Category Archives: army

Passing the Torch

I have spent a lot time the past few years conducting suicide intervention training at the different army reserve units I have been assigned. One thing I’ve learned and believe to be true is that when a person is thinking about suicide and is willing to talk about it, you must take their reason seriously. No matter what the reason, it’s a valid reason. At least to the person contemplating taking their own life. I’ve also learned that no matter what the reason given, there are always underlying issues to go with it. Things build up to a breaking point until the person just can’t handle it anymore. The issue the person may be telling you about might only be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. As was the case with me when I attempted suicide last year.

I had a number of things that I let build up inside of my mind. I knew there were things wrong with me, both physically and mentally. I tried to deal with them alone and deny what was going on with me because I thought I could cope with it by myself. I didn’t want anyone to know how bad it had gotten for me, but of course everyone could see changes in me. One of the things that was hardest to come to terms with was that if I shared some of my issues, it would likely end my army career. I knew I wasn’t right in the head. I knew I had a number of physical issues. Any of the problems from either could be cause for me to have to leave the army. And I did not want to deal with that.

But now, in the last couple months, I have come to terms with the fact that it’s probably time for me to let the process run its course, which will include a Medical Evaluation Board that will end with me getting out of the military. I’ve been told it’s a long process. I will have plenty of time to think about things and reflect on my army career. My career was probably different than most that served. I did almost 4 years after high school, had a fourteen year break in service, then went back in in 2007. I served in a variety of units, met some awesome people, and traveled the world. I don’t want it to end, but it’s time. I’m satisfied that I did my part. And I’m proud to have served. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It’s time to pass the torch to the younger generation, the ones who still believe they are invincible. Maybe that’s what happened to me, I realized I was no longer invincible. It’s time to pass the torch to the ones whose backs are still sturdy, knees are still strong, and minds are still unshakeable. It’s time to pass the torch to the ones who can still live up to their own cockiness. Every warrior goes through this at some point. They come to the sobering realization that they’ve become old and tired and might even feel somewhat worthless. Or at least I did. But I believe now that my worth is not based on what I will do from here, but that I have value in what I have done. Too often we confuse the two.

While in Afghanistan, I was being interviewed by phone for the local paper for an article that also got picked up by the Stars and Stripes. The interviewer asked me why I do what I do (join the army, go to war, etc.). I replied, “Hopefully we’re over here so our kids don’t ever have to be.” Only time will tell if that ends up being true.

Last year my oldest son enlisted and I could not be more proud of him for continuing the family tradition of serving in the United States Armed Forces. He joins grandfathers, my dad, a number of uncles, cousins, and a grandmother in military service. He is going to make a great Soldier. I can see that already in him. And while I hope he never has to go where I’ve been or see what I’ve seen, I know he will do a great job if he does. He may get called to go to battle one day. He may walk where I did in some far away land. And I know he will do well and serve with honor. So I pass the torch to him and his generation to pick up where I left off, to continue the legacy that I am glad to be a small part of.

My hope is that the army and the other services continue to improve in the area of behavioral and mental health issues so that fewer Soldiers in the future have the issues that some of us have now. They have made much progress in that area since I originally enlisted in 1989. Getting help is encouraged and has become less of a stigma than it used to be. Unfortunately, most of us are hard headed and resist getting help. That was me, and it almost cost me my life. I’m getting help now. I can’t stress enough for someone to get help before it’s too late. And that it’s ok to get help along the way to maintain a good level of mental health. Watch out for each other. Take it seriously if someone is experiencing suicidal thoughts. And remember, no matter the reason, it’s valid to that person. Lastly, when it’s time to pass the torch, don’t fight it to the point of death. It’s not worth it. Find another chapter in your life to start.  There will always be worthy warriors to pass the torch to. For me, that’s my oldest son. HOOAH!

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I welcome your feedback. Share this story for someone that might need to see this.

Good day, God bless.

Dave

With Force and With Grace

March is Women’s History Month. With that, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote a couple years ago in Afghanistan about women in the military. The military has changed quite a bit over the course it’s existence. One of those changes have been the role of women in the military. When my grandfather enlisted in the 40’s to serve in World War II, women’s roles in the military were largely limited to secretary, nurse, personnel, or some other jobs that might traditionally have been for women. When my dad enlisted in the late 60’s women’s roles had already started to expand. When I enlisted in 1989 women could do most any of the military jobs available, but were not supposed to go into combat, and there were still a number of roles that women couldn’t have. My son enlisted last year. Now, women can go to Ranger School, Combat Engineer School, and do a host of other military jobs that were traditionally left to men.

This poem is for all the women I’ve served with over the years and the ones that paved the way for the ones that serve today. Many women went into the inspiration of this piece. One in particular was Amy, that I served with in Afghanistan. She was on her sixth deployment in her army career. She was always professional, always sharp, knew her stuff, and took care of her Soldiers. Everything a Soldier should be, man or woman. There is a small handful of people that I have served with that I looked and knew I should model myself after, if I were to be a better Soldier. She is one of those.

I hope you enjoy the poem. Feel free to share it with a female Service Member in your life. Good day, and God bless.

Dave

With Force and With Grace

 

Hidden in her eyes are things we cannot see

Stories she won’t tell- not to you or me.

But to her fellow warriors, maybe it is told

Of how she served her country with the brave and the bold.

 

No more pretty dresses, or heels upon her feet

She dons a Soldier’s uniform, makes it nice and neat.

Her hair must now be tucked, underneath her hat

No more shiny earrings, or pretty stuff like that.

 

Been to war her share of times, the battles she did face

Got the job done every time, with Force and with Grace.

Rising up, in the ranks, to where she is today

Did not come without a cost, what price did she pay?

 

A Mother, Wife, Sister, Friend- but some don’t understand

How could she leave those things to fight on foreign land?

Many Titles she must carry, this is all too true

One that matters most in battle: “Soldier”, through and through.

 

She is a Female Warrior, fellow Soldier, and my Friend

Admiration and my loyalty, will likely never end.

Side by side we fought- the Enemy we did engage

As Soldiers, not a gender, putting rounds down range.

 

And she is a Soldier, tough and strong, yes, among the best

In every fight, in every challenge, she has passed the test.

Male or Female, boy or girl- should not be the theme

I have seen her in the battle, and want her on my team.

The Mirror

The Mirror

 

I see the man in my bathroom mirror

Staring back at me

He looks somewhat familiar

But in my memory I cannot see.

 

Was he someone I knew in passing

Or was he a close friend?

Did I do something to upset him

To make our friendship end?

 

He hasn’t said a word to me

Nor even tried to smile

Just glares at me with bloodshot eyes

Now, for quite a while.

 

I’m afraid to ask him who he is

Or why it is he’s here

But his silence is so very loud

That’s all that he’s made clear.

 

I see disappointment in his eyes

I wonder what he thinks.

Now his face becomes clear to me

My heart stops and sinks.

 

I see the man in my bathroom mirror

Staring back at me

I still don’t know who he is,

But I know that man is me.

***********************************

It’s a hell of a lot easier to go to war than it is to come home from it.  It takes a while to adjust.  I think my that lack of being able to adjust lead me to my attempted suicide.  I further believe that coming back from war wasn’t the problem with me, as far as trying to figure out who I was.  Once a Soldier, always a Soldier.  I just don’t know who I am now anymore.  I think it’s the aftermath of surviving suicide that makes me question my identity or what defines me now.

Sometimes I feel that I have no idea who I am.  I am unrecognizable to myself. I used to be motivated.  I used to desire to work.  I used to have a plan.  I used to feel invincible, that I could conquer the world.  Now, most days, it’s a challenge to conquer getting out of bed in the morning.  While I know I’m improving daily, I’m still searching for who I am.  I’m finding pleasure in writing again and that is helping.  Too bad it doesn’t pay the bills.

Those of us struggling with this will eventually recognize the person we used to be, even if we don’t know who we are now.  It can be disturbing for a number of reasons.  Either the person we used to be did horrible things and we can’t face that, or the person we used to be was a lot better person than we are now and we can’t accept whom we’ve become. One way or the other, we are changing daily.  Good or bad.  I made my downslope already in my changes.  It’s a tough climb back up, and I know I will never be who I was, but I will be me again, whomever that may be.

I write because it’s therapeutic for me.  I share it in case it helps someone else.  Thank you for reading my story, my message.  I welcome your feedback.  Feel free to share if you think it will help someone.

Good day, God bless.

Dave

The Irony of Life

It’s incredible to me how far-reaching my last blog post (Battlefield) made it.  The response was overwhelming.  Not just from people I know or talk to on a regular basis, but from people I haven’t talked to in twenty or more years and even from people I’ve never met.  From the comments on my Facebook of the link to my blog, to the private messages, texts, phone calls, emails, and even the comments I saw from others that shared the link to their page.  I made a few new friends that I otherwise would have never known.  Thank you.

 

I write for my own therapy.  But it is very nice to have the positive responses I received.  It is encouraging and motivates me to continue to tell my story.  I expected to have maybe a hundred views total when I published “Battlefield.”  I had over 400 visitors to my blog on the first day.  “Battlefield” is up to almost 800 views in a week. Incredible.  I never expected it to be shared as far and wide as it was.  But it’s an important story.  Suicide, specifically among veterans, is real.

 

Both my deployments, one to Iraq and one to Afghanistan, were as a chaplain assistant in the army reserves.  It’s not the hardest job, but it does come with certain stresses.  Obviously, like my job title suggests, I assist the chaplain. Appointments, travel arrangements, meetings, security (U.S. military chaplains are non-combatants and do not carry a weapon), and so many more tasks.  Although I do not do any counseling to individuals, I have always played the role of go between for a Soldier and the chaplain.  Many, for whatever reason, do not want to talk to the chaplain about their problems. There is a stigma to it.  I can’t even think of the number of Soldiers I’ve talked with over the years because they felt more comfortable with the assistant as opposed to the chaplain.  Hundreds.

 

In addition to my regular duties, I have taken it upon myself the last five or six years in all the units I’ve been in to take the lead role on suicide prevention and awareness.  I have had specialized training in the subject of suicide prevention. I have conducted and facilitated more training sessions than anyone else that I personally know.  I have intervened with Soldiers with real suicidal ideations, some that had a plan in place, at least one in particular that was on his way to carry it out.  I know the warning signs.  I know the risk factors.  I know how to help someone get through it or to get the help they need.  And I’m very comfortable doing it.  It is something I have always taken seriously.

 

With that said, the irony is not lost on me that I attempted suicide.  How could I get to that point knowing what I know?  Why in the world would I not use my own teachings?  For a short time after my suicide attempt I felt like a hypocrite.  I tell you what you should to do help yourself or others, but I don’t follow my own advice.  Then it hit me. A dentist doesn’t fill his own cavities.  A heart surgeon does not cut open his own chest.  I was not capable of fixing or helping myself.  And I was too stubborn to let any one else help me.  In addition to that, I was not doing anything for self-care. My self-care for now is writing and sharing it with you.

 

While in the hospital after my attempt I was diagnosed with PTSD and major depression.  These are both things that I knew about in myself but tried to cover it up and deal with.  For a while I fooled everybody.  But as time went on it became more evident that something was wrong with me.  But I felt that if I knew I was “crazy” then I must be sane enough to realize that, so it couldn’t be that bad, right?  However, if I break my leg, and I know it’s broke, that doesn’t mean it’s going to heal itself.  I would still need treatment, I would need a doctor.  Mental illness needs to be looked at the same way physical problems are looked at.  It’s the same concept.  If something is wrong, fix it.  But for some reason with mental illness, it’s always viewed differently.  It’s a catch-22.

 

One of my favorite books that I’ve read is Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.  The title of the book is actually where the phrase originates. Here’s an excerpt from that book:

 

“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern

                for one’s own safety in the face of danger that were real and immediate was

                the process of a rational mind.  Orr was crazy and he could be grounded.  All he

                had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would

                have to fly more missions.  Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if

                he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them.  If he flew them he was crazy

                and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to.  Yossarian

                was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22…”

 

The American Heritage Dictionary defines Catch-22 as “a situation in which a desired outcome or solution is impossible to attain because of a set of inherently illogical rules or conditions.”  So, in my mind, as I dealt with what was happening to me, I thought that since I knew it was going on, I must really be ok.  If I were to go to counseling and tell the therapist that this is what’s wrong with me and I know it, and they agree, that I must be fine.  That actually happened to me shortly after returning from Afghanistan.  I was so in tune with my flawed mental state and what needed to be fixed, that the therapist said he thought I was good to go, as long as I worked on those things.  I didn’t need to see him anymore after only three visits.  The problem was I stopped working on those things. I fell into a hopeless mindset.  I spiraled out of control in my emotions, thoughts, and actions.  All the while, thinking to myself, that I’m ok simply because I know what’s wrong.  If I know I’m crazy, I must be sane.  That train of thought almost cost me my life.

 

The irony of life, or at least mine, is that I had all the tools to help someone else.  I just couldn’t use them on myself.  To further turn my life into irony, I spent the first few months after my suicide attempt mad as hell that it didn’t work, yet still making plans for the future.  The thoughts of not wanting to live still hit me once in a while, but there is no plan to take such actions.  I promised a number of people that I would let them know if I needed that kind of help again.  I intend on keeping that promise.  I know I have a long road to go and I know that I will never be the person I was before. I’m not a big fan of the person I am now, but I’m getting better.  Slowly but surely.

 

Thank you for taking the time to read this post.  Please feel free to share it and get this message out.  An average of 22 veterans a day take their own lives.  Maybe this story will help even one person change their mind about committing suicide or the stigma of getting help.  Or it might help one person understand what some of us go through when we battle our demons and nightmares.  I’ll keep writing for my own therapy and also in the hopes that it makes a difference to someone.

 

Good day and God bless.

 

Dave

Battlefield

On August 2, 2015, late in the evening just before midnight I almost died. In all the things I’ve done in my life and lived through, it was me that almost took my life. I attempted suicide. I failed. Not the first thing in my life I failed at and it certainly won’t be the last. It’s been six months. Part of me thinks I should already be further along to finding normal again. Part of me has accepted that I must find and accept a new normal. It is a daily struggle. It wasn’t until five months after my attempt that I was actually glad that it failed. But I do still struggle with my thoughts from time to time.

I had a good plan, but obviously it was flawed. I spent 3 days composing my suicide letter. I re-read it a couple months ago for the first time since I wrote it. It was dark. It was apparent that I was not even close to being in my right mind. I look back at the person that wrote it and I’m not even sure who I was at that time. I’ve tried to piece together all the details that took me to that point and it’s not as easy it should be.

I saw the police report. It was sobering to see how close I came to being dead. In the officers statement he said that he found me unresponsive, but breathing. He went on to say that as he approached me, he couldn’t see my face due to the condensation on the clear trash bag that I put over my head and tied around my neck. I don’t know how long I was out but when I woke up I hurt. My chest hurt, I was breathing hard, I couldn’t sit up and ended up falling on the floor. I was scared, confused, and didn’t know where I was at for a moment. Then it all came flooding back. I was supposed to die, but didn’t .

After getting me up and moving, and regaining my faculties, I got checked out by EMS. I was told that they’d be taking me to the hospital by cop car. I resisted briefly and made it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere with them. I saw the officer that was behind the one that had been talking to me take a more offensive stance. I guess when you tell the cops you aren’t going with them, they are up to the challenge. It didn’t come to that. They told me that my oldest daughter was on the scene and that I had a choice of going out to see her first, or to be dragged off in cuffs in front of her. Her being there saved me from further trouble and embarrassment. She still had to watch me get cuffed and put in the back of a police car, but it certainly could have been worse. The story of being in the hospital will be for another time.

A couple weeks after my attempt I wrote a poem called Battlefield. I’ve mostly kept it to myself.   The very few handful of people I’ve showed it to have encouraged me to share it, to publish it. I think I’m ready to do that now. Since I know some of you won’t get the “22” reference I will explain. Approximately 22 veterans a day commit suicide. There are a number of organizations that use “22” in their efforts to bring awareness to how many veterans take their own lives on a daily basis. I was almost one of the 22 on that day but I guess I waited too late into the night and the quota had already been met.

Here’s the poem.

Battlefield

By David George

On the battlefield he did not die

Fearlessly served by comrades’ side

Bullets and bombs whizzed on by,

But not everyone there came home alive.

 

His body intact, his mind gone mad

To see him now, doesn’t look so bad

But the wounds he carries are just as sad,

As the ones brought back in a body bag.

 

Try as you may, you don’t see his pain

But he can’t avoid it, it’s in his brain

His memory becomes one big stain,

Of war and darkness again and again.

 

The enemy failed in bringing him down

But he’s losing the battle of himself right now

Hard to reach out, he doesn’t know how,

But without some help, to his demons he’ll bow.

 

Fate is cruel and already knew

He’d be the next member of Club Twenty-two

He took his own life, sad but true,

Another one gone, what do you do?

 

Going to war was the easy part

Do your job and do it smart

Had all the training from the start,

His death this way should break your heart.

When you look at the number of Service Members that we’ve sent to war and brought home it’s sad that so many lose the battle of themselves after returning. I think I can speak for all of us who have been to the dark and hopeless desire to die that we would have much rather died on the battlefield than to go out by our own hand.

If you or someone you know needs help, help them. Get them help. Don’t let them slip through the cracks. You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t even have to fix the problems, you can’t anyway. Just be there and help them get help. I had people helping me, but I cut them off and stopped letting them help. Don’t let that happen. Don’t get offended or take it personal. And don’t be afraid to ask if someone is thinking about suicide. Be direct. You get a more honest answer and a better opportunity to help.

I’ve still got a long road to go. I’m not in the dark place I was before, but I don’t exactly know where I’m at anymore. But I am ok. I promise.

Take care, God bless.

Dave