Reality, Once Again

  I am back to the reality of my relationship with the Col. It can't honestly be thought of as a relationship. I cannot have a relationship with a corpse. Yet, he has affected me as if he were alive. A Demon. I understand that my mind has created this monster inside me. I told a story of Col. DeBarge the way that I wished was his motivation for asking me to do what I did. I have wanted to believe that his intentions were good and honorable but I find that hard to believe. How can you ask a kid that respected you more than you will ever know. Put yourself in his shoes the way I just did. If you could tell his story and explain how it must feel to manipulate someone into taking your life and justify why. I was a kid. I thought the world of Him. I loved Him. Do you think that he believed that I would suffer no mental or legal problems? If I believed that I would not be writing about Him. Waking up in the middle of the night because of terror. I can only conclude that either a, He did not think that I would suffer any problems, or b, he just did not care. That is why I am now, and always have been, of the thinking that he did not care what happened to me. I have had this legally taken care of. When I was admitted into the Tuscaloosa VA Medical Center for treatment of post traumatic stress My therapist was the head of the program. When I started telling him my story he stopped me and asked if I was ready to take this where ever it goes, I said yes. He told me that he was legally bound to report crimes. This PTSD had ruined me. Do you think I am scared of what somebody else may or may not do? He stopped me right there. He said that he would have to get with the Hospital Attorneys, the Chief of Psychiatry, the Head of Administrations, and the Head of the Veterans Administrations. That's a lot of head. It was a little over a week and my therapist gave me the green light to tell my story. I have not stopped, yet. I held this in my mind for 29 years. Making excuses for my psychotic behavior. Taking baby steps. I know what this has done to me and I have reached out to find a way to make it stop. Hell, at least slow down. Only since 2003, I have been able to share my life with a loving woman that knows the truth and is there for me when she finds me in the closet, screaming at the top of my lungs at 2am. I am still telling my story and I communicate with many of my readers through email. If I stop talking, He wins.      theblogmeister