I thought I was ok when I came home from Iraq. Honestly. I really didn't feel tainted. I thought it was perfectly normal to wake up looking for my rifle and check the perimeter of the house every so often. But the first time I drove , I got onto the freeway a block from my home and realized there was a problem.
There was a small dog on the side of the road. Could be a bomb. One time they hide one in a dead dog. But we saw the wires. Grass looks like wires when you haven't seen it in a few years. Never trust a dog lying in the glass, he may have a bomb in his ass. I didn't think when the empty box blew across the road, I just reacted. I almost caused a huge accident. Knuckles white when I finally made it to the grocery store. They always arrange the store so when you first walk in you see the produce. It fills you with the inspiration of a bountiful harvest. There was so much food, I couldn't stop crying.
Post tramaitic stress has a funny way of rearing it's ugly head. *Earl, clean up in produce...*
I can handle a lot of stress. I can carry a lot of wieght. I can handle anything. I can carry it all. But sometimes I can't see where I'm going.