The PTSD reminds me of an old guy who lived opposite us as kids called Albert, shell shock meant nothing to us as kids and we all knew him well enough not to be scared but he was a character in his own little world and made little sense to talk to but as kids we made sure no one gave him any grief. He lived with his younger brother a who had a torrid time as Albert's obsession was building a shed in his garden so he was forever raiding skips for bits and coming home with all kinds of crap, he painted the outside of the house blue one day just as high as he could reach though
It wasn't till a few years ago I found out the fuller story from a relative of his, they'd been informed he was missing presumed dead around 1941 when in fact he'd been captured by the Germans in France, he was heavily tortured and kept prisoner for a couple of years and when released was diagnosed as schizophrenic and was too violent to stay with family. He lived the next 25 years in an institution ,only being released when these started to close.
