Category Archives: Deployments

I’m ok, I promise

I’m ok, I promise. That’s what I tell people sometimes. And I when I do, I mean it. It’s usually at the end of a conversation when I’ve admitted some things in my life that I’m dealing with or struggling with. I’m writing this post so I can share that I’m struggling, but I’m ok, I promise. Everything I’ve posted has been the real me, but I don’t always go into details. I don’t always share everything. I don’t always share all the darkest parts of my life or what’s going on in my mind. However, what I do share seems to be getting some great responses from people that can relate. To be honest, some of the responses lead me to believe that some of you think I have my shit together. For those of you that know me personally, you know I don’t. You know that I am much better than I was last year, but you also know that I have much work to do and a long road left to go.

About the responses I’ve been getting, I couldn’t be more thrilled and humbled at the same time. A fellow blogger and army veteran contacted me via email because of my blog and we’ve been emailing back and forth, encouraging each other. He has PTSD among other things, far worse than I do. But he let me know that my story helped him. Helped him enough that he even told his VA counselor about my blog. That is a huge encouragement to me because I didn’t set out to be anyone’s angel or savior. My blog was designed for my own personal therapy. But I admit, helping others makes me feel better about what I am doing here.  And I’ve found quite a few blogs that I find very encouraging myself.

Another fellow blogger asked me in the comments of one of my posts about helping a friend that was suicidal. I told her to email me. We exchanged a few emails about her friend, I told her what I would do in that situation. Being a subject matter expert in suicide prevention in the army helps me to give sound advice in such circumstances. (and yes, the irony is not lost on me that I’m a leader in suicide prevention, yet I tried to kill myself). I followed up with her for a couple days and her friend ended up being safe. Not from anything I did, not at all.  But that a fellow blogger that I’ve never met thought to ask me how to help in that situation was another reassurance that I’m making a positive impact on people with my writing.

Recently, a fellow blogger gave me a shout out on his blog, saying that my blog was the encouragement he needed to tell more of his story. He had been wondering if he should share or how he should share. He has PTSD and other issues but is now getting more comfortable in sharing more of his story. I know how liberating, and also scary, it can be to share my story and I’m glad he decided to follow suit. I know he will find some self-healing in his endeavors. And again, I didn’t set out to have that effect on him, but it makes me feel good that I make a difference to people I’ve never even met.

I share these stories because it seem like some of you seem to think I have it all together, but I don’t. I am moving in the right direction, but I’m nowhere close to the finished product. I’m a million miles passed the total darkness I was in last year, but I still struggle. Not as much, but I do. Only about six weeks ago I was struggling bad enough that I needed to reach out to an old army chaplain friend of mine. (Yeah, CH K, I called you old, sorry, LOL). He visited me in the hospital last year after my failed suicide attempt and keeps up with me from time to time. I was having horrible, potentially suicidal thoughts, so I reached out to him. I knew I wasn’t going to kill myself, but the thoughts were overwhelming.

In some of my lesser struggles, I have reach out to a number of other friends. I tell them what’s going in my life or my mind and I always finish with, “I’m ok, I promise.” I just need to talk sometimes to make sure I don’t get stuck on the road I was on last year that included me trying to take my own life. After my failed suicide attempt, I must have promised a hundred people that if I noticed anything in me that resembled the feelings or mindset that almost cost me life, I would reach out. I have kept that promise. And I will continue to keep that promise.  And I will continue to write about it.

I know that I’m not completely well, and I recognize that. But I’m ok, I promise.   And I’m getting better most days. It’s an ebb and flow kind of thing with me, as I’m sure it is for all of us. I’ll do well for a few days, have a bad day, and then do well again. That’s part of the healing process and living with PTSD and major depression and sleep issues and nightmares and anger issues and marital separation and life in general. Life isn’t easy, but it’s good now. At least mine is good right now in comparison to where I was last year. If you haven’t read my post from February titled Battlefield (https://davidegeorge.wordpress.com/2016/02/06/battlefield/), I encourage you to read it and see the progress I’ve made since that night I almost died, that night I should have died.

Thank you all for the positive feedback and for allowing me and my blog to be part of your life in some little way. This was all created for my own therapy and to give my family some insight into what I’ve gone through, where I’m at, and where I’m going. What all this has turned in to is amazing and humbling to me. And very encouraging. I feel like I have a purpose here and almost an obligation now to my readers to continue doing what I do. I will continue to post every Saturday for my own therapy. I will continue to share all this with the world in case it helps someone else. Share your story, you never who it might reach or help. Thank you for taking the time to read Story of my Life. And, I’m ok, I promise.

Good day, God bless.

Dave

Helicopter Ride

I’ve had two deployments, one to Iraq and one to Afghanistan. Those two deployments could not be more different from one another. My Afghanistan deployment (2013-2014) was exciting, dangerous, and filled with travel all over the country. My Iraq deployment (2008-2009), on the other hand, was relatively boring. I spent the majority of my time behind a desk or visiting with troops on the base. There was very little excitement at Camp Bucca, which at the time was the largest Theater Interment Facility in the world. Besides going home on leave for two weeks about half way through the deployment, I only got to leave the base on one mission. Only one. It was a boring deployment, but in some respects that’s not a bad thing. And only once during my time in Iraq did I think that it might be possible I could die over there. Here’s that story.

I was on my way back to Iraq, returning from being home on leave for two weeks. I was delayed in Kuwait for two or three extra days waiting on transportation. It wasn’t the best place to be stuck, but it was almost relaxing to be able to recover from my time off before having to get back to work it in Iraq. I slept a lot between checking with the travel team responsible for getting people from Point A to Point B. If I remember correctly, we had to check in once a day at a certain time. If there wasn’t any transportation to where I was going, I would go back in 24 hours. Boredom set in pretty quickly, but that was cured with naps.

Finally, after a couple days of waiting, I had a helicopter flight going to Camp Bucca. It was actually three CH-47 Chinooks, which we affectionately called Shithooks. All three helicopters were filled to capacity with personnel and gear.  All of us were going to the same place, a direct flight. I was in the last helicopter of the formation. We took off and headed north. I love flying in helicopters. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve done in the military.

The helicopter I was on didn’t seem to keep up with the other two. I could see the other two flying higher. I could feel mine ‘slipping’ like it was not wanting to stay in the air, like it would drop a few feet then go back up. I watched the tail gunner leave his position, talking to the pilots through his radio. The tail gunner opened a side panel above a passenger across from me and looked inside. He fiddled with some gadgets and reported to the pilots over the radio. All the while I could feel the helicopter doing its best to stay in the air, slipping and climbing, slipping and climbing. The guy next to me was fast asleep.

The tail gunner then moved to the center of the aircraft, climbing to the top off all the duffle bags and opened another panel in the ceiling. He banged on some pipes and fixtures with his fist, shook his head, and kept talking to the pilots over the radio. I could see just the slightest concern in the tail gunner’s face, but nothing alarming. I could see the other two helicopters were considerably higher than mine. I guess the good news would be that we would not fall as far from our lower position. The bad news would be that we were in closer range for small arms fire if there were anyone out there that wanted to take a shot. I watched all this, taking it all in, repositioning my body so that if we did have to make a hard landing or crash, my spine might not be broke in two. All this while the guy next to me slept peacefully.

Eventually we made it to our destination, the helicopter I was on did land somewhat hard, just short of the landing pad, then rolled up on to it. We gathered our gear and exited out the rear of the Chinook. I had to wake up the guy next to me and let him know we arrived. The other two helicopters took off after  being emptied of passengers and gear, but the one I was on stayed on the ground. It would be there until the next day when a repair crew could take a look at it. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but I do remember that most U.S. military deaths involving helicopters in Iraq during that time were due to malfunctions, poor maintenance, or weather, as opposed to enemy engagements. I’m glad I didn’t get to see that play out.

I wasn’t worried about dying, but I was aware that I was in a position that it could happen, even if only remotely. It didn’t bother me, it was more surreal than anything, watching the tail gunner lose a little confidence in the aircraft. This is actually one of the stories I like to tell, probably because the rest of my deployment to Iraq was so boring. The one thing I kept thinking about during the flight was whether or not I should wake up the guy sitting next to me. If we were going to crash, would he want to know in advance? Would it freak him out? Would he be upset if we crashed and I hadn’t woken him? Yep, those are the things that went through my mind during the time that it was possible we might fall out of the sky. It’s kind of weird, right? Would I want to wake up in that situation? Would you? I feel like that situation for me was more of a moral dilemma than a life or death situation. Did I have any kind of duty to the guy next to me to wake him up? I still don’t know the answer to that. But that does remind me of a funny story of being at Bagram, Afghanistan, in a tent, half asleep. In my groggy state I heard a whining generator or truck or something along with large shipping containers being moved and banged around. I woke everyone else up in the tent thinking we were under attack again. False alarm.

My different doctors and counselors over the last 9 months agree that my PTSD most likely started in Iraq, but I am certain the helicopter ride is not the genesis of it. There were other things far worse in Iraq than that helicopter ride that I can trace my PTSD to, images that sometimes are front and center when I close my eyes, even though I try to not remember them. Then add to that all the excitement from Afghanistan. I spent years denying I suffered from PTSD. I know now how bad that was for me. Bad for me that I wouldn’t admit to suffering from it. It almost cost me my life last year. I wouldn’t say I necessarily embrace having PTSD, but I definitely embrace the freedom I feel from talking about it, writing about it, and accepting it. I can’t change it, I can only learn to live with it and continue to tell my story.

Thanks for taking the time to read Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.

Dave

PTSD is Contagious!

I’m still not sure how I got PTSD. I washed my hands after every time I came in contact with someone that had it. I used hand sanitizer, wore a protective breathing mask, and even kept my distance. Somehow I still contracted PTSD. Maybe it’s airborne, maybe that’s how I got it. Maybe I was sitting at a table with someone that had PTSD and they breathed on me. Maybe I touched a door handle that was infected by a PTSD sufferer. I’ll bet I loaned my ink pen to someone with PTSD and got infected that way. I’m not loaning my pen to anyone, anymore, ever again.

Does that sound silly? Of course it does. Mental illness is not spread like an infectious disease. But there are still so many people out in the world that don’t understand that. Those of us that suffer from any mental illnesses are sometimes looked at differently. People who don’t understand will often avoid the issue of mental illness with a sufferer. Perhaps they don’t know what to say or don’t want to trigger anything to make it worse. Maybe they don’t want to ‘catch’ the illness.

I can only speak for myself, but from what I’ve been reading, I think this is true for most of us that suffer from any mental illnesses. Don’t treat me differently. Don’t be afraid to ask me questions, either about my PTSD, depression, life, or my military service in Iraq or Afghanistan. Hey. Maybe that’s where I caught PTSD. I’ll bet it’s because I didn’t take my malaria pills daily like I was supposed to. Damn it. I think we figured it out, I wasn’t taking my Doxycycline Hyclate. If I had just taken my Doxy, maybe I wouldn’t have to take these other medications now.

But I digress. Back to whatever it was that I was talking about a minute ago. Don’t avoid me. Engage me, ask me questions. But give me space when I need it. Support my road to recovery by doing some research about what ails me. Help others understand that those of us who suffer from mental illness are still normal, just a different kind of normal, our own normal. Understand that my memory is horrible. Understand that my brain does not work like it used to, but it still works, just differently from the way yours might work.

Things have changed for me since being diagnosed with PTSD and major depression. I see things in a different light now. I take medications and go to therapy. Both of those help. Once I decided to share publicly with what I deal with in my life now, It felt like a weight being lifted off of me. I’m pretty messed up in the head sometimes, but I actually feel better about it now than ever before. None of this is totally new. Well, the diagnosis is new, but the symptoms have been with me for years.

In 2011, a year and half after coming home from Iraq, I talked my way out of being labeled with PTSD. I convinced the doctor that I was ok and was ‘let off with a warning’, like I was getting out of a speeding ticket or something. It was noted that I had symptoms of post-traumatic stress and ‘situational’ depression, but would not have to carry the label of PTSD. That was a relief. I didn’t want that label. I was in denial and I was proud to have dodged that bullet. In 2013, because of the 2011 incident, I had to get a psychiatrist’s approval to be able to deploy again. I honestly thought I was fine since I didn’t officially have the label of PTSD. The doctor agreed and I deployed again, this time to Afghanistan.

I know that was my last deployment and that my time in the U.S. Army Reserves will be coming to an end at some point due to physical and mental issues. And I’m ok with that now. I had only came to the realization that the army will be fine without me after my failed suicide attempt last year, and that I can live my new normal life, whatever normal is. I think normal is overrated. I’ve embraced being crazy, it’s a lot of fun. I know, the term ‘crazy’ isn’t politically correct. But neither am I.

As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy, give feedback, share if you like. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Crossroads

My world no longer spins on its axis, my mind has thrown it off kilter.

The light and dark still come around, but now they fight for control.

Consistency is absent from my thoughts, stability does not exist.

 

The sea is calm in the distance, but the waves chomp and crash the shore.

Don’t believe everything you see on the surface, the ocean is deep.

And the rip current can only be felt when you are trapped in it.

 

The Crossroads don’t have to be the dangerous decision here today.

The hardest resolution would be to just keep moving forward, either road.

The choice doesn’t matter, it’s been made already, just move forward.

(Crossroads, by David George, March 2016)

*****

I’m at a crossroads in my life. It’s been a long time since I’ve ‘had it all together’ and now it’s unclear to me if I ever will again. I’m really not sure it’s a crossroads as much as it is a deep, engulfing pit of my own thoughts and fears where I drown myself daily. Our minds can be our own worst enemies at times and mine is certainly on the attack lately. I’m not sure how to fight back. It’s my mind. It’s not supposed to be my enemy. But there it is killing me, over and over.

In this blog in the last couple months I’ve shared things about my military service, PTSD, depression, and attempted suicide. I’ve been through a lot and what I’ve shared here only barely scratches the surface. I feel like I’m at war with the Veteran’s Administration. I haven’t worked in three months. I have little motivation most days. And my marriage is over, she moved out last week. But that last point has been a long time coming.

I have very few emotions in general about the marriage dissolving. But with that comes certain realizations that I need to address with myself. There is actually some relief in all this, but there are also overwhelming issues that I will have to deal with. And I’m scared of failing. I have never feared failure. Most of the things I’ve done in my life have a certain degree of risk and I’ve never been afraid to lose. But when I do, I get back up and keep going or do something different. But this isn’t a business, or a job, or a military exercise. I have my kids with me. Failure here would be the worst thing ever. And as my wife so kindly pointed out in an email, I have quit or failed at everything I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t see it that way, but it’s nice to know that others do. (sarcasm intended).

Let me give an example of the perception of success and failure. How many years will it be before another NFL quarterback walks off to retirement after a Super Bowl victory like Peyton Manning did? Was Dan Marino a failure since he never won a Super Bowl even though he had passing records that took many years to break? Are the Buffalo Bills the biggest losers ever in NFL history, losing four Super Bowls in a row? Just some things to ponder.

Every one of my failures in life have had some element of success or adventure or life experience that I wouldn’t trade. The only way to appreciate and truly recognize success is to know what failure tastes like. But this is completely different. If I fail with my kids, there is no getting up off the floor and moving on to something else, something new, something different. My kids are my world, my life. And I’m scared to death. I don’t take this lightly. I’m doing my best to keep these thoughts from consuming me. So far, so good. I think. It’s still early I guess.

I know this post is a little different from my other ones. I always share things that are somewhat personal, but I don’t usually share things of this matter out in the open. But I do write for my own therapy and I really needed to put this down somewhere. Thanks for taking the time to read this.

Good day, God bless.

Dave

P.S. Week one went well. All children accounted for and still breathing.  🙂

 

The Cost

I was reading something recently and it said that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Everything comes at a cost. This is true. But to go deeper, I would suggest that in our lives, Newton’s Third Law of Motion is more apt: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Not only is there no such thing as a free lunch, but everything we do has a response, not just in physics, but in life as well.

Everything I’ve done in my life has had an impact to my surroundings and or to myself, be it subtle or profound. This was a topic of discussion in my most recent session with my psychologist. I’ve been seeing a new psychologist for about four weeks now and I think it’s going well. He’s kind of a dick, but I like him. Here’s why:

     Doc: “What do you want to talk about today?”

     Me: “I don’t know, what do you want to know?”

     Doc: “That’s up to you, it’s whatever you want to talk about.”

     Me: “I don’t want to talk about anything. Why don’t you ask questions and I’ll answer them.”

     Doc: “Then why are you here?”

     Me: “Because I need to be.”

     Doc: “Ok. Then what do you want to talk about?”

Dick, right? No, quite the opposite. He’s making me think throughout the week of what I need to talk about instead of just seeing on my calendar that I have an appointment. This is an approach I had not experienced before. But I can see how it works. However, with this approach, there will be reactions. When I talk about something that happened, it causes me to think about it even after therapy. I spent time trying not to think about certain things, but there those things are again, rolling around in my head, bouncing off the walls of my mind. This is the reaction to this approach to therapy, I have to get it all out and deal with it and learn to put it back where it goes.

Same thing with my writing. I’ve shared a lot of stuff on my blog. Some of it good, some of it not so good. But some things will never be shared here. Each time I write about something, I experience the emotions again. The hardest one I’ve written was my post Battlefield (February 2016) where I walked you through my attempted suicide. It took six months after the attempt for me to be able to verbalize it like that. It was very rough. Re-living that time disrupted my sleep for days, changed my mood, and gave me a feeling of vulnerability. But on the other hand, it gave me an outlet. Writing has become my therapy. It may sometimes take me to bad places in my mind, but I’m getting it all out and learning how to put it back where it goes.

One of the most obvious reactions to any of my actions would be serving my country. I volunteered both times I deployed (once to Iraq, once to Afghanistan). The reactions for those actions are very profound. I traded my physical wellness and my sanity. I have problems with anger, relationships, crowds, driving, focusing, memory, anxiety, loud noises, and memory (ha ha, I put that in there twice because I still do have some of my sense of humor, though it’s probably darker than it’s ever been before). I can’t run anymore, I have problems breathing, and my body aches.

But the thing I miss the most is who I used to be. I used to always be able to find something good in most circumstances, make the best of any situation, and find something to enjoy in each day. I don’t see those things in me near as much anymore. I try. I fake it sometimes, but I’m far from the old me. I traded all of that that to go war. But I am still here and I know that some traded their whole lives to go war. I only traded part of mine. A lot of us that have traded part of our lives have had thoughts at one point or another that it would have been better to trade our whole life, instead of living with the pain and craziness of the reaction of our action. I was one of those people. I was one that tried to finish the job myself, like 22 other veterans a day do. I had a very hard time coming to grips with the fact that I was no longer the ‘me’ I used to be. I’m getting better with that now, but it has been a hard process to go through.

And I will continue to navigate this process. My life will continue to be subjected to Newton’s Third Law of Motion. I will continue to get things out and deal with them and learn how to put them back where they go. Thank you for taking the time to read the Story of My Life. I welcome your feedback.

Oh, and I have a lot of stuff to talk about during my next appointment with the doc.

Good day and God bless.

Dave