders make me sick.
The soldiers are sent off to war, sometimes several times in a row. For instance, my ex-husband. He has recently started his 4th tour in Iraq. We have three children together and after the first time he deployed, he came back a changed man. Even if the soldiers are "lucky" to make it home, they are not alive anymore. They are just waiting for death to come for them, and in the mean time drink their fears away, shoot them up in the fluffy clouds with drugs, or drag their families into their personal hell with them.

My ex-husband is a good man who is the perfect soldier. To show distress from war exposure is a weakness and will be punished immediately by their superiors. He knows that. So does every other soldier in the United States military, no matter what they may be spoon-fed by the politically correct silver tongued leaders who preach about getting help for the epidemic of depression over taking our soldiers. How ironic that our leaders send our fellow citizens off to a war for oily money, for pride, for "justice," yet when the good and faithful servant shows sign of weakness, they are dispensed of as if they did not sacrifice all that was important to them to serve our government, and have something relative to the black plague.

I am not anti-soldier.
I am anti-senseless-war.
I am anti-senseless-loss.
I am anti-abusing-our-defenders.
I am anti-killing-our-soldiers-in-silent-prisons.

I have lost more than one special person to the desert sand-filled winds they breathe in.
I lost my family because my ex's soul was left on the side of the road in Iraq where he watched his comrades being blown up, with him not able to do a damn thing.
I lost faith in my government's ability to guide and protect us, and it's men that protect us all.
I lost my right to privacy in suspicion of terrorism because of the Patriot Act.
I lost another friend to the horrendous nightmares and bloody reality he lives inside of every day.
I lost my friend, SPC Christopher Akin, to suicide because he could not fight any longer.

So much "I" in this. Think of the "I" as "we"...and think about the people you know personally who war has touched and torn apart. "I" represent the collective "we" who are suffering along with our soldiers. We are a scarred Nation, with no Faith, no Love, and no Compassion left for mankind.

I've heard a lot of people say all sorts of things to justify why "we" have had to have this war, and though the official-ness of it is ended, it will never end for those of us who have come in contact with it, either directly or indirectly.

The debt amounted can never be paid. The innocence robbed can never be regained. The fatherless, and motherless children of the consequences of war will never forget the government that was designed to protect them, helped destroy them. The families that have been torn apart, because the men we entrusted to the government, were returned to us hollow and angry shells of the men who left us.

My friend, Chris, was 23. He was one of the greatest and smartest people I knew, even if he was antagonistic and semi-annoying (like a little brother) at times. That was his brilliance. He wanted to act like a heartless fool, but while you were busy being distracted by the things he threw at you to think about, he sized you up. He was a worthy opponent in debate and yet, one of the most gentle people that has ever graced the face of this earth. I do not know what could have happened to make Chris give up his love for living, for giving, for knowledge, but I do know he deserved better then what he got in return for his service to the government.

Our soldiers are men. They are not machines. No matter what they are made to believe, they have a soul, and their minds will only withstand so many assaults on human decency. No one should experience what the soldiers have that I have talked about.

They are all locked within a prison from which they cannot get out. Chris found his key, but the door spilled out into oblivion.

"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule." Friedrich Nietzsche

Here's to "Fuckin Chris"-- I hope your journey is more peaceful now and that The Flying Spaghetti Monster has wrapped you in His very best ravioli He can make...I love you and will miss you until I see you again, my friend.

Peace. Now. Please.