PTSD

I wrote the poem PTSD many years ago not long after I was diagnosed. The photograph is of the troop ship Sir Galahad in flames after being hit by enemy Skyhawk aircraft, my Rapier system had a fault and I had to watch helplessly as 48 men were instantly killed and hundreds terribly burnt. I suffered for many years after this attack with survivor guilt and blamed myself for their deaths and not the equipment or the commanders who tasked us on that mission `knowing` we had a fault.


I'm happy and sad
Compassionate and bad
Can't sleep at night
Can't do anything right
I wanna be alone
But not on my own
I'm in love but I hate
I'm a burden on the state
I'm possessed by the war
I killed what for?

I see shrinks
I see doc's
Remember my arctic socks
I'm disloyal cause I'm ill
Is it right to kill
I can hide in a crowd
My face a grey shroud
I cry for no reason

My country shouts treason
All the pills and the booze
Make bad memories ooze
I was 19 in June
Under a bright crystal moon
I died that day
But I'm still here to say
For the brave and the free
My award PTSD.



© Mack (RG)"Every day feels like the day of a funeral"