Inside I’m Screaming

Dear Army,

I am often defined by my words – persistent thoughts, scraps of paper with sentences that may eventually make it here, half-filled childhood notebooks riddled with Harriet the Spy-style observations. I process the world through writing.

Or, at least, I did. You took away my boyfriend, and now I’ve let you take away my words.

I’ve lost patience with you. I don’t want to write anymore. I speak of you and people say …. “Still? You’re struggling still?” – as though I’m supposed to have moved on without him. I write about you and people say, “that’s so depressing,” and I feel dismissed.

It’s just … I’m over it. People don’t get it. People don’t see the problem with you. People don’t want to, not really. It has become my problem, my inability to cope. Somewhere along the way it  manifested into people not seeing me anymore.

I’m tired of sharing; I feel like there’s no point. So I shut down, and I stopped writing. I had no intention of writing for this blog ever again.

But then my boyfriend got published. The title given to his article? It’s Time to Talk About What Troops Leave Unsaid.

He got interviewed about it too.

It was quite the wave of conviction. So here I am, writing. Not well, but there are words. It’s a start.

We can’t not speak just because it hurts, just because people don’t understand. Some things need to be said; maybe they’ll help someone eventually understand. Maybe they’ll start a dialogue. Maybe they’ll just help me cope. Either way, some things just need to be said.

And what I need to say right in this moment is: I’m struggling. Differently than the beginning, but still – yes, still – struggling.

This is really hard. I miss him.

It just hurts.

(Not) love,

Jess