"Tell me I'm wrong
Now I've never been to war, but I'll just take a stab a what some of our returning vets deal with, when not all their wounds are visible.
Maybe you don't feel worthy of living. Maybe you hate yourself and your life and wish that it had never happened. You've been through things you don't ever want to live through again. If you had to, life wouldn't be worthwhile. Now and again, some remembrance punches you in the gut and makes you wish it was all over with. Or you hear something on the radio that makes tears flow.
You get angry at the smallest things, like tripping over something, or forgetting where you just left your pen. Maybe the rages are so bad that if someone speaks mean to you, you have to to hide and let the thoughts of mayhem pass. Thoughts that burn so hot, that when they finally die out, you drop into a suicidal depression because your body is drained. Where the hole is so deep, it looks impossible to get out.
Maybe you have nightmares most every night about people trying to kill you, and you trying to kill them first. Maybe in the worst ones, no one is trying to kill you and you kill them anyway. Or you kill yourself. Maybe on the street, you start thinking about a situation in which someone would likely try to kill you, and it's like you're there, even though you know it's just imagination. Maybe it stops you dead in the street, where it takes an effort of will to keep reminding yourself it's not real, so that you can back out of the briar patch and move on.
You know that you need a good job and a good woman to even approach a normal life, but your confidence is broken. You go to job interview after job interview, knowing that it shows, and rarely get hired. If you get a job and talk about anything that bothers you, maybe your coworkers and boss stop treating you like a human being and construct a termination at the first plausible excuse. If you try to talk candidly to a woman about what's going on with you, even a little bit, you frighten her. If you happen to shake her hand afterward, it's damp and cold as a can from the cooler.
If you have ever tried to get counseling, you also get the mandatory warning that if your thoughts stray too far from what is comfortably safe and normal, you'll be locked up and treated involuntarily. Maybe you think that makes it too dangerous to your freedom to really open up, and limits your involvement to getting medication to make the pain, rage and depression bearable. Maybe you've heard about the laws that both liberals and conservatives have passed or want to pass to put you on a government watch list, because they are afraid that the pain you feel makes you a danger to society, unworthy of being treated like a decent human being.
Maybe you have been locked up in a state or state-approved "behavioral health" center where you live with the shock and added PTSD of being dragged there in handcuffs, that the police put on in front of friends and neighbors. Where pompous jerks treat you like a hazardous poison and demand you prove to them that you're not. Maybe the only course society leaves you are a retreat into disability or homelessness, while you try to figure out what to do with your life now, and make it worthwhile.
Or maybe you have an amputation and a get-it-done spirit that society lauds, and none of this applies to you. If so, thank your God, if you figure your god had something to do with it. The rest of us may not be so thrilled with the gods of people who treat us as untouchable and dangerous.
Can anything make it better? Perhaps. Time, tolerable medications, strenuous exercise, both physical and mental, nonjudgmental friends you can talk to, any route to employment you can make for yourself. A good woman that you happen to find attractive? Damned if I know - I'm still scaring them off."