Broken

     I spoke with a brother in arms of mine from back in my Armor days last night, for the first time in almost ten years.  He had found me on Facebook, and we messaged back and forth a bit.
    The topic turned almost immediately to our deployment in 2003, the war we fought in together, and the effect it has had on both of us since.  It was the first time in many years I had dredged up those memories, and it was like ripping the scab off of a wound that had never fully healed.  I probably spoke more openly about that time period and its aftereffects then I have in years, if ever.  And I am not sure I even said that much.
    After talking a bit, I started to feel a bit like I had gotten off lucky over the years, that I had weathered the storm physically, and mentally better then many of my comrades.  That I came away from that conflict without a problem.
 
  But then I started to think about it.

I withdrew emotionally from everyone, and self destructed my marriage.  But I don't have a problem.

I couldn't find the focus to go to college, or even figure out a career path.  I just coasted along, without drive, or purpose.  But I don't have a problem.

I fixated on lost causes, and projects, and concentrated to heavily on little things, so I never had to look at the big picture, or the future.  But I don't have a problem.

I live my life as a hermit, working third shift, never going out.  I have no close friends, I confide in no one.  I drink every weekend, in my house in the woods, alone.  But I don't have a problem.

I have a problem.

The problem is, I am broken.  And I don't even realize it.