Tim Bone


I should be sleeping. I had a decent day, got out of the house and took a ride with a friend I am helping build a recording studio for a client of his. Came back and caught a little late afternoon sleep but not so much as to keep me up now. It’s drawing down on 3am. And
I know why. It’s another damn Nam Night. Not one of the worst ones. But still… PTSD on a roll; got that “want to jump out” feeling all inside.

Around these parts, it can be done, even at these type hours. You tend not to meet the upright citizens in general out there at this hour, but that’s exactly perfect for the way I feel when I get like this. Street types, you know. I am one; I just don’t do what I used to do anymore, so I have no good business being there. It’s as close as it gets to being in the bush around here. It’s a weak, watered down version of the Real Deal. But, it’s there. Something still calls to me from there. By that I mean the bush and the street… been fighting off bouts of this for a few days now actually. It happens.

I get so messed up inside myself that I can’t figure a single thing out sometimes. Then other times, I am completely at rest with myself, no matter what. But not tonight: I feel alone. I am alone.

But, I also know that if I weren’t alone right now, I’d want to be. I hate that. I hate that with a passion. What is that, anyway? Screwed up is what it is. Screwed up is what I am. What a fool I am to think I am doing so well sometimes. One night like this is the reality check and the kick in the ass I always set myself up for.

I took the MD’s meds. No effect tonight. I should be zonked, because I took a few extra: still nothing. A short while ago, as I was slowing things down before I thought I’d be going to sleep, I had this feeling. A feeling of total calm came over me for only a moment. It was a feeling that to die right then was ok. Was even more than ok, was good. It was the perfect feeling and the perfect time to just go.

Imagine, thought I, no more memories. No more dreams. No more the screams in my head, the hurt in my bones, the flashbacks with all the sights, sounds, and smells still wavering in my nostrils. No more missing my fallen Brothers. No more seeing them in my head, dying right there alongside me. No more hearing the echo of their voices, telling me, “T Bone, I’m cold. I’m so cold.” Those words just have to be the last words said the most times of any. I heard them far too many times. Once was already too much.
But that perfect feeling I had – well that would mean just a complete no more of it all… of anything. But see, I screwed it up: because I thought about it. This mind of mine, it’s contaminated, distorted, ugly, damaged, destroyed. Not always. But that does me no good when it is… like now.

Ahh well… it was the perfect feeling while I had it.

Be well. Tim