Breaking Point

I love my father.
I used to love the Army.
I still love my boyfriend.
I don't love the horrible mental images that show up, uninvited, and uncalled for. I don't love feeling like I'm letting people down because I'm feeling like such a wreck myself that I don't do what they expect me to, need me to or want me to. I don't love getting a look of irritation from people when I know I'm about to fall apart and have to ask to split from work for a while. I don't love sitting around the office for hours with nothing to do but fight off flashbacks and unpleasant thoughts or mental images. I don't love feeling useless and worn out. I don't love feeling like a number, rather than a person. I don't love getting up before dawn every day, only to be seen as a waste of space and time. I don't love being around people who pretend they didn't see that tear roll down my cheek, and that me losing my temper on two different occasions within two weeks is not unusual. I don't love being looked at as weak because I'm a female. I don't love being told that my wounds don't matter because they didn't come from a combat zone. I don't love being looked at as flawed because I have scars that no clothes or makeup can hide, and that no surgery can fix. I don't love being in the Army anymore, and I don't love feeling like I'm a horrible Soldier for the things I experienced- and thought I'd handled- years before volunteering to go to war for my country.
I'm overwhelmed.
I'm defeated.
I'm trying to keep it together long enough to not hurt anyone, physically or career, and not lose the few benefits that haven't been slashed or taken already.
Mostly, I just want out.
This life is not good for me anymore, and I'm not good for the Army anymore.
Short of getting injured, pregnant, or in a whole lot of trouble, though, I have no option but to suck it up and try to survive my next two years in this uniform.
I don't know how I'm going to manage this.