Hi again brothers and sisters. Even if the title changed, you might recognize me from my First Story, my Second Story, my Third Story, my Fourth Story, my Fifth Story and my Sixth Story (Pt.1) Once again, thank you for all your support. Writing is my therapy, you reading it is part of it. Thank you for your caring and loving comments. Merci beaucoup.

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I’m French. I’m in the Army. I’m in the infantry and fucking proud of it. I do love embracing the suck and I always took everything with that « fuck it » mindset.

No need to think about all that. We are home. I am home.

Sitting on my couch while looking at the moving images on my TV. I don't even see or hear what is playing at the moment. My fiancé is at work and she will be back at the end of the day.

All day the TV is playing. I cannot stand the silence. The silence is loud. If there's no noise I feel the walls closing on me, I feel my thoughts creeping up to me, lurking at the edge of my vision.

Silence brings me back to empty villages and endless stressful patrols. The silence just before and after a firefight. Will it be a lasting silence or shit is going down once again ? The silence that a mortar shell blast brings when it hit at night when you can't protect your ears. Firefights are easy, the silence between them is where psychological warfare starts.

Silence is the noise of you thinking.

Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be home. Really happy. Although, my mind is playing tricks on me and it is like my own body wants me to hurt. He wants me to remember the adrenaline rushes, the fear that grows from deep inside your belly.

I often catch myself replaying firefights and my hands get sweaty and my fists clench without me knowing. I am not really here, I am back. I hold my breath and catch myself lacking oxygen and take a deep breath and I'm back home.

My cat walks up to me and just rest his head next to me and I know I'm alright. This little ball of fur helped my fiancé go through deployments and I am glad he was there. I am glad he's here now because it's like he can sense when I need him.

Most of my friends are here. We organized a party because we moved to a new flat and it's the perfect opportunity to celebrate me getting back and the new place.

Music is in the background, food is spread out on our living room table and beers, wine, whisky is in everyone hands. It is great to see them all and hear them talk. They are all here and laughing and I look around quietly and take it all in. This is the life I want.

I want my friends, my future wife around me all the time. That is my comfort zone and I feel good with them. Whisky is warming my throat and dulling my senses.

I don't know what triggers it. I can't understand how it works. I am back there and still at home. I see my friends but I have other images floating in front of my eyes. They continue to talk, laugh and eat unaware of what I'm experiencing.

I think the oven door slammed shut and it brought me over there. My fists clench and I just sit on the couch without moving. I'm not talking, trying to fight back the rush of emotions.

I remember the blasts of rockets against hesco walls. Somebody laugh while clapping hands and I can remember the crack of 7.62 bullets above my head. My ears are sensitive because of all the time I didn't had time to put my Peltor before firing my gun. My hand automatically goes on the right side of my waist looking for my sidearm. I realize what I did and I act like I'm just settling my shirt.

We are all getting a bit drunk and my friends are more eager to ask me questions about the deployment. They know that I wouldn't tell them if I wasn't comfortable enough and I guess I am.

I tell them about the funny stories I witnessed or heard from the local army doing dumb shit. How funny and weird it can be to live with 45 dudes in a small FOB far from everything. I tell them all the stories they want to hear. I laugh with them and I am happy that they can understand some of it.

They ask me about danger and if there was some real-deal that went down over there. I say yes with an awkward smile. I feel they want to hear more but do not dare ask too much, afraid of being out of bonds. I respect them a lot for that and this is why I feel like I need to tell them a bit about how it was.

I just tell them, while avoiding eye contact, how a rocket sounds, the crack of bullets and how you get tunnel vision in a firefight. I explain to them how tracers looks at night. How seeing a convoy of motorbikes with ISIS flags in the distance can bring hatred in your heart. How it feels to being shot at and understand it was near.

I quickly switch to some funny moments where I ate dirt because I trip on my ammo belt.

I am afraid to say too much or something that might make them judge me. Yet, I can't stop talking because I'm afraid that the silence will come back or that I'll be stuck with the memories.

Party is over and everybody is sleeping.

I lay in my bed, fiancé besides me. The room spin a bit and I think about everything. How did I went from constant deployment life to being in my own bed after a party. I should feel safe but something deep inside me stops me from sleeping.

I'm not scared of what can happen anymore. I am scared that if I don't put in the work, I'll be traumatized for the rest of my life.

That night, I decided to start writing. I owe it to me, I owe it to everyone around me.

I don't fear the silence anymore.