Butterflies

Butterflies is a short story series told only from the journal entries of a former MK soldier suffering from PTSD.

Journal entry #5

I was there in 94, I remember so clearly the anxiety, the butterflies that had fluttered from the bellies of millions, now in the air floating through the currents in the sky.

This great unease was followed by indescribable jubilation. Masses unified in joy and excitement, the promise of a new world never before seen. The people once so oppressed, to govern themselves. We, the soldiers, were told to lay down arms, with great apprehension so we did. Most of us were infuriated by this, the rest of us were relieved. We were fighting a war we knew would be hard fought, victory would mean so much more loss and we had lost enough. Regardless of our feelings of anger or fear the order was given. This was no longer a time for war, but peace, the satisfaction of a surrender would have to be enough. As such we who had sacrificed our youth for a war we didn't finish, we had to find our place in this new society, that had no use for guerilla warriors, no use for arms and skills of death.

Re-entry into a country I'd left as a boy was difficult enough, re-entry into society as a civilian was another story all together. It was so silent in the bush, a calm that stretched for kilometers around us in every direction, a stillness that made you feel like the earth itself had stopped turning. We travelled in small groups, so the fear wasn't easy to mask. That constant fear, a feeling deeper than dread. The promise of enemy fire and the possibility of getting hit. Just when you think the night could end with the knot in your belly and another attempt during the day... BAM!

A door was closed by the wind and I'm in the bush again. I can't breathe, I can barely see, my head is spinning, my body is burning, then it's freezing... I nearly broke the arm of a boy today, couldn't have been older than 23. He was trying to help me from the floor, I was taking cover. Now I write in this journal, an entry everyday. The world around me is rejoicing, freedom. My cage is my body, my mind's shackles will not let up. Everyone is too happy. Its too loud out there, its too loud in here. My dreams take me back there, my dreams in the night, my dreams in the day.

I was there in 94, I remember so clearly the anxiety, the butterflies that had fluttered from the bellies of millions, now in the air floating through the currents in the sky, flowing into me.

Journal entry #10

I know exactly when I started falling. I remember how it felt like, the beginning of the fall. I was afraid, a lot of days were tolerable, some were fantastic even. But I remember the feeling of falling was never too far away.

Journal entry #10

I got a job today, carpentry. I had an affinity for it when I was a boy. The feeling of taking pieces of wood and turning them into something, something that wasn't there before. Ordered and straight forward. Taking instruction and time to use these hands to make something. Something dead, yes I understand the irony. Plus the constant buzzing and cutting is distracting, constant loud noises means I'm not jumpy when things bang, they are always banging. Sensory overload I read they call it. The guys I work with call me MK and Comrade. I laughed a lot.

I had a good day.

Journal enrty #15

It's been 2 weeks since the debriefing began. The goverment is trying to combine the forces of THAT era and the MK soldiers under one umbrella, The South African National Defense Force.

Those of us exibiting signs of distress are going through rigorous psychological evaluations.

I've been going to meetings every 2nd day. Warriors on both sides have open wounds. We sit together and share, we felt the same things out there. The trauma doesn't care which side you were on, what creed you represent, it has no prejudice and doesn't seek justice. I had no idea how afraid of us they were until now.

When she gave us these journals the Dr said our 1st entry should be about who we were before the war, before our scars. Sort of a memorial of times before. I never got to writing it, I suppose now is as good a time as any.

Journal entry #1

I know exactly when I started falling. I remember how it felt like, the beginning of the fall. I was afraid, a lot of days were tolerable, some were fantastic even. But I remember the feeling of falling was never too far away. I wasn't so used to the cold and solitude of this bottomless pit then.

The panic attacks were frequent. I didn't understand what was happening, shortness of breath, dizziness, feeling of impending death but not quite. For a time I was trapped in the torture device my body had become, physical manifestation of my anguish and I had no idea they were panic attacks. I thought I smoked too much or got up too quick, Rationalized it away.

But I've always been strong, everyone knows this. One of my defining attributes really, superhuman strength. I've been likened to a robot more often than you could imagine for my objectivity, rationality, generally for my ability not to be affected by the emotions that plague mere mortals.

When I really think about it, I've been sad my whole life, and I've always been aware. When I was little I thought I was sad because I didn't receive much attention from my mother, so I became a clown, (or could become a clown is more apt) I've been making people laugh till they can't anymore ever since. Also thought I was sad because my father stepped out then died. My mother also didn't spare me the truth that he conjured an entire story which only served his need to step out. Hey I thank her, I understood very early that no one owes you anything. She did her best, 3 kids, mostly single parent. 2 bad kids.

I was the measured responsible one so I suppose she figured I didn't need it, the attention I mean. So the deep sense of loneliness has been a companion for a long time.

I've had great times, sad times like many others. I had a particularly strange relationship with relationships in school. At first I truly wanted a companion to unburden the loneliness I guess. To explain my deep unhappiness and why at the time I thought was the cause. As you can imagine I scared a lot of poor teenage girls with my strange story but moving on.

I've had great friends. When the fall began I still kept in touch actually. When it became unbearable and decisions I made had me facing dire consequences, I vanished. I haven't really come of hiding yet, I make appearances like a cameo every once in a while. I thought I was sparing them, not pulling them into the hole with me. But I know I was sparing myself, more embarrassment, more indignity.

I've lived 4 more years than I planned, they've been a trip. I knew I didn't want to live this way, if I had died then it would have been shameful yes but I wasn't gonna be here to be ashamed.

These past few years, I've found the pit doesn't have a bottom, there are stops on the fall every now and then, good days, I drink so much. But just as You're getting a hang of it, you drop.

My life is without any meaning. I don't want to die, I want to live and live well. But that seems to be slipping further and further away. I see how its my fault, I'm not taking ahold of the life I have. I'm also doing too much for my family, My days aren't my own. I suppose that is every adult.

During the fall I began to remember traumas I'd previously blocked out.

I'm a good son, a good brother, I'm a terrible friend and an even worse lover. I don't think I'm a good man but I've never been very good to myself or given myself a break for my weaknesses.

I also have terrible thoughts lately that quite disrupt my days, also make it hard for me to be around people. I'm not well, But I wear well so well. Which isn't unlike many people.

Which pisses me off. I'm going through what most people are going through and its crushing my soul. I hate that I'm so weak. Also saying I was abused physically and emotiona

Journal entry #17

People often comment on the silence of the night. In truth the night is anything but. It is people who are silent in the night, my fears are nocturnal. When the comfort of the sunlight fades, my demons wake.

You know my favourite time of day is dusk. Its like the day has finally settled in, everything is calm, sun sets are so pretty. It just feels cozy. Like taking off your slacks and getting into sweat pants. Its so beautiful. I used to look out of my window everyday around dusk and watch. Watch the world go by you know, birds settling into nests, people driving by, walking by going home. Like I said, feels like the day is settling into itself. Something about it I can't put my finger on, the colours in the sky, smell of the air, the warm textures. I'd look through my window and admire it. I would want to be in it. Walk out to the street I saw outside my window and be part of it. I never would though. I thought if I was there in the street, I would lose my view of it, I would miss it's beauty. If I was in it I wouldn't be able to see all of it. I suppose that's how I've viewed love. So I've been looking at it from outside my window, marvelling at it but never indulging in it.

Final Entry.

We were beautiful once.

Like Butterflies from the order Lepidoptera.

We were whole and complete.

We were children once.

Like the lands before they summited the seas.

Brimming with youth and innocence.

We were warriors once.

Like the titans of the old.

We thought we were fighting each other,

But found the true enemy to be time.

What it doesn't kill it degrades.

We were soldiers once.

Like the single minded ants dilligently crafting pyramids.

We were heroes once.

Like the mother running to her child's beckoning cries.

We were people once.

Like you, and you.

We were dreams once.

The living embodiment of our people's hopes.

We were certain once.

Unencumbered by doubt like the rising sun.

We were beautiful, we were children, we were warriors, we were soldiers, we were heroes, we were certain, we were people, We were mothers, we were whole and complete.

We are Butterflies.

Knowlen A. Mampuru