PTSD Warriors

Met a true comrade who honoured me a great honour.
After he listened to confessions of my finest hours,
He saw me as a veteran, called me a true one percenter.
As we shared horrors of each of our stories,
Then stared in honour at each of our courage.
Taken back was I the surreal feel of this moment.
Quickly I grasped the impact of his statement.

For years I had worn the same PTSD label,
Being pigeon holed as the most mentally unstable.
Both of us fighting a battle for some normality,
In a body that failed because of burnt out nerve endings.
One of us proud to protect and honour our country,
One of us proud to survive some of your nightmares.

Without unconditional love for an army of people
Or the total cost of the devastation that has happened,
PTSD will destroy every fine person it has broken,
Beyond recognition of the person they once were.
To put a measure or compare one of our battles,
Is not something that can be measured with whose hell.

Instead recognising we all faced challenges,
Opening our eyes to the depths of destruction,
To our lives, our families, our friends.
Living on survival mode just trying to stay here,
Fighting not only with the constant triggers,
Flashbacks, memory loss, lots of aches and confusion.
Paranoia, fear causing your worst kind of delusions.

Pills, pills, pills you need to be heavily sedated!
Yet free to heal with patience and understanding.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, you have not quite suffered yet!
Although we recognise you have been through quite a bit,
You know unless you are one of the easy, not too broken,
We won’t waste our time trying to mend the unspoken.

Your epic life will just be another wasted token
And a reminder that you will soon be forgotten.