Civilized? (Private entry)

-----Private Entry-----

It's not going to end, not ever. Even if this supposed red tape gets worked out and we each get to our homes, even if I find the people who ran that nightmare and get to do every single thing I dreamt of doing? It won't end. No going back to life before this, no way to think like I used to or forget what I became with a little creative motivation.

Seeing this computer didn't help, it dredged up memories that I wish were older and dimmed. But it's here. For 'therapy' they tell me. Therapy my black ass. Part of me wants to smash it, just to see if a new one shows up tomorrow. But there's already entries up; Hannah, Janie, Lina, Dave, who knows who else? All I know is that it means none of us are clear of this, that even if this isn't a trap we're all still stuck together. I don't like that one bit.

I remember meeting Raffinger back in '84, first time I'd seen him since the hospital in 'Nam. He looked like shit spread on toast, all skin on bones and shadows so dark under his eyes that I thought he'd gotten beat up recently. Track marks down one arm clued me in, the smell of piss clinging to him like it was seeped into his very skin. He was in cuffs being booked for possession, and he started crying a few minutes after I got there. "It's like we never left the war, sarge," he told me, "Like us two move right back there." Point being, trauma never leaves. It waits, bides it's time until a catalyst shows itself. So what's it going to be like for all of us, for everything we did to each other and saw happen?

Guess I'll just lay low, keep out of the way of the others while I can. Christ, I wish I still had a gun.