Of course there are all the memories. Not the fun ones of skiing or dirtbiking, no. The intrusive ones that pop up unexpectedly when something as simple as a name rolls in the credits on television. Those only compound when your brain has been twisted by concussions so severe they are often unchartable. The confusion wreaks havoc through the wiring in my head at a dizzying rate and I question myself on a regular basis if I'm losing my mind. I've cheated myself out of death more times than I can recall. Suicide wish? HELL No. Been there, done that. I'm just testing deaths resolve. Fuck death. Am I alone? My eyes ache from staring at a ceiling hidden in the natural darkness of my room. The ceiling fan whirls it's blades in a futile attempt to calm me. The physical pains all start to pound their individual messages with each heartbeat, reminding me that there is more to my battered existence than "just" PTSD. I've slept a total of 14 hours, all interrupted, in the past five days and I wonder how anyone can endure years of this sort of subconscious abuse. Am I alone? How do I ever trust anyone ever again when the betrayals began almost at birth and only worsened as I watched humanity tear itself limb from limb in battle? Then of course the global community exonerated those who committed the atrocities two decades later. How do I trust when those I swore to defend rewrite the rules to balance their books and cast my brothers and I through the cracks of care? When the citizens are more concerned about celebrity nausea and walk around in ignorant texting zombie bliss. Nobody beats me up like I do. Am I alone?