I thought I'd take a break from the forum, but in essence, I probably won't be back.

This obsession that some of us are looking for sympathy has really taken the wind out of my sails. I'm not back at square one. I'm way back beyond that and furious about this accusation --- and digging in my heels the way us ptsd ppl do, over reacting, taking the "I'll show you I can do it" route, pretty much deciding that I'd really rather go it alone.

Thank you to everyone here who cares, but this remark of Anthony's just puts me back in my corner.

I'm putting all the secrets back in the box and locking the lid. It was a mistake to think I could bring them to light, that things would be better if someone else knew the stories.

I told a number of stories that affect me on another forum. At first it felt very positive, like I was making huge progress, but now I can clearly see that I have only been rubbing old wounds and making them raw. I must have been looking for pity, for sympathy.

I tried the business of acting happy, trying to laugh again, trying to actually fit the "stage face" that I've worn for so long. Seems like I should just go back to acting and leave the real me out of it. Just today, I thought I was acting happy-go-lucky, and someone close to me asked if I was ok. ... that I was acting as though I was very mad about something. Shows how good an actor I am.

The anger is under the skin. People seldom see it. No one knows that the rage simmers there. I don't think I really need those "would be" friends, and the damage will just be greater when they depart as I know they will anyway, especially if they find out the real me.

People really don't give a s* about the warriors anyway. Even when they ask, I can see the glaze come over their eyes as they start to get the answer -- and those are the mild answers, not the hard core stuff.

There are way too many "I's" in this writing, but they seem to be necessary to describe what's going on.

I was one of America's toughest soldiers, one of the toughest in the world. Trained to survive and thrive in the worst conditions, to reach the objective, succeed in the mission, and live to tell about it. This sojurn into the survivor/ptsd arena was maybe a distraction. I can do this on my own.

I'll just pack these thoughts back into the box and resume the position I was in when I arrived here. It seems that I have escaped the desperate things I was doing when I arrived on the scene with survivor sites. The thought crosses my mind sometimes, but I don't feel that strong attraction that I did earlier. For this I thank everyone.

As I type this, I'm having a serious deja vous and feeling like I've typed it before. The stories about my deja vous experiences and clairvoyancy haven't been told here (or elsewhere), but the upshot is that such a strong deja vous means that I must be very cautious; something bad is imminent. It can be avoided if I'm vigilant. The deja vous is a warning to change direction. This confirms my thoughts about jumping out of the forum.

I don't know what's on the other side, but it seems that following this path of telling the stories and being accused of self pity just isn't the route I want to take. My fingers were getting pretty good at revealing stories I'd forgotten, but even a wounded psyche isn't going to put up with a whack over the head.

Regretfully, leaving here means losing contact with some cyber friends. I don't know how this is going to impact me. I haven't had a friend for decades IRL. Your support is very much appreciated. These simple words don't seem enough to tell you how much your support has meant to me.

I don't have the nerve to PM a farewell to individuals. Perhaps some of them will visit this post and see what has happened.

If we were actually together, I'd hug you good bye, have very brief eye contact as the tears started to surface, and turn away for a long walk to the nearby airplane. The sun is setting behind the airplane and shines on your face as you look toward me.

Just before stepping into the aircraft at the top of the stairs, I'd turn, almost look at you, and raise a hand, almost like a wave, before stumbling over the threshold because of the tears flooding my eyes as I go through the door.

From the window, I'll watch you shrink into history as the plane picks up speed and takes off.

That's how I'd say good bye IRL. I don't know how to say good bye here. I am sorry. *tears ... and later, much later, after I calm down, I'd write a letter to Anthony and thank him for freeing me from any desire to give attention to the ptsd.