Acute Insomnia

So it should be obvious for anyone notices the ungodly hour that my post are published that I suffer from insomnia and though being awake has done wonders for my writing (if I’m up I might as well do something productive right…)

I hate not being able to fucking sleep because not being able to sleep reminds me of a time I so desperately wish to forget…the reason I can’t sleep in the 1st place. I am still seeing a doctor for posttraumatic stress syndrome from the first gulf war. The weight of what I am responsible for weighs heavy on my consciousness.

My best friend is always inviting me to her church, but she does not understand what I’ve done under the banner of the US flag—and in the name of God and country. There is no Priest or Shaman who can save me. I’ve earned myself a one ticket to Hell. The things I’ve done for my country; and the things my country has done for me HA!

I came home broken and my country cut my benefits!

There was a time that the only thing that got me through the day was hatred. Hatred for the lies I was told, hatred fore the things I’ve seen. Hatred that my baby brother wanted to join the military and be just like me.

Hatred for those who chose to stay at home and protest! I did not hate them because they stayed home; I hated them because they could sleep at night hatred for those who wouldn’t listen to the protesters.

“One must not underestimate the healing power of hatred.”

I don’t know where I heard that, or maybe I read it somewhere. But I clung to that mantra as if it were a biblical proverb.

I hated me. I hate the fact that every 4th of July I react as though being shelled, and can’t stop shaking. I hated the fact that when I 1st returned home I could not close my eyes at night unless my loaded .45 was under my pillow.

I hated the fact that I was prescribed dream-inhibiting drugs so that I could sleep at night. How in the hell is someone suppose to write if they can't fucking dream? I stopped taking them.


See, the reason not being able to sleep at night is so fucked up is because it reminds why I can't sleep in the 1st place, sometimes I still hate me.

I hate the fact that I removed my gun from the lock box, loaded it and placed it safely under my pillow.

I hate the fact I can’t see my doctor til 3pm. I don't know why I'm even going because the stupid pills don't work.


I hate the fact that I called someone I know to buy a sleeping pill off the black market and now I hate him too because he said he didn't think it was a good idea.

I hate the fact that my mom, kid sister and best friend won’t know any of this unless God forbid they run across the blog, and of course they will. I wonder if my BBF will still trust me with her children?


I hate the fact that my baby brothers knows exactly what I’m going thru only because he suffers too, and I hate that the fights between us are more frequent and unfortunately more vicious.


I hate President Bush. I hate Donald Rumsfled and everyone who supported them in ushering in a slew of new sufferers. I hate this war. I hate the fact that when I go to the VA Hospital I expect to see groups of men old enough to be my father or grandfather but what I see are tons of boys young enough to be my son.


I want so much to call my mom but I don’t want to disappoint her and besides she’s a mom with plenty enough to worry about. I hate the fact that I fell so helpless….
There’s nothing I can do about it now, I’ve made my bed, and bitching doesn’t help.

This is the end of this entry; I have a book to write.