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This is an excerpt from a book I am in progress of writing about the struggles of PTSD.

It is like a flood. It comes pouring down when you least expect it. Like one of the worst floods in the history of everything. Everything gets submerged in water. Damaged. Only this isn’t the kind of flood regular people are used to experiencing. This is a flood of memories, nightmares even, that you cannot stop. They just flood into your sacred place of solitude, where you are supposed to be the safest. No matter what you do, how hard you try, you just can’t get the ringing out of your head. The visions of bloodshed and loss are just too much to bear. I live in agony every day. There are no exits, no pause button, nothing to stop the pain I feel. Everything I used to get enjoyment from are now things I have no desire for. All I see is grey. There is no color in the world I live in. Only grey. The slightest sound sets me off and triggers the memories. Some look at me with admiration and pride. Sure, I have medals some would love to have. My family is proud of me. Why is it that I am not even proud of myself? And then I remember how I got here. How I got to this place of sickness. The day I can never get out of my head. The day everything changed.

Author's Note

So I am thinking this should be the prologue. Does the excerpt have good imagery and does it draw you in? Any criticism and recommendations are appreciated.