Jack Miller

The last thing I wanted was help from someone else. I was shaking, my mind racing, tears flowing out of my eyes, panting, and sweat lining my forehead. Ever since last year when I had a particularly difficult assignment in Slovakia I had been having bad PTSD panic attacks. It’s why my commanding officers sent me on temporary leave, even though I had begged to stay. So I was now in my old Uncle’s crappy house in LA, forced to “heal” as my commanders put it. I’d rather eat my own shit. I was perfectly fine, other than the fact I would have intense panic attacks every other day, or the fact that I felt like I could still hear the sound of my friends dying at night when I tried to sleep. I tried splashing cold water on my face, as I breathed heavily over the sink. I squeezed my eyes shu