Writing Prompt courtesy of JetPak: What gives you direction in life?
I was taking night courses working on my degree back when that was a thing, when I exploded on the instructor during a lecture. She made a comment about the intent of man during times of war. Looking back, I realize it was merely a generalization, a device I’ve had on numerous occasions then and now. However, her words were like white-hot searing to my depths that night. This incident may have been the beginning of my psychosis.
My emotional wounds of war were still fresh, and I overreacted. The next morning, I was summoned to my Commander to answer for my conduct. Though filled with shame, I had nothing to say in my defense. I stood firm and took the verbal assault I had coming until my entire being felt as hollow as my soul. Then the oddest thing occurred.
They sent me to get help…
On this day, I heard the letters for the first time. Nonsense, rubbish, bullocks, “Get the F*@K outta here, wit dat!” And other such phrases were my expression. Knowing me, I probably said them and more. Yet, the counselor remained steady and explained my plight.
I felt better when leaving their office. Better than I had in a very long time.
I never saw them again…
Decades later, I’m destroyed by these four letters, consumed by them. It was the first time I had the courage to utter them without disdain. Yet, having applied to me, I bore the weight of their shame.
P
T
S
D
Everyone involved said its okay, but their expressions said otherwise. Their whispers were louder than an announcement over speakers. The Memoirs of Madness had been started for years, and now I know the name of my affliction provided the memoirs’ direction. Writing the memoirs provides my direction. They provide a smidgen of peace.
Things are better now, I can say those letters. I have accepted, and with understanding, I can move forward.
