Oct 12 • General discussion
Epiphany of my Battles
I’m 50 years old. Husband. Father of five. Pop Pop to three granddaughters who remind me every damn day why I keep swinging. I gave two decades of my life to the U.S. Army — Iraq, Afghanistan, blood and sand burned into my skin. Now I wear a badge as a Deputy Jailer, still on the front line, just a different kind of war.
And make no mistake — the war never ends. It follows you home, crawls into your skull, and lives there rent-free. PTSD, anxiety, depression — they don’t clock out. They don’t care how many medals you’ve got or how many flags you’ve folded. They wait in the quiet moments, whispering lies and dragging you down.
Writing is how I fight back. It’s not a hobby. It’s not therapy. It’s survival. Every word I put down is a middle finger to the demons that tried to break me. It’s a weapon — a way to turn pain into power and silence into something that roars.
I’m not here to make anyone comfortable. I’m not here to sugarcoat reality or dress it up for social media. I’m here to speak truth — the kind that most people are too scared to say out loud. If you’re here looking for motivational quotes and feel-good fluff, you’re in the wrong place.
But if you’re tired of pretending everything’s fine… if you’re done hiding the scars… if you’re ready to face your demons and punch back — welcome to the fight. This is where the broken rise, the silent speak, and the wounded learn they’re still dangerous.
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Epiphany of my Battles
