PTSD Hell

My PTSD has become almost overwhelming.  I wake up each morning and I’m depressed that I didn’t die in my sleep.  I lay there and wish I didn’t have to face another day.  Images of a rope with a noose or the imagined taste of a weapon in my mouth flood my mind, driving out any residual joy that might have appeared at the dawn.  I don’t want to keep laying there there but I don’t want to leave the safety of my bed.

I long ago lost the last person I could call friend.  I’m just too strange and depressing for most people and they purposely drift away and lose contact.  I can’t make new friends simply because I have no idea how to be with people on the superficial level that is the norm.  I can’t gain any new friends because I have nothing I’m capable of discussing.  I don’t give a rat’s ass about “famous”people and I’ve lost interest in anything political because politics offers human beings nothing but lies.  Add to that the reality that I am constantly deeply afraid that I will bare some of the hell that bubbles in my mind and I will see that look again, the one that says “I want nothing to do with you”.

I feel completely useless in the world.  I deeply miss the sense of accomplishment that my job gave me for so many years.  I regret retiring both because I miss the work as well as the reality that employers see me as “too old” when I tried to return to the occupation I was so good at.  Add to that the fact that having nothing meaningful to do means I sit at home, alone, every day, sinking deeper and deeper into depression.

Even if my age wasn’t such an issue I’m now incapable of being in a room with more than one person without getting so stressed that I can’t focus on the questions even though, in retrospect, I knew the correct answers easily but could not, for the life of me, bring those answers forth through the mental blocks.

I have only one person in my life and that’s my son but, with his learning disabilities our conversations either focus on TV or video games, neither of which I have much real interest in.  He is simply the only reason that I have not taken my own life.  No matter how much I want this all to end, he is the only reason I do not carry through with ending everything.  It would devastate him beyond words and, since the rest of his family has never shown any interest in him other than the rare phone calls, he would have nowhere to go and he isn’t ready to care for himself.

I’ve tried to talk about all of this with so-called professionals but the VA counselors are inept and poorly trained and trying to find anyone outside the VA that truly understands PTSD is nearly impossible.  One the most depressing statements in the world is “I understand” when they obviously do not and cannot.  How does anyone understand a year or more of utter hell just because they took some classes and tests?  If you haven’t desperately needed a shower to wash off the remains of other human beings, how can anyone comprehend the utter depths one falls into at that point?

Every day is a battle with unseen demons, a battle I am constantly afraid of losing. I do not want to live another day but I know that my son needs me and, for that reason alone, I go to bed, shake with sadness every night, but wake up and do it again day after day.

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