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He Came Home from War a Different Man
He came home from the Middle East
A depressed and very different man,
After having served a tour
In Iraq and one in Afghanistan.
At one time an athlete with a hopeful future
And mentor to his cheering peers,
He struggled now to balance his memories
With the dismal, heavy weight of tears.
Tears that suddenly came from nowhere
Drenched his pillow. A panic would sweep
Through his body making him dread
The nights and the thought of falling asleep.
The outbursts of anger frightened him more;
They frightened his wife and children as well.
Avoidance and withdrawal only seemed
To aggravate his daily hell.
People and places constantly triggered
Painful memories of war and death.
Loud noises would send him through
The roof and make him gasp for breath.
Walking down a city street,
He'd have a flashback and quickly duck.
His heart would race until he gained
Control of his fears that had run amok.
The doctors diagnosed his condition:
Battle fatigue, or PTSD.
They had a list of remedies.
Of course, there was no guarantee.
Serotonin reuptake
Inhibitors failed to do the trick.
And tricyclic antidepressants
Made him feel listless and sick.
Tranquilizers and neuroleptics
Caused him to be more confused.
Prazosin and propranolol
Prescriptions both remained unused.
When the pills failed to help him,
Alcohol became his friend.
At least temporarily;
The haunting nightmares wouldn't end.
His family suffered along with him.
His friends slowly drifted away.
Who had time to spend with someone
Whose life was in such disarray?
His plaques and medals on his walls
Made his pain more acute.
His isolation made him feel
Emotionally destitute.
Cognitive behavior therapy!
That's what a doctor recommended.
The desperate man acquiesced.
He said he'd go, but just pretended.
He dropped the kids off at the sitter's,
Drove back home, texted his wife,
Held his pistol to his head,
Squeezed the trigger, and ended his life.
(1-30-16)
A depressed and very different man,
After having served a tour
In Iraq and one in Afghanistan.
At one time an athlete with a hopeful future
And mentor to his cheering peers,
He struggled now to balance his memories
With the dismal, heavy weight of tears.
Tears that suddenly came from nowhere
Drenched his pillow. A panic would sweep
Through his body making him dread
The nights and the thought of falling asleep.
The outbursts of anger frightened him more;
They frightened his wife and children as well.
Avoidance and withdrawal only seemed
To aggravate his daily hell.
People and places constantly triggered
Painful memories of war and death.
Loud noises would send him through
The roof and make him gasp for breath.
Walking down a city street,
He'd have a flashback and quickly duck.
His heart would race until he gained
Control of his fears that had run amok.
The doctors diagnosed his condition:
Battle fatigue, or PTSD.
They had a list of remedies.
Of course, there was no guarantee.
Serotonin reuptake
Inhibitors failed to do the trick.
And tricyclic antidepressants
Made him feel listless and sick.
Tranquilizers and neuroleptics
Caused him to be more confused.
Prazosin and propranolol
Prescriptions both remained unused.
When the pills failed to help him,
Alcohol became his friend.
At least temporarily;
The haunting nightmares wouldn't end.
His family suffered along with him.
His friends slowly drifted away.
Who had time to spend with someone
Whose life was in such disarray?
His plaques and medals on his walls
Made his pain more acute.
His isolation made him feel
Emotionally destitute.
Cognitive behavior therapy!
That's what a doctor recommended.
The desperate man acquiesced.
He said he'd go, but just pretended.
He dropped the kids off at the sitter's,
Drove back home, texted his wife,
Held his pistol to his head,
Squeezed the trigger, and ended his life.
(1-30-16)
