THE WEIGHT OF THE PAST IN MY HANDS

Hello, my name is Brayan, and I come to tell you my life and overcoming story. It's a bit embarrassing, but maybe you'll learn something from me. Before all this began, I was someone very talkative and sociable; I always spent a lot of time with my friends and had a girlfriend who would become my fiancée before I left for war, yes, this is a war story.

For me, it all began in 1944. World War II was still ongoing and the Nazi occupation in Western Europe remained a major problem. The presidents of that time came together to see how they could get rid of the Nazis, and thus Operation "OVERLORD" was born. In summary, we had to invade the beaches of Normandy to break through the Atlantic Wall, and this topic became my nightmare that would haunt me for a long time.

That's how we arrived at the day of my trauma, the infamous "D" day. I remember that as if it were yesterday, a terrible day when I was on the boat with my comrades going to the slaughterhouse as if we were cows. The ship arrived at its destination on Omaha Beach. As soon as the ship's doors opened, we were met with a hail of bullets.

I saw how my comrades fell shattered one by one. I quickly threw myself to the ground and managed to take cover behind one of the metal structures placed on the beach. I saw how the boats behind me exploded; it was a total massacre. We were like ants being crushed by a human finger. I felt terrible, like I was going to vomit, but I had to keep going no matter what, because in my mind, my parents and my fiancée were waiting for me.

In that place we were assigned, the coast was well fortified, and those 450 meters we had to cover to reach the shore where the wall was felt like we were 5 kilometers away. The arduous work I had to do to survive was very intense; I had to protect myself even with the bodies of my fallen comrades to reach the shore. The battle was tough, but at the end of the day, after capturing the fortified positions on the coast, we only advanced 2 kilometers after reaching the shore.

I was injured in my arm and leg, which got me discharged so I could return. That day I lost all my comrades, but thanks to that operation we managed to take all the beaches, albeit at a great cost of lives. I returned home, and some time later, in September 1945, the war had ended, but for me, it still lingered in my mind.

When I returned with my family, who greeted me with much love, my parents and my fiancée threw me a welcome party, and in the middle of the party, when they brought out the cake with a candle, my eyes were frightened by the sight of the fire on the candle, and I got scared and fell to the floor thinking about that day on the beach. I started sweating a lot and my parents got worried about me.

The war had left scars on my mind; the years passed and I was a bit better, but in my mind, the war remained fresh. Every night I had nightmares about that day on the beach, I would wake up sweating, but everything would return to normal when I saw my beloved by my side. She helped me keep my mind away from that fateful day.

Whenever she saw me upset, she would bring me back to reality with a hug. My mind would spend hours wandering through the problem I had; I would stare into nothingness and stay like that for minutes, but my fiancée would attend to me with so much love. She was very patient with me; she is a very good and affectionate woman.

Over time, my parents became worried about me and took me to a psychologist to help me. I spent some time with the psychologist, but I didn't see any results; everything reminded me of that day, even the slightest noise that resembled a gunshot would upset me. Even the sound of a car would upset me; I didn't know what to do with my life. I couldn't work like that.

My beloved took great care of me, but I felt like a burden to her. Even when we made love, I was disturbed by some things that happened in my head, but she was very understanding and just held me while I cried over that damn day. The following days, I managed to stay calmer during the day, but at night, those traumatic memories would come back to torment me, and I didn't know what to do.

One day like any other, one night while I was sleeping with my fiancée, a very vivid memory came to me. So much so that by chance I hit my fiancée very hard in the face, and I was like a madman, speaking incoherently, staggering from side to side, and she, all battered, managed to hug me and with her sweet voice brought me back to reality, calming me down. That day, sadly, I told her to go live somewhere else, that I didn't want to hurt her, and that I could solve all this on my own. I know she was suffering and didn't want to tell me. María, which is the name of my fiancée, told me not to think about it, but I didn't listen and at night I decided to go outside my house to think. I told him to leave, for when he returned.

I returned home the next morning and, with my head down, I entered the house and she was no longer there. I found out that she went back to her parents. In my mind, this was a good idea, but later I would regret it, as she was the only one who could calm me down. Night after night, I suffered with everything I had lived through; I couldn't even find relief with the psychologist.

One night, during one of my many bouts of depression, I decided to take out a revolver that I had hidden in my closet. I sat in the chair I had in my kitchen and placed the revolver on the table. I wanted to end it all, but I didn't want to go like this. I had thoughts in my head that couldn't be silenced; I was desperate, I wanted to silence those thoughts with a bullet in my head, but something inside me said this was wrong. I was going to tarnish the memory of my fallen comrades by taking my own life like this, but I didn't know what else to do.

I raised my head, looking at the living room of my house, and I realized that there was a silhouette of a man with a hood standing in the middle of my living room, which prevented me from seeing his face. Then I recognized the Nazi uniform he was wearing. I stood up excitedly and grabbed the revolver, pointing it at the silhouette and shouted, "Who are you?" I rubbed my eyes thinking that maybe I was hallucinating, and it was true; there was no one in that place. Every time this problem got worse.

Analyzing things carefully, I didn't dwell on it much anymore. I took all the bullets out of the revolver except for one, spun the revolver's chamber, and pointed it at my head. I couldn't take it anymore, I was tired, I was even hallucinating, and I couldn't find relief even in my family. I don't know what could help me at that moment. Without realizing it, the morning sun peeked through the window; I had spent most of the night wandering.

Without further ado, I pulled the trigger of the revolver and nothing, just a click. I started to sweat, took a few minutes to gather my strength, and kept pulling the trigger. Nothing, another click. At that point, I was already nervous and sweating as if I were in the full sun wearing winter clothes. I was very confused with all of this. I left the revolver on the table and started walking around it, thinking about all the possibilities I had left: continue with this game of roulette or end it and go to sleep because I was already very tired.

Several minutes passed like this; I don't know what time it was, but I estimated it was 7 am and in my mind, I didn't want anything else. I picked up the revolver, pointed it at my head, and just as I was about to pull the trigger, the doorbell rang. Someone had come to visit me. With doubts in my mind, I left the revolver on the table and headed to the door, finding a postman who had come to deliver a letter to me.

Confused, I looked at the mailbox and saw that it was gone; it seemed like someone had knocked it down with a stick. That's why the postman decided to leave it directly for me, perhaps a work of fate or divine help, because the letter was from María. I sat in the kitchen chair where I had been before and opened the letter. It said that he was giving me all his support in this moment of need I was going through and wanted me to move forward because I was going to be a dad. Just reading that, my eyes quickly filled with tears, but these tears were of joy.

I analyzed things carefully and realized that I couldn't leave this world because now I had a purpose: someone more important than me had to protect someone. And I remembered my sergeant who commanded that fateful day. In the memory I had, it was a training day when I was beating up a rookie who had just joined the ranks. My sergeant stopped me and scolded me and said a phrase that would open my eyes: "The strong protect themselves, but the strongest protect others."

That memory brought me to my senses; I had something to fight for, with my son who was about to come and my fiancée who always fought for me and put up with me all this time. With anger, I grabbed the revolver and threw it far away from me. To my surprise, the gun went off, but I had no reaction at all.

I wasn't scared or anything; that news had made me regain my sanity. In my mind, I thought the postman had saved me because I realized the bullet was already in the revolver's exit hole. I just looked up at the sky and said, "thank you for this opportunity."

Over time, I saw María again and we managed to have a normal family. Of course, my problem didn't disappear completely; I still struggle with it, but thanks to my son, whom I named Gabriel after the angel, since his news came to me like an angel descending from heaven to save me.

I managed to move forward and I'm living an almost normal life; time will help me get through all this. I thank heaven for this great opportunity that was given to me. Now María and I are happily married, and I have a normal, ordinary job, and I live my life in peace, taking great care of my son. Well, that's all; I hope this story is of some help to you, and if I managed to get out of this problem, I hope you can also overcome it. Good luck, survivors.