You served. You fought. Or you supported the ones on the lines. You saw things nobody should have to see. Heard things nobody should have to hear. Did things nobody should have to do. You lost a brother or sister or two. With them you lost a part of yourself. Part of you came home. Life will never be the same. Your life here is not what it was. It can't be. Now a noise or a smell can flip you out without warning. Your patience is razor thin and your nerves are shot. Crowds are too much, and you never relax. And how can you explain survivor guilt, and all the other baggage you brought back when you came home? Or the (widening?) gap that exists between you and your loved ones, who will never truly understand? Some things you once thought important seem to mean nothing. You often feel nothing at all. Maybe you lean on something that helps you not to feel. Or helps you feel something, anything. And that damned isolation.