A shattered mind….

My mind is a horrible place. Often, it drifts to memories where I can be found in a convoy dodging mortars and rockets. Or unloading casualties at a mobile hospital. In my mind, time slows down, the whisper of bullets crashing into my vehicle or into a wall near me makes me duck for cover. Yesterday, I was at the library and a noise startled me. I ducked down beside my truck and the librarian saw me. She was on her way to the vehicle when my PTSD kicked in, wordlessly she watched while I scanned the area. These memories and reactions are involuntary. My address may be in the United States, but my mind is still in the sandy reaches of Iraq. Part of me hates it, the other part of me has never felt so alive.

When I came home from Iraq, I could not sleep without the blast of cannon fire, or the resounding explosions of Hellfire missiles. Thankfully, the television noise calms my nerves. When I sleep, I can see tracer fire, the hum of miniguns spits out thousands of tiny messengers of death to unseen enemies. The choom, choom, choom of Ma Duce (.50 caliber heavy machine gun) serenades me to sleep. What is worse than all this, is that I can see my eyes. My eyes are lifeless, but I am still alive. It’s like my soul has been splintered, that the best part of me died in that godforsaken dump. An angry, easily agitated husk came back from the sandbox. The innocence that I once had died a gruesome death there in my own personal hell.

Why am I writing about this tonight? I need to purge. Sure, I have people that I can talk to, if they have time to talk. I don’t need to bother them with this. The closer I get to Memorial Day; the worse it gets. It may get darker on my blog. Please understand, I am not suicidal. The memories of friends that never made it home haunts me. There are days when I wish that I hadn’t, because I don’t know if I can honor their memories. “No one is asking you to!” Yeah, but they need to be honored by those of us who are left. Otherwise, what is the point? The politicians of this country will not be satisfied until we are like everyone else. Nor will they honor the sacrifice by those who gave their all to protect this great country. They don’t have the guts to go and do what is necessary, but they are all in for someone else to do the killing and the dying.

The generation of people that are behind me and the millennials will ensure the destruction of America. They are all in on socialism, if the freebies continue. Do you know what comes after they demolish the Second Amendment? The order to get on the train. Those that don’t know their history are bound to repeat it. God help us and keep us.

Freeman

4 thoughts on “A shattered mind….

  1. Thank you for bringing your struggles to light and the struggles with the mind as him having issues as well so forgive me but im going to not so much purge the mind for mine has been purged of skills once taken for granted that now are debilitating some completely have left and return. without notice.
    Let me back up. Sgt Freeman thank you from the bottom of my soul you are a true hero, and Warrior and my hero. I’m not trying to make light of your struggles I know they are constant and real but in a way im jealous.
    Though my bad boy tough guy on the edge lifestyle I managed to collect 6 concussions with loss of consciousness twice any traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhage or a TBI. If your name wasn’t on the title I would struggle to remember who you are daily I get call or messages where I have to ask there name and how I know them though I would never complain what your mind is throwing at you. I think I stoke this moment on your page to vent or express what it’s like to leave home travel 1 mile in on direction and not know how to get home I drove 30 miles in the wrong direction and didn’t notice it for about 10 then I was lost. I don’t know what my point is but I thank you for me to handle our my personal diatribe of my mind and how it’s packing up and moving slowly but surely but no address is left. I’ll shut up now im going to send without checking any of my text to see how bad I did. Thank you, Sgt Freeman, for your service and for calling me a friend.

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  2. My dad is a Vietnam vet and he has described some of the same haunting experiences. He served as a medic, and while I’ve only heard a handful of his stories, I know he carries the memories of many horrible details from that nightmarish jungle. He used that experience to become a nurse and he was one of the best I’ve ever known. I share his experience, not to diminish yours in any way, but to let you know that when I say, “I’m so sorry for all that you’ve gone through, and I am grateful for your service,” it’s not a hollow, parroted statement. I’ve seen firsthand what wartime PTSD can do, I’ve seen firsthand what non-combat PTSD can do. It’s hell for the one going through it and agony for the people who are trying to help them through it. I am lifting you up in prayer today and I also pray that your candor will help someone else who needs to know they aren’t alone in their struggle.

    I haven’t forgotten 9/11, Iraq, Afghanistan, or the soldiers, like you, and like my dear friend who was killed over there, who have given so much for us.

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