Category Archives: iraq

Hostage Negotiator or Hostage Taker?

This week my twin girls participated in the local Sheriff’s Youth Week. It’s a program for middle school students that want to learn more about how the sheriff’s department operates and all the different jobs within the department. They learn about detective work, physical fitness, tools of the trade, and a host of other things. The week culminated Friday with a field day style event with all the parts of the sheriff’s department, the fire department, and EMS team, a helicopter, horses, and military representation from the local Air Force, Army, and Coast Guard bases. It was quite a show, a very impressive set up. My girls visited all the displays with their friends while I watched from the tables in the shaded area, occasionally talking to a fellow parent about the heat or the annoying noise of the sirens from the different police and military vehicles at the event.

On the drive home my girls told me how much fun they had. One of the twins was very excited about the hostage negotiation set up. They took turns being the negotiator and being the hostage taker. She went into detail about both parts and finished up by saying, “Dad, I was a lot better at being the hostage taker than the negotiator.” I don’t know if I should be pleased that she’s a badass or scared. Haha. She’s youngest of six (technically only by one minute to her twin, but still the youngest). At the bottom of that totem pole, I would imagine that negotiating doesn’t come near as easy as taking hostages would. My twins are some of the sweetest, kindest girls you could meet, but they are both competitive and into athletics. And apparently, they can flip the switch when needed.

The last couple of years I have felt like a hostage to my mind. I used to be more of a negotiator in life, being able to handle things and finding resolutions to conflicts. Now I negotiate with my mind by going to therapy, taking my medications, and writing. It’s a slow negotiation with some days making good progress, some days going in reverse, and some days not wanting to negotiate at all. But it’s a negotiation I have to stay in actively. It’s a negotiation I have to win. But I am both the hostage and the negotiator. I am on both sides, trying to figure out how win.

Part of my issue lately is the things I need to do well at, I’m getting better at. The things I need to change, I’m doing worse at. It’s like I’m going in opposite directions from myself. I’m doing better with taking care of myself and my kids. I’m doing worse with dealing with society, stupid people, and my anger. I’m trying to negotiate with myself to be better when I go out in the world, to be able to be better sociably. I’m not there yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to negotiate that. I want to be better, but I want to protect myself. If I negotiate with myself to something out of my comfort zone, I leave myself vulnerable. If I stay in my own little world, I won’t get better.

I am the negotiator and the hostage, stuck in my own mind. But unlike my daughter, I don’t much care for being either one right now. But I will continue to figure it out. A couple steps forward, a couple steps back. One day at a time.

Thanks for reading. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Memorial Day Weekend

Memorial Day in America is a time that we remember the Service Members of our Armed Forces that paid the ultimate price, the ones that gave their lives in service to our nation. Yes, we have a three day holiday weekend, sales at all the stores, and family cook-outs. Most of our holidays are commercialized. And that’s fine, as long as we keep the meaning of why we have the three day weekends, sales, and cook-outs. I just ask that we take a few minutes and reflect as to why this holiday exists. As you enjoy your time off, save money on a big screen TV, and have some great burgers cooked on a grill, remember the ones that never came home from serving our country.

 

Below is a poem I wrote in 2009 while serving in Iraq. It was inspired by a memorial service held on the base I was at. It was in honor of a Soldier that died at a different base, but part of his unit was on the same base I was. I’m guessing each base held a ceremony. I never met the man, though I have personally known a couple Services Members that died in service to our nation. The memorial service in Iraq inspired the following poem.

 

Memorial Day in Iraq

(originally written/published May 2009 by David George)

 

The buildings may have fallen, But our spirits not shaken

They did not die in vain, Innocent lives that were taken.

And willingly we came, as so goes the story

Doing a job that has little glory.

 

Many here now were kids when it started

When the airplanes crashed, And America was smarted.

And when our kids study history and learn about this war,

They can say dad was there, To help settle the score.

 

In the battle for Justice, Some gave their lives

So the rest could live free and not sacrifice.

But I’ll go home, Alive and well

I think of those who didn’t and it hurts like hell.

 

We fight this war, for Freedom’s true cause

And remember the families that suffered a loss.

Just six feet above, are markers that stand,

Over American heroes, who died for their land.

 

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

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