Seven

Yesterday was seven years since the accident that left me paralysed, its just another day but this year was hard. I didn’t show it obviously, it’s pretty much ignored by family and friends (Wife and kids excluded obviously as I consider it harder for them than me), which to be honest is better so there is no false bullshit for the day.

The past eight months or so have been really hard. I’m being screwed by Everest the conservatory company, almost all of the contractors I’ve paid to do the works on my new house have done a shit job and I’m having  to get others to come and sort it out.  This has  put me in a real down state and I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the Army days. I miss it, I try not to but I miss it.  Guys I thought I’d stay in touch with for the rest of days, guys I classed as my family.

The thing is that I soon think about the tragic waste of life watching a young, intelligent and happy bloke take his last breaths and having the medics pull the poncho over his face.

Carrying another equally young, bright and happy bloke off of the transport plane in his coffin and  being one of six to carry him again to his final resting place.

Standing through so many repatriation ceremonies at Camp Bastion in Helmand Province.

Standing up for the blokes, none of which bother with me anymore.

Random shit on the television that seems to upset me, some of it really so.

People who are so monumentally fucking stupid and downright cunting rude and ignorant that cause me to shake and grind my teeth.

Outbursts that I simply can’t control, it’s like a fucking bomb going off and I can’t help it.

I think of how because I try so hard to be patient, tolerant and sympathetic people have taken advantage and fucked me over, really taken the piss but it’s not just me, it’s my Wife too.

The time is coming where I know I’m going to blow and the fallout will be massive, I mean fucking massive.

I’ve read back over what I’ve done and how I’ve kept my chins up, that’s why I wrote the diary in the first place but this is different, this is a struggle I’m finding hard to negotiate.

The man the fuck up pills have lost their kick, the brave face is flaking, the shits getting heavy on the shoulders and shits wearing me down but the timer is on countdown and the pressure cooker is well on its way. I just wish I knew what will happen when it goes because the way I’m feeling and thinking and have been for the past 8 or so months, I really don’t think there are limitations to what I might do.

Fucking good luck everybody.

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