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)

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A sad poem for the activities of war.
"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."
You told a sad tale for when a man saw too much. The light of day is too much. Thank you for sharing the powerful poetry about the final cost of war for many. Slow death or fast. Many do find.
Coyote

[John]

I feel like crying b/c my uncle is in the marines and when I read this my aunt is always worried about him, this made me think if they are suffering like the family in this poem. But this is an awesome but sad poem. :D