Daily SFTT receives gut-wrenching stories of warriors suffering from PTSD.   For many of us, it is difficult to comprehend what goes on in the minds of these veterans and, unfortunately, we are left with the bitter after-taste of the harm they are causing to themselves and their loved ones.    We would like to lend a helpful hand, but most of don’t know where to start.   This poem from Universal Blogger is one person’s attempt to explain the alienation of PTSD.

From a Blogger named Universal

I can’t sleep, can’t feel
Anything.
Time passes in chunks now —
A month passes for me
Like someone else’s day.

Zombies don’t have rhythms;
I go wherever my trance
Takes me.
Today I panic in a store,
Where danger doesn’t lurk.

Maybe if I stay awake, there
Won’t be any nightmares tonight.
But I can’t go without rest forever.
It’s over, finished. So why am I
Sweating? Why am I still afraid?

Today I saw most of my family
For the first time in a year.
Nothing felt real; everybody was a
Stranger I am supposed to know.
“Dissociation,” I think a doctor said.

No bumps, no bruises. No broken limbs.
But my mind is shattered, along with my
Soul.
I don’t know how to tell you that, don’t
Know how to put the genie back in the bottle.

When my emotions got shut off, I didn’t get to
choose which ones I wanted to keep;
They all left; they are all gone.
And it feels like there is an invisible hand
Keeping me frozen on my bed.

I used to care about how I looked, but now
All I can think about is what I saw, what I
Experienced; nothing seems to matter beyond
That. I will do anything — anything at all —
To keep from repeating that time.

I think more now, talk less. Months of numbness
Are followed by a week of depression and tears.
I am weak, frail, imperfect.
Broken.
My identity then irrevocably altered.

Do I want help, you ask.
How are you going to help me?
You weren’t there; you don’t know
What I saw, what I did.
What was done to me.

How does one ‘undo’ a scorched mind?
Deep within me a voice mumbles ‘help;’
But you’ll never hear that. All you will
See is my distant, fixed stare and my
Clenched jaw. I can’t take the chance.

How long will it be before you
Give up on me? I know it’s coming;
I’m resigned to my fate. Resigned to a
Lot of things, actually. Here, in my bunker,
In Hell.

Just remember, “You are not Alone!”  There are many who care deeply about the fate of our brave warriors who suffer from PTSD and each of us in his or her own way is trying to reach out to connect.  Give us a chance.