After the war, Ichigo could admit that he had become a bit of an insomniac.
It wasn't something that he had ever thought about until the school nurse told him that he might've had it a little bit when the teacher had sent him there for having a dizzy spell in class. She had sent him home and it was only when he had lain on his bed that he realized that she was right. It had started with the nightmares- of Hollows, Grimmjow, Ulquiorra, and Aizen, of that final encounter with Tensa Zangetsu.
They had become so bad after a while that he just stopped going to bed on time. He started procrastinating a little on his work to give his dad an excuse for his late nights. Regularly, he took long walks around the town, remembering-
Entirely against his will, he saw the destruction that his life-long home had been reduced to because of the war. He saw the fires, and the blood, and the collapsed buildings. He saw his defeated allies lying around him, and the broken looks of those still standing. He saw the worry, and the fear. He could still hear Rangiku's grief-stricken cry as she had tried hopelessly to revive Ichimaru Gin. The sounds of battle plagued his once easy sleep, the voice of Tensa echoing in his ears.
The thing that I wanted to protect most, Ichigo, was you.
He woke every time, gasping and shivering, hating himself and the world around him more and more each time.
More than ever, he wished for the annoying spirit of his inner hollow, for the constant, steady presence of his zanpaktou. He wanted to be chased around by dead people, and to escape from school to kill some wandering hollow. He missed his friends- human and otherwise.
It wasn't as if his human friends weren't there, because they were. They were there for him, a steady source of comfort, should he accept the silent offer. But the only thing they served to do with their constant chatter was remind him of what used to be. Chad, he had been friends with before, and his other friends had nothing to do with that life. Still, though… the others had only spoken to him because they had powers he could use. Now, he couldn't even see hollows, much less fight them.
So it didn't matter if they were there or not. They couldn't help him anyway, he knew. PTSD was not something that was really ever cured. The only thing that would provide him any comfort was his old power, Zangetsu and his inner hollow back in his head where they belonged.
And that was a hopeless desire.