The War That Stayed Inside

The war didn’t end when the guns went quiet. For the men who survived,

it only changed form. Fear became permanent. The mind learned to scan shadows,

even in daylight. Silence felt dangerous. Sleep felt unsafe. Explosions ended, but memory kept

firing. Time collapsed—home and battlefield blended into one. The body reacted

before thought could intervene. When they returned, they were expected to function.

To work. To provide. To forget. There was no name for trauma—only

judgment for weakness. Men were trained to kill, then punished for feeling.

Emotion was buried. Alcohol replaced language. Pain turned inward. Survivor’s guilt