The Voice

Last night I went to bed immediately after blogging. My mind, still geared in recall, presented me with an open Pandora's Box of nightmares. I awoke, drenched in sweat, frightened, angry, confused. I lay there for another hour and a half trying to calm down and get back to sleep. The voice had returned. Not voices, just one voice. I cannot hear the voice, but it is not mine. It has no accent, it has no sound, as far as I can tell, meaning I can not hear anything audible, yet in my head the voice is speaking. It's like reading silently to yourself, you see the words, and you read them without the use of audible vocalization. 

While attending a Cognitive Processing Therapy group for PTSD at the VA, I was able to describe "the voice" as being a creature similar to Gollum from the "Lord of the Rings" movies. He is on my back and whispers bad things into my ear, causing me to dwell on worst-case scenarios and homicidal and suicidal ideals. When he is not being negative he speaks as if he were a scholar, or a thespian, creating poems, story lines, ideas. Speaking as if he was performing at a theatre, I have felt the need many times to write down the things the says, but am usually too tired to do so. Upon awakening I tend to have forgotten what it is he said. "The voice" talks at great lengths, good or bad, it is almost non-stop. He will show me images of things in great detail, he instills doubt, misconstruing what I see and hear. 
He spoke to me the entire hour and a half that I lay there awake. When I realized that going to sleep would be futile, I went to the living room and observed the darkness and silence. In that moment was calm. Turned on the television, but a burrito in the microwave, grabbed the cheese popcorn and cookies, midnight snackin'. I figured concentrating on the television would make the voice go away. 
Two hours passed. Crawled back in the bed, tired. There was no voice, but the nightmares came again. Just a potpourri of me in bad situations sometimes I have to shoot my way out, other times I just run. In one reoccurring dream I look down to see the name tapes "EVANS", and "U.S. MARINES". I'm in cammies again. "Shit!" I say to myself. Somehow I managed to re-enlist... again. I promised myself that I was done after the first eight, and here I am again, in formation. Another four years. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the Marine Corps. It was one of the best choices I've ever made for myself. The parts I didn't like so much were the power-tripping assholes, ridiculous rules and regulations, lack of freedom, and of course, going to war. In one of these back in service dreams I requested to be stationed back in Okinawa. I had a subsequent dreams where I had to find the signed request, make sure the request was going to be carried out, and make sure that I get my orders stationing me in Okinawa. 
When I woke up this time I was sweating, confused, and sad. I'm tired of having these awful dreams, tired of that voice in my ear, pushing me to think and do bad things. Medications can only do so much.