Here I am again. It's really late or, maybe it's early. It depends on how you look at it.

Sometimes I think I've done a lot of healing and I've come so far. Then nights like this my ghosts come to me.

I don't know which ones are the worst. Sometimes its the ones that tell me to blame myself. Or maybe the ones that tell I should have done better. Then there are the ones that make me wonder why I'm still alive when so many others are dead.

Me and my ghosts have a merry old time. I roll over. I toss and I turn and they are still there. If I really am due some punishment, I'll go to sleep and they're there and I'll get to relive one of the seven layers of hell I've been to.

That I'm messed up- well that's a given. I'm not even sure how to define getting better at this point. I've been trying for so long, is it even possible? They say it's possible and the tooth fairy will bring you candy and lollipops and everything will be okie-dokie.

They aren't around when all paths lead back to this place where I'm alone in the dark and afraid.

It's times like this that I really miss not drinking or getting stoned. Oh, it would help for a little while but as beat up as I am, it wouldn't take me long to go down that drain.

PTSD sucks. It never really goes away. It like a sea monster lurking in the depths. When it gets hungry, just when you think you are doing OK treading water it comes up from the depths and takes another bite of your soul.

Mostly what it does is just wear you down- one bite of soul at a time until there's nothing left.

I'm not just exhausted. I'm sick and tired of the whole damned thing.

I want to close my eyes and see nothing. Not the dead and the dying asking me why are you still here and we're gone? What makes you special? You weren't any different.

I can't answer that and it is driving me crazy.