My confession.

There are days when I absolutely abhor being me. Introspectively, it is not that I am a brutish individual, nor is it that I suffer from schizophrenia or psychosis. Further analysis reveals that I am loyal, friendly, steadfast and other “good” traits. I possess the ability to sit in a room by myself and not commit suicide due to self-loathing. It makes no sense to me, why I dislike my person.

When confronted with days of dark thoughts, I find that my self-hatred stems from my inability to process certain emotions. Situations arise that I can’t impact, therefore it renders me impotent to change it. Fears plague my mind on dark days, and there is no way for me to shut it off. Silence is as deafening as a cannon blast to the face. Anxiety creates scenarios that are not true. My greatest challenge since returning from war has been the battle to retain my sanity. “If I can make it one more day….”

Every day is not like this. There are moments of ecstasy. Days blow by like chaff on the wind, then out of my blind spot comes the darkness. It doesn’t matter if it is a near or far ambush, either hinders my forward progress. Maybe it is my imagination playing tricks on me, but every unexpected sound seems like a threat. Paranoia spurs hyper vigilance into action. It’s just a trick of the mind or is it….?

There are days when I truly abhor who I am.

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