Blood shot eyes, exhaustion consumes me. Sleep is a word that has been nearly forgotten.
It’s dark and cold, the city has turned in for the night but I am wide awake.
I fight my eyes as they try to close. I take another drink, the whiskey runs through me as fast as lightning, jolting me awake for another few minutes.
I can hear everything, the quieter it is the louder I can hear. It starts off as a small ringing in the ears. As the clock ticks, the ringing gets louder. It’s as if I am being hypnotized by my own thoughts.
The ringing turns into other sounds. Some of them can be explained, others I try to ignore.
Cries for help and images of wounded soldiers start to flash before my eyes. The images are mixed with memories from child hood, innocent things combined with things that I would never wish on my worst enemy.
I fight myself to open my eyes so the flashes will stop. The cycle continues every day and every night.
Who will understand the battle I face? Who will understand my fears?
This illness does not have a color, it does not have a smell and it cannot be seen by the human eye.
We live in two worlds, inside and outside. We see both but you only see one.
Many fight this battle all alone because they know that no one will understand.
Sometimes all we need is open arms to comfort our delicate soul. We don’t want to explain the horror that goes on inside, we just need to know that we are not alone.
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