Scorched eyes. PTSD

PTSD. This diagnosis does not surprise me on the sheet. She looks intently and asks if I can talk to someone. "My psychologist is dead. I'm trying to find a new one. I can handle it. For sure." I just need something to sleep on. So as not to see a nightmare with his charred body. And not to see my husband in his place later. The next wave of mobilization and he will go. I stand on the balcony and look in the reflection wondering if my eyes will ever be able to see beauty again. Smile honestly. Not empty. And is there a future.

The names of friends and those whom I knew and who no longer exist. This still doesn't seem to be a reality.

The road on which we drove after the liberation of the region and that body on it... The Holy Father who, after prayer, stood and smoked next to me and asked only how many. How many names by that time I began to pronounce with a scraping pain. He said that it can be seen in the eyes and how I look at the road when I think that they do not see me.

Then it wasn't the worst. Some of them I was able to say goodbye to. Trust that it didn't hurt. But not you ... Find out about death from the photo on the Internet and an animal cry on the other side of the phone. Designers, businessmen, journalists, photographers, IT and other... Everyone there had a life outside the war. And even when they return, it will not be the same. This monstrous memory will remain in the eyes forever and in nightmares.

Done