This is truly a conversation I had with my husband, PTSD is real. (Graphic Words)
Petty Officer: Babe do you hear that?
Spouse: No babe, is everything ok?
Petty Officer: Fuck it, just go back to sleep.
Spouse: Babe, tell me what’s wrong. So I can help you.
Petty Officer: Nothing you wouldn’t understand.
Spouse: let me try. Let me see what I can do.
Petty Officer: I just want a drink. I hate this Fucken life.
Spouse: (scared) Ok, let’s get your pills.
Petty Officer: Fuck those pills, fuck those doctors. They think that shit is suppose to help? Like I’m going to pop those shits and “poof” life is unicorns and Fucken gum drops.
Spouse: Babe I know. Let’s just take the pills and calm down.
Petty Officer: what part of “Fuck these pills do you not understand?” I’m not taking shit. Now leave me the fuck alone. Just get out of my face. (Drinking heavy) (panting back and forth) (face of severe anger)
Spouse: (scared) (alone) (silent) (emotional)
The broken words of pain, anger and frustration. No one feeling in return will help to heal the invisible demons. Although unseen by others, killing those internally that suffer from its presence. He is the dark cloud, the voice, the one in control. The sufferer brain is distorted and weak. He has been possessed and taken over by visions and feelings for which exist harder than others. Others may look on and see nothing. Ask what’s wrong? Who is he talking to? Why is he hurting so bad? No one knows. The answer is not in a book, not online, not in medication and sleeping reprograms it. Please sufferer come back to me. Come back to love where it is not weak. Let me hold you safely while you sleep. Your protected, I will watch and see. My clothing is not fatigues. For what you see is just me. I can change into all white. For I want to bring you peace. Please sufferer come back to me. I promise to make it easy to sleep. Take my hand and release what’s deep. Remember me? The gentle beauty. Please sufferer come back to me.
Facebook: Shante Richardson