We must take care of our military heroes ... as they take care of us, without question. The more I read the more I cry, the more I cry the more I feel I need to help...
"The suicide rate among the nation’s active-duty military personnel has spiked this year, eclipsing the number of troops dying in battle and on pace to set a record annual high since the start of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan more than a decade ago, the Pentagon said Friday." --- NY Times, June 2012
I recently read this, it's written by a veteran about his PTSD:
PTSD FOR ME.
IT’S THE FEELING OF RETURNING TO THE HOME I GREW UP IN AND REALIZING IT’S A LOT SMALLER THEN I REMEMBER.
ITS BAD POETRY.
IT’S THE VIEW OF MY PERFECT LIFE, BEAUTIFUL WIFE, AND AWESOME KIDS THROUGH PRISON BARS.
IT’S THE DEVIL HIDING BEHIND ME, AND ALL HIS DEMONS LURKING IN THE SHADOW.
IT’S A VOID WHERE GOD SHOULD BE.
IT’S THE TAP TAP TAP OF A RED HOODED WOODPECKER SITTING ON MY SHOULDER DRILLING ITS RAZOR SHARP BEAK IN TO MY SKULL WHILE IM TRYING TO WORK, PLAY, LOVE, SLEEP, AND LIVE.
IT’S THE WEIGHT OF AN OBESE ELEPHANT CATCHING A PIGGY BACK RIDE UP HILL IN THE RAIN.
IT’S A TEAL RIBBON. LOOK IT UP.
IT’S A BLACK HAT WITH YELLOW LETTERS THAT MEANS NOTHING.
IT’S A BLACK HAT WITH YELLOW LETTERS THAT MEANS EVERYTHING.
IT’S THE EMPTY SPOT IN MY BED WARE MY WIFE SHOULD BE INSTEAD OF THE COUCH.
IT’S MY SCARRED KNUCKLES, THE HOLES IN THE WALL, AND MY SMASHED LAPTOP.
IT’S THE FACES, I SEE WHILE ASLEEP, OF ALL THE TRUE HERO’S THAT WILL NEVER COME HOME TO THEIR FAMILY’S.
IT’S THE SWEAT DRIPPING OFF OF ME WHEN I WAKE UP.
IT’S A BLOCK OF ICE WARE MY HEART SHOULD BE.
IT’S AN EGG BEATER IN MY BRAIN.
ITS 100 POUNDS OF BODY FAT.
IT’S THE LOOK OF HELPLESSNESS ON MY FATHERS FACE.
IT’S THE KNIFE IN MY MOTHERS HEART.
IT’S THE TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY WIFE’S FACE.
IT’S THE FEAR IN MY CHILDREN’S EYES.
IT’S MY REWARD.
IT’S MY PUNISHMENT.
ITS YOUR PITY.
ITS MY LIFE.