No one knows the pain I feel,
The ever-present crushing heel,
No one knows, although they try,
They can’t come close and they don’t see why,
Why do I feel the way I do,
An anguish shared by just a few.
It isn’t you, it isn’t me,
It’s what I call “My PTSD”,
Everyday a constant fight,
Mentally and physically to maintain my right,
To control my body and my mind,
A refusal to accept my fate is signed.
Some days I win but some I lose,
The brave face I wear is just a ruse,
To cover all the hurt and despair,
Of all the sights my mind still bares,
I look in the mirror, an empty shell,
Anguishing in my PTSD cell.
Wishing I was the man before,
Knowing he could win this mental war,
I try to prepare for the battle ahead,
But lie awake atop my bed,
Scared to drift off to a sleeping state,
As I know, the nightmares lie in wait.
Relentless is this merciless affliction,
But beating it has become my addiction,
It should have chosen another soul,
One more easy-to-control,
It will be long, it will be hard,
But I will fight that extra yard,
To regain what was taken unfairly from me,
And in doing so, beat My PTSD.
By Trauma Research UK Trustee, Russell Dean