Joy.

A basic human emotion that, recently,

I’ve discovered is taken for granted.

Have you ever experienced a moment

you know you should—and deserve—to feel joy,

but literally can’t?

Because instead of joy,

you’re stuck in fight, flight, or freeze—

constantly?

I’ve climbed impossible metaphorical mountains these last few years.

I’ve beaten odds. I’ve faced demons.

I emptied closets full of skeletons.

I didn’t quit—even when it looked like the only outcome.

I made mistakes—but I learned from every one.

I tried when nobody thought I could.

I fell—hard.

I hit the lowest of lows.

And even though evil lurked at every step,

I climbed floors.

I conquered fears.

I gave my kids incredible stories, happy moments,

and shielded them from danger.

All while being in an active war zone.

That’s the part that takes away the ability to feel joy.

The warzone is loud and dangerous.

Even when it’s silent,

there are still covert missions to destroy “the enemy.”

And even though I saw the shots fired,

the bombs dropped,

the black hawks circling my territory—

I was looking in the wrong direction

for the shot-caller.

I thought it was an inside job.

I thought my own soldiers turned on me.

I thought my mind was the one firing the cannons.

I never thought to look

toward the real villain.

The one who was supposed to be my ally.

My support.

I was sure I was losing my mind,

and my eyes were making it all up.

Then I saw the pilot of the nuclear bomb—

the one that made the target unrecognizable.

I was so sure it couldn’t have been him.

But after years…

and even more bombs that left nothing untouched—

I saw him again.

This time, I knew.

He dropped every bomb.

He shot every bullet.

He loaded every cannon.

He drove every tank.

He told every lie.

While I felt guilt and gratitude toward this man for standing beside me in the impossible battle…

He wasn’t beside me.

He was behind me.

Stabbing me.

Then telling me I did it to myself.

Fooling me with carefully staged retaliation.

Sending my soldiers into battle on his orders.

He even hurt himself to keep the illusion going.

All I want is peace.

This man wants blood.

And he wants all of it.

White flags mean nothing.

Pleas for peace—ignored.

Resolutions—denied.

Even now, after he’s been exposed,

he manipulates the truth

by pretending to clean up

the destruction he caused.

Why?

That’s all I want to know.

And for it to end—

Before there is nothing left.