I just wanted to build furniture.

Upon my return, I was unable to drive. I remember leaving the airport, and my wife at the time drove me home, she rambled on and on in her own way about all the things she had planned and the things I had missed. I remember tuning her out, without even trying. I should have caught on then, but I didn't. I saw all the cars passing us, I saw buildings I had never seen before and missed ones that had always been there.

Here in San Diego we have a radio show that I had listened to since I was a kid. The DSC (Dave, Shelley, and Chainsaw http://goo.gl/h7hm2C). I woke up the next day, day one of my return, at 0500. I made myself something to eat and turn the radio on, I needed to find my routine. I needed to break the year long cycle of Iraq. I hadn't realized it yet, but I already wanted my life back before a year had been stolen from me. Before my life and my mind would forever be altered. I wanted it, whatever it was, I needed it back. I scanned the radio for the familiar chatter and banter of the familiar. I searched for the deep resonating voice of my past. The chatter and clatter of humor once there. I searched for Ruth. But could not find it.

It was one more thing that had changed. One more disappointment.

Frustrated I set to the chores I had been given, we had a lot to do in preparation for the little one on the way. I set to putting together furniture, shelves, and the like. We ended up being a few pieces short, so a trip to home depot was in the works. I grabbed the keys and shouted to the other room that I was headed out.

I locked the door behind me and walked to the car. I raised the fob and turned the alarm off.

<BEEP-BEEP>

My heart stopped, knees buckled. Right hand to my heart, left grasping the ground beneath as if life its self depended on it being real. My vision faltered, and my hearing rang with a ringing that has never left. Determination and rage fueled my recovery, I was not yet ready to admit that I had a problem. I stood and walked on, I reached for the door and swung it open, taking my place in the front seat.

And sat there.

And sat there.

And sat there.

I remember a hand touching my shoulder, and I looked up. I felt nothing, I saw but my eyes registered nothing. I heard nothing. I had frozen before my hands had grasped the steering wheel. My hand was grasped by tiny fingers, and lead me inside. The hand that led me inside pressed on my chest and I fell back with a thump I sat on the couch. I stared at nothing, I was consumed by nothing. My mind resisted everything, my body froze in the light of terror. The tiny hands were once again at work, caressing my face.

Words were coming at me, slowly at first, then like verbal fists rocking me to the core. I broke down, every syllable was like an RPG colliding with its target. I shook like a tree in the wind and cried. I dropped the fob and stared at it like it was a dirty needle prepping to spread its vile putrid sickness. That sickness had spread to me, I knew it. It had made me weak, it had made me soft. It had poisoned me.

It would be years before I would be ready to rid myself of that affliction.