They have me marked as a victim of PTSD, and the force doesn't want to hire people who could snap. The CID had a problem with it, too, which is why I was discharged. It's the story of military life. They send you to places where bombs explode like jack-in-the-boxes, blowing your friends to pièces before your eyes. Then they punish you when you can't stop thinking about it.
You would think that Molly would be the name of someone light and fluffy. Molly sees only the dark side of the world, the part that shows on negative film. She misses all the good stuff.
Taking my own life would be too selfish. (...) You can't just check out and think it will all will be over. It won't be over for anyone who loves you. You'll only leave them to run after the pieces that scatter in the angry wind. You'll leave them desperately trying to solve the problems you wouldn't... all while plugging their own wounds.
I don't know what to ask for. Time? Distance? An escape path? Justice? Yeah, right. I ask for help in general, trusting that if there's someone on the other end of those prayers, he'll know what I need.
Humor in the face of grief is like opening a valve, letting some of the steam out before the whole thing blows.
Terri Blackstock: A Real Life Intervention
CBN.com A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING