Control

I feel like putting my head into my hands
and crying.

Not for me.

But for them.

I see the people I used to love and know, and their eyes are so filled with pain. The memories of war written so plainly on their faces when they think nobody sees. A one night stand with a boy who I barely talked to in High School, who was always so filled with joy, and I knew when he touched me that there was lies hidden behind his fingers, but I kept myself so distant. I didn't want to be attached. I don't like men.
But now I wish I could see him again.

He's back in Germany. He's leaving for Afghanistan again. His third or fourth tour of duty.
He has PTSD. He can't go anywhere without his gun. He can't sleep unless it's under his pillow.

He can't sleep by himself or the nightmares overtake him.

His friend told me all of this. His best friend.

I cried when I left the house. I cried, and thought of how much laughter had been on his face when we had rolled around. And how much I wanted to reach into him and just hold him for some reason, and now I understand. I want to kiss over every scar on his body those road side bombs gave him. I want to make his smiles real. I want to save him, and I don't know how.

And others I knew, who never went to the war.



Another boy who used to be so perfect. Never touched drugs or liquor or anything bad.
His arms are now covered in scars from where he's cut himself. He hasn't been sober in going on seven years.



None of us have reached the age of 25. Most of them are barely 23.

Barely old enough to drink.

Barely old enough to know what we're doing.

I have an eating disorder. Another has PTSD. Another is so fucked up on drugs and liquor he can't recognize his own face half the time. He lives on the streets when none of the guys has a couch he can crash on.



We've fallen apart.

One of my friends, a girl, is getting divorced.
The boys have been lost.

The girls are struggling to support their own minds.

The world has completely shattered them. And they hide their pain with smiles and just...live, and exist, because it's all they can do.

We weren't supposed to fall apart. We weren't supposed to be like this.
We were supposed to succeed. To have great dreams. To grow up. To eventually figure it out.



What happened to us?
What will happen to us?




I realized a few years ago--or thought I realized--that not all of us make it in the end.
I think I really got it yesterday.

I slept for almost 24 hours. When I wasn't sleeping, I was eating.
and when I wasn't doing either of those, I was trying not to cry.

So many people I know and who i went to school with and graduated with are dead.
Car accidents, murders...
...war.

Others...others are most likely going to be in the next few years.

We're not going to make it. Not all of us.

It's what makes the golden years so golden.
It's like getting a fucking medal.

"Congratulations. You lived this long. You beat the odds. You might not have made it in tact. But you're old enough to die and not have it be a super tragedy now."



Fuck everything.
This world is shit.
I want my innocence back.