I am not a stranger to tough times,
like now for example.
That doesn't make me special.
What makes me special is I am surrounded
by people who know what its like.
People who overcome.

That being said, their battles
occasionally flare up.
Regardless of how I would much rather
curl up in self pity or focus on figuring out
solutions to life's mysteries,
Their matters come first.

So, even in my weakest times,
I have to be a rock,
braving a smile,
feigning strength,
being there,
for those going through an ordeal.

I never met my grandpa,
he fought in Vietnam.
He didn't die in battle.
When he got home,
he attempted to pick up the pieces,
of his shattered mind.

The unimaginable things he must have done
all for the sake of fighting for his country.
The cruelty he must have seen
all for a government squabbling.
To return, with angry faces meeting him,
as if it was his decision to go to resort to arms,
as if PTSD wasn't enough of a punishment.

He returned to his family
struggling to acclimate to the environment.
Tried to shake off
the horrific nightmares of war
that led to bloodcurling screams
keeping the entire block wide awake.

He returned to his job
construction work, paving roads
seeking solitary work,
afraid he would snap.
One day, he crashed.
Pinned into the machine
on a hot June day.

As the sun
baked the blood in his face
this man paid for whatever sins
he committed, and then some.
slowly, he inched his way to Death's doorstep,
with a crooked smile, and a guiltless heart,
finally having peace, in a life of turmoil.

Tuesday, marked four years.
Four years since God ripped away someone
someone very precious to me.
Heaven did gain an angel,
but I lost so much more.
I lost one of the only people I have ever trusted.
A mentor, an inspiration.
Mere words cannot do him justice,
but an ode of recollection might suffice.

May 20, 2009
Regional track meet,
bright-eyed freshmen thrower
excited to show he belonged.
First toss
scratch
Second toss
scratch
Then a phone call.
There was an accident.
Her stifled sobs
echoing through the speaker.
Third toss
didn't come.
Tears splash against the pavement,
then thudding from the Converses
as the feet try to take him away from the arena,
from everyone.

May 22, 2014
Today.
Broken.
Directionless.
Clinging to what was passed down.
Interests shriveled.
Seeking to fill a void
that just keeps growing.

Expressing myself has never been a skill
So as I fumble over the words
Puzzled confused eyes stare back at me
Through the cracked glass of the mirror.
If he can't understand, how can others?
Understanding isn't the goal
But merely a side objective.
What I really strive for, is to repair those eyes
Those sad, desperate eyes
Reminiscent of deep, dark pools
Sorrow and despair as plentiful as the tears.
Tears, like the Mississippi, continuously flowing
Through the crevasses and geography of the reflection's face.
I plead and beg for a drought
No end in sight.
Patience is a virtue, after all.
"Time heals all wounds."
Physical, maybe. Not the most important wounds.
The deep cuts, that reach to the very core.
So, hearing that tired, cliched expression
every fiber of my being silently screams
"*******."

Putting on an air of indifference,
Pretending not to care,
Withdrawing infinitely inward,
Running away from everyone/everything.

Failing to trust,
Finding solace in privacy,
Burning bridges faster than I can build,
Raising barriers day after day.

Over-analyzing, methodically,
Torturing myself for mistakes,
Disregarding successes,
Acknowledging only failures.

Blinking back the tears,
Feigning safety behind smiles and jokes,
Sleeping has escaped me,
Healing, a lost dream.

Another sleepless night.
As the hours tick by,
days seem to blur together.
The concept of time, lost
a seemingly unrecognized importance.
A constant order, now shrouded.
Lacking focus, distinctions hard to identify.
Clarity is a wonderful thing,
with value tends to be misrepresented.

Taking into account all the extra hours I have,
Reflection and self-evaluation tend to fuel
all my extra thoughts.
Nights like this tend to be the worst, at least during the day
there is sunlight to dispel the inner shadows.
These thoughts, more painful than any physical abuse
I have ever experienced.
For my psychological prison tortures me more
than those forsaken tools of punishment.

Coat hangars, wire, studded leather,
the list goes on and on and on and on,
long-lasting impacts, not initially seen.
While the scars on my body have healed,
the injuries of the spirit remain fresh.
Damaged so badly, dreams are gone.
All that remains is hurt. Those
nightmares so vivid, so painful, so...
real.

As things run into each other,
the nightmares fuse with reality.
These distractions limit my interactions,
for sometimes,
comprehension disappears.
Letting things happen and not making decisions
serves as an escape.
For my brain is busy
trying to distinguish what is and isn't real.

Expressing myself has never been a forte,
for how do I explain the hallucinations,
the manifested fears, the projected demons
that originate from within?
So I deflect.
I run away.
I pretend to be okay.
I try to remain steady
amidst a raging typhoon of anxiety, regret, and fear.

I'm not entirely proud of all the things I have done,
nor am I satisfied with how things have turned out.
While I may have had relative misfortune,
there are countless people who have had it worse.
Therefore, who am I to say I am sad?
But the logic of saying you can't be sad because some have it worse,
is like saying others can't be happy because some have it better.
Plenty of things have happened to me,
that I wouldn't wish on my enemies.
I couldn't.
Because I know the pain that comes with.
Because I know the truth.
Because wildest imaginations cannot explain the agony.
So I had to find the reason.
Of all people in the entire world,
why me?
I never worked hard enough.
I was never smart enough.
I was never strong enough.
I was never skilled enough.
I was never good enough.
At least that was what I was told.
Being told this, over and over
you start to believe it.
You live it.
To the point where I constantly am confused
when good things happen.
When good people are nice.
I struggle to grasp when these people
say that they like me
that they value me.
I struggle to grasp that
because I don't like me.
I don't get how people could.
The torment I experience
at this point in my life is self inflicted.
Because I won't let anyone have the chance
to get close.
Its too much.
Comfort is foreign.
Relaxed is nonexistent.
Always in a state of peril.
People deserve comfort and relaxation.
But my life has told me, that I do not qualify.
I hate that.
I wish things were different.
I wish I was someone else.
But then someone would have to be me.
And that's not fair to them.
So I'll take this backpack of suffering,
knowing someone better than me
doesn't need to be weighed down.