My Story On Ptsd

1918

25 December

It's Christmas today, but the town is gloomy. Instead of Christmas carols, it cries from the widows, the orphans, cries from mothers who carried them for 9 months only for them to die in the field the white snow had turned into a bloody colour. I was questioning my sanity. I grew up in the city of hope, but now the city was turned into a city of sorrow. It was the first time I saw Mr Roger cry. It was because his son died in the war. I looked at my watch, it was 9:44 pm. Then I looked at the frozen puddles of water, I didn't see my reflection, I only saw a monster who killed many. I could still hear the cries of the Germans begging for mercy. Then I remembered my dear friend Hans Wolf with whom I spent Christmas had died because of a bullet through his torso. He died after a few days because of an infection. It was a victory day for us. But it was a loss for everyone on the earth. The city was now near a newly constructed park called the Wisconsin National Park. When I went to my house it was happiness at first. One minute later they couldn't recognise me. Once they recognised me my wife welcomed me in. Then I took a shower. When I was in the shower the clear water turned into the bloodiest red. I ran after grabbing a towel. I don't know if I can live like this.

To understand- Most of the people who came back after the war committed suicide because of severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).