I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy
because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless
and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.
night two: psychedelic dreams, beat up lungs, nose pouring blood, where am i?, what year is it? cold sweat causes me to toss and turn at night, this medication makes me hear voices from Vietnam, am i going crazy or is my mind playing tricks on me?
night six: the casualties of Vietnam haunt me each time as i slumber, the rain today didn’t help much either, the sound of thunder shoots chills down my spine as if i witness landmines/grenades exploding, it’s not very fun waking in the middle of the night searching for friends who don’t exist but if they didn’t why do i miss them so much and why do i have such great memories of them?
final night: the amount of blood i’ve loss and filled my trash can with could easily be mistaken for an operating room, the dead silence at night kept me well rested, no screams no cries nor gun fire or explosions were heard but just a voice mumbling and what i could make out was “we’re going home”, i must be getting better, no need to keep taking this medication, and with this i say goodbye to the souls from Vietnam who haunt me while i was ill, i will keep each one of them dear to my heart, the memories they left will never be forgotten, during all this i did wonder why did they choose me? but who knows and i’m glad they did.