Story cover for DONAVAN by theworldweview
DONAVAN
  • WpView
    Reads 1,525
  • WpVote
    Votes 28
  • WpPart
    Parts 9
  • WpHistory
    Time 1 hour, 13 minutes
  • WpView
    Reads 1,525
  • WpVote
    Votes 28
  • WpPart
    Parts 9
  • WpHistory
    Time 1 hour, 13 minutes
Ongoing, First published Oct 14, 2014
You're not the same when you leave a war. Wether it's Iraq, Afghanistan, or Iran. Point is, no matter what war you come home from you're damaged. Damaged mentally, physically, or both. For me it was both. Waking up in the dead of night hearing my brother, Danny, screaming in agony, begging not to leave him or having sudden pain jolt my body. Getting up at 2:00 in the morning, strapping on my prosthetic leg, and taking walk, just to clear my head. Or pacing the house with in with a gun clutched to my side and a knife in my hand. Seeing my fellow soldiers as if they were actually there and talking to them as if they could understand and speak back. I had what so many doctors called PTSD and the severest case of it. Level 4 or level black. I drug myself in and out of several constant alcoholic dazes, drugs, and counseling. I was teetering on the edge and was for a really long time. It changed when I got a chance to start over. 

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Reset by Gooberthefirst
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Content Warning: This story contains themes of abuse, mental illness, blood, and drug use. Reader discretion is advised. If any of this feels familiar or personal, please know you're not alone. Feeling overwhelmed or emotional doesn't make you weak-it makes you human. If you're going through something and don't have anyone to talk to, you can always message me. My DMs are open on Instagram @thegoob_first. No judgment. Just someone who's willing to listen. ⸻ People say it gets better. That pain is temporary. That if you just "hold on," things will change. But I've been holding on so tight my hands are bleeding, and nothing's changed- except me. I'm thirteen, and I'm already tired. Not just sleepy. I mean tired in my bones. Tired of pretending school matters. Tired of dodging fists and fake smiles. Tired of being the leftover twin. Kevin was the one people loved. The loud one. The brave one. He used to say we were two halves of the same storm. But he's gone. Drowned in a river we weren't supposed to be near. And I'm still here. Alone. Sometimes I wonder if the wrong twin died. And some days, I know it. My mom won't look at me the same. My dad's fists speak louder than his words. And me? I gave up a long time ago. So I did what you're not supposed to do. I ended it. Only-I didn't. Because I woke up. Again. Same day. Same weight in my chest. Same pain. Now I can't even die right. But then I met her. Skye. And suddenly, dying isn't the hardest part anymore. Living is.
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Replaceable Timelines: Book 1. [COMPLETED]

26 parts Complete Mature

Paranoia... has become my constant companion. Ahh... Danny, what've you gotten yourself into? Thought I was doing something... thought I was gonna get better. Turns out it was all for nothing. I knew I'd be here again. Rock bottom's the only place for real pieces of shit like us... Like me. All that self-improvement didn't mean shit... Or I guess it did, or I wouldn't be here right now... Trying to fill those shoes, re-paint that grim portrait that haunted me... and I did, made everyone proud, even you mom... But it won't mean anything if I die out here. I thought those jumbled remnants of thoughts were the pull of my former self in a disassosiative amnesia from the drugs... Guess it was the pull of a much more treacherous force. I wish I could've lived my fantasy out and been happy.... At least you were, while it lasted. "Times almost up, they'll be here soon." TRIGGER WARNINGS: Crude humor, Illicit drug use, Drug overdose, loss of a child, suicide, bullying, traumatic events, Mature themes, graphic violence, death.