Jamie's writing ❤❤

Six.

As I sit here writing, I think of my time in the war. Things weren't always in the greatest of conditions, but made do with what we did have. Our guns though, were always in the best condition that was possible.
Although..the uniforms didn't always fit quite right. Regardless we were damned proud to wear those greens and blues, for they set us apart. We fought for our countries. We made sure we were worthy to wear those uniforms and shoot those guns.
I like to think of my fellow platoon members..I wonder how many are still alive? Are they still fighting the war inside their heads, like me? For you see, we fight a war yet still; We fight a war against ourselves. Against our minds.
I really enjoy to play this piano here. A grand piano..oh the beautiful, harmonious noises it makes. I like to play the war songs, you see. They let me remember that I'm not entirely crazy. I have things going on up there. That's what the doctors say. I remember the good times rather often. I'd love to say there was no bad, but of course there was. I've watched people I loved with all my heart be gunned down right in front of me.
The ones that didn't get shot though, were lucky. At least for a while. Mostly, we tried to penetrate the enemy trenches. That's how a lot of us men died. We were stuck in No-Mans-Land all visible and that's it. You were shot, or stepped on a landmine. If not that, you'd get hung up on barbed wire. Most of them didn't come back...
There's this nurse here..She's the reason I can play. Sometimes, she has to remind me that I'm here, I'm safe. I'm not there, in that war. I must be reminded of the date often, for I forget it a lot. My mind blurs the line between present and past. Between reality and memory.
You can go to war..You can win that war. You never get to come back completely. You never once had to worry about ammunition, but then you did. You never had to worry about disease ridden rats, then you did.
I never once had to worry about my sanity..Now it's a constant struggle to remain..To remain as I am. On most days though, I sit and I play this magnificent piano. Playing the songs and always remembering-never forgetting- the sights, the places, the people, my family, the noises.
I desire freedom. I desire freedom like an alcoholic desires alcohol. Like a drug addict desires a drug. I'll be free soon. I heard the doctor say that today...I can't wait to be free.

(This story takes place over a span of weeks, but as mentioned before, it's from the perspective of a soldier who has some mental illnesses and has a blurred line separating his life. I intended to write it in a journal like form, but I don't think I really achieved that)