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

You can read Russell’s full story here:  My PTSD Recovery