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Wednesday, May 9

April 24, 1865. It has been 7 days since the CIvil War ended, and Pvt. Freeman is on his way to meet his mother at the train station. I can't beleive I'm alive. I just can't beleive it. When so many others died, why am I still alive? Is it my fate? Even so, the Civil War still haunts me. It never stops following me. It's in my dreams, in my head, in my ears... I just can't escape it! How much agony can a man go through before he breaks? I may already be broken. It wasn't long after my first fit of violence that I had another one. I killed a boy among some confederates this time. He was lurking behind the bushes and he startled me. I thought he was a rebel. I didn't think to look before I shot. I just did what had been ingrained into my memory. After I shot that musket, everyone I looked at was a confederate. They all had their eyes fixated on me, and I couldn't let them attack me. So I shot and shot till a Union sargeant came and had me sedated. That's the last I know. They later told me it had been all civilians, but they don't know what I saw. I would never shoot at civilians in my right mind. I know what I shot at. Ever since then, the boys in my regiment keep giving me looks as if I'll explode at any minute. I'm on my way to see Mama. I'm so excited. I haven't seen her in four years! I can't wait to hug my lovely, adoring, kind mother who begged me not to go to war. I think I'll sotop by somewhere and get her flowers. Or maybe I'll take her to dinner... June 17, 1865. I can't think anymore. My mind is clouded with thoughts and screams and cries for help. I see images of men, blood soaked and wounded, begging for someone to help them or stop their pain. I can't do this anymore. My mind has become so dark and fearful that I scare myself. Mama cried because of me. I almost stabbed her when she came in my room at night to wake me because she was sick. I jumped and could've killed her. I dream every time I manage too sleep. awful dreams that no person should ever have to see. I jump at loud sounds. I can't sleep sometimes. I can't eat sometimes. I can't think, I can't smile, I can't laugh, I can't be with my Mama and I can't live. I reach to the pistol my Mama bought me as a gift and close my eyes before I pull the trigger.

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