Along with gratitude…
On the other hand, there are times when I feel as if everything will be all right. I feel strong
and capable in every way. I feel like I can get on with my life and with our lives in a normal way,
and a normal pattern of daily life. Then, out of the blue, the memories and images, even fullblown flashbacks hit me again. When the trauma does hit, rage runs through me and I want to
hurt someone.
It is all I can do to keep myself from completely coming unglued. I know that I yell at you. I
have treated you so very badly. I have taken my pain, my anger and all of my confusion out on
you. I never wanted to do that. I do feel guilty for that—and I am responsible for how I act. No
matter what I have witnessed or experienced, there is no excuse for treating you badly. I am also
coming to see that war not only takes the lives of those it kills, it takes the lives of those it spares.
Yes, I came back alive. I am grateful for my life, but that is where the gratitude stops. I do
feel guilty, very guilty about coming home. What did I do to deserve coming home with only a
bit of pain when others gave their entire lives? The guys who gave their lives didn’t do anything
more or less than I did. Most of them were better people than I could ever hope to be. So why did
they have to die? Why did I survive? I feel incredibly grateful and horribly guilty at the same
time. Yet I have no visible scars that show the damage and I have no way of sharing with others
all that has been done. To the outside world, I look the same. Nothing could be further from the
truth. The life I knew is gone. The me I knew is gone.