Facing the Ghosts
The breeze on this summers eve is delightful. The moon crests just at the edge of my eyes. Reflecting off the tears of clouds as I stand at the end of the pier. I listen to the trickling of rain as it batters the wood framing of the pier.
The rain brings no cold chill as the air comforts the falling droplets with warmth upon their decent. Everything is perfect, the voice of nature warms my heart. Much as been cumbersome these past days, I stand here in my suit from a days work.
An expensive suit I might add. Most would find it foolish to stand beneath the rain near the salted waters. "It will only ruin the suit" they would say.
But as my days have grown so have I. Returning from the war and trying to assimilate back into the world, has not been easy. Europe was hell and Germany was giving us no moment of breath. Many of my friends died before my eyes.
For much of my time home, everything crashed upon me like a tidal wave. Much like any who hide their agony, it only builds up. The waters of pain press heavy against the dam of the heart. Eventually, the pain wins, the dam cracks and all hell breaks loose.
There is no running from it, you are quickly swept up with little time to think. Next thing you know, you are drowning, struggling to reach the surface. Your chest fills with misery and your lungs become shallow with breath.
You feel their is no escape. So, you let the rushing of the pain take over. You run with the flow of the vigorous current and act with instinct. You flail about in your mind like a rope dangling in the wind from a tree.
You lash out to others with no reason. Friends and family distance themselves, you become someone else, something else. Eventually, not only does the misery of your pain take hold. But you lose track of reality, bills begin to pile up. Appointments are missed and even your home becomes and uncomfortable place to be.
It has been three years now since the day of my return. One year since I found a job and six months since I climbed the ladder to the position I am in now. It is nice to have the financial security this job has brought me.
But I still feel meaningless. There are times sadness burdens my view and I drink one too many. Only to fall asleep in a blanket of familiar pain, missing the purpose of war. I had something, I was conquering the enemy. Now, the enemy is myself.
I have had to learn much of how to fight such an enemy. And as I stand here at the end of the pier, feeling the rain fall upon my face. I look to the stars and I see stories in each, stories strung up with brightness, sharing themselves with the world.
Stories that have survived the darkness that shrouds their ever fading light. I feel the rain that brings the world water for the forests, for the grass, it brings water for us. The shadows that plague my peripherals, I have accepted that they are never going to leave.
I must accept that, that the shadows that follow me are forever. They are the ghosts of what I have done and what I have seen. Yet, I stand here though a murderous scream that haunts me every night. I have every reason to step away and let this consume me.
But what would be the point in that? Surely that is not the answer, for it would not solve my sadness, my missing purpose no more than drinking in a pub alone would. There is something out there, something that will hold me dearly to meaning. For there are things we cannot see with our naked eyes that bring purpose.
Without these things, we would not exists. So maybe, as I look out to this beautiful summers eve, I will find something in this falling rain. Or in the body of water before me. Maybe even the crescent moon will have something to give.
As I stand here, feeling the breeze break through the falling rain I think, what warmth can I bring to those that are falling cold around me?
What do you do to bring purpose to yourself to make it through the pain in life?
Is there anything you do that helps others?
What can we all do to better our outlook on life?
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