Deranged

"I always had to make sure the television was on and set to a mere volume of 'six' just to get my eyes shut. Sleeping was a joke, but the doctors gave me something for that in case I needed to get some rest after a forty-eight hour depravation stint. I also had to make sure I checked the T.V. guide schedule for that night, because if there were any action movies set to go on after I fell asleep, I'd be woken by the sound my own screaming and drowning in a pool of sweat.

'Sweet sweat.'

That's how Jacob, my husband would refer to my sweat before he started liking someone else's sweat. 'He wants a legal separation... just for now.' My lawyer told me the day after I returned from deployment. In other words, he probably got blue balls so bad, they went to his head and stayed there for the full ten months I was gone. He didn't even have the decency to write me a letter explaining himself.

Ideally it would have read,

Dear Amy, I know things must be really hard for you. I just wanted to let you know, I could use some companionship. I hope you understand. We can see how things work out when you get back.
Love,
Your there for you (maybe not sexually, but certainly emotionally) husband.

Hell, I get it. People have needs, right? Maybe that shitty, little apartment was just a bit too big and lonely to be spending all of his free time in without a woman under his arm. I used to think the same thing while laying on a five by two foam mattress, listening to the rustling of fifteen other soldiers trying to get the high pitched ringing out of their ears from drill and smelling the passing of gas from the person laying two and a half feet above my face. Damn, I'd think to myself. Thank god I get to eat, sleep, work and shit with a person on either side of me at all times or else I might get lonely, like I'm sure Jacob does every single night.

Anyway, it didn't feel good getting back to the base and having to watch all of my colleagues tearfully reunite with their families while I stood there, wondering if that asshole had gotten into a car accident on the way over. I had to take the bus home in full uniform. Would you believe that shit? Two things happen when you go out in public dressed in army uniform...
First off, some people are afraid. They think you're riddled with P.T.S.D., which I am, but that's not the point. People treat you like you're broken.

Another thing that people do is treat you like a hero, which I'm not. I didn't save anyone. I was also terrified to get deployed. I only joined that shit so I could get out of a house where a so called 'father figure' couldn't keep his hands to himself. Shit, two years didn't seem that long at first, but... well, you know.

A lot of people liked to tap me on the shoulder and tell me about their son or their grandfather who served in the war. To be honest, I struggled to act like I cared. I got off that bus a stop early and walked the rest of the way, because I cared so little about hearing other people's stories.

I did have the chance to be satisfied as well... sexually that is. One of my friends in my platoon asked me if I wanted to make an agreement. He said we'd have a little fun, make it a point not to catch any feelings and then we'd go back to our spouses and never share what we'd done with anyone. I declined, because I didn't think I could handle the guilt on top of everything. Boy, did I regret denying him when I got back and heard of my husband banging the bartender.

Don't women get blue balls, too? I would swear they do, because when I got back, my head was all mixed up. I got anxious, I guess. You spend months looking forward to getting laid, then you might do anything to make sure that doesn't get taken away from you.

I called that guy from my platoon up within a week from returning. Three 'o'clock in the morning, Travis picked up the phone, asking me what the hell I was thinking calling him at that time. I told him I needed to see him and I guess he thought it sounded urgent enough, because he agreed to meet me within the hour.

Jacob wasn't staying at the apartment anymore, so I asked Travis to meet me there. He was all in a panic when he got there. He asked me if I was experiencing flashbacks and anxiety. I told him I was, but that wasn't why I called him. I tried to kiss him, he pushed me off of him a couple of times, but you know how guys are. They can't resist a beautiful woman in despair. Something must've switched in his head, because when he finally let himself go for it, he really went for it. He kissed me furiously. He literally ripped all of my clothes off and bent me over, right there on the kitchen table. I can't say I remember having any regret at the time.

That night I had a terrible dream. I had dreamt that I heard a burglar breaking into my home, by picking the front door's lock. I grabbed my bayonet knife and crouched behind my bed. When I heard the footsteps coming closer to my door, instinct took over and my body switched from defense mode to offense mode. When that masked man came in through my bedroom door, I lunged at him like an enraged coyote. I'm sure he wasn't expecting a fight, because he screamed like a pussy. I kicked the back of his knees and deteriorated him to the floor where I jumped on top of him and stabbed him in the face until his skin was falling off. The floor was covered in blood. I was covered in blood, too.

When I awoke, I was standing in my bathroom looking into the mirror. I looked down and saw the blood running into the sink. That's when I realized I wasn't dreaming. Apparently, Jacob had suddenly decided he wanted to come home... in the middle of the night, no less. I blacked out and I mutilated my husband after he barged in on me, Travis asleep in the bed with me.

So you see, Doctor, I'm going to need your help in order to plead insanity."

Doctor Garrison cleared his throat and removed his glasses. He'd lost track of what he was writing, jarred by Amy's confession. "Well, Amy. I'm going to take your case home to see if I can't come up with a diagnoses that would define this... your... the episode you've described." He said.

"P.T.S.D. I would suspect, no?" Amy inquired as she flicked her cigarette into the ash tray.

Dr. Garrison took a mental note of the desensitized and cold mannerisms she exhibited. Her eyes were dull and entirely void of emotion. "No, Mrs. Conley, I believe that your symptoms might be pointing to a more... elaborate condition." He put his glasses in his pocket, closed his notebook and zipped up his brown leather brief case.

As he stood up, he reached out to shake her hand. Amy ignored his offer by keeping her eyes dead set on where he had just been sitting. She had let the heated end of her cigarette dwindle down to her fingers. Dr. Garrison watched as the fiery ash burned into her flesh. She expressed no reaction.

"I trust you, Doctor." She said coldly, continuing to stare.

Dr. Garrison walked over to the gate and tapped on the bars. The guard responded swiftly unlocked the gate. The doctor paused and looked back as the guard held the door for him.

Amy continued to stare, blindly. "Pointing to a more elaborate condition." She flatly mimicked.

He pulled his hat from underneath his arm and hurriedly made his exit.