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He's seen way too much out there, everyday life a battlefield, having to watch the normal folks being so normal, always wondering why they can't see what he sees, hear what he hears, feel what he feels, so he just stares blankly, retreating into dissociation, triggered at every experiential ripple crossing his path, each seemingly mundane wave of stimulus carrying an infinite load of negatively tinged data, all relating to his own specific traumas, they stabbing his tender heart in the evilest yet subtle of ways, him living a life being scratched, poked, chewed, his hurts ever exacerbating, his emotional infections worsened like ill-intentioned maggots lunching on his suffering soul.

Neurologically carved channels of terror, routing all external stimulus through these tainted pathways, painting his moment-to-moment experiences muddy brown, leaving his perception of life corrupted, and all hope diminished.

Scrupulosity, obsessions, compulsions, and a self-immolating internal voice that barks its continuous displeasure at every turn, no matter which choice he makes, always telling him that he's wrong, that he's bad, that he's condemned, that his every breath a sin, no way out, and all accomplished with such artful intentionality, that he's left with no choice but to assume it must all be satan at play.

He hopes for healing, he believes in Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior, and this has become his only light in the darkness of his corrupted skulled wetware.

Save him Jesus, save him from his suffering.


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