Tag Archives: afghanistan

That Was Funny

For those of you that know me personally, you know I like to laugh and find the humor in things. Whether it’s making fun of myself or laughing at you, if it’s funny, I’m going to enjoy it and point out the humor. Sometimes things are funny, even if they are unflattering or embarrassing to the person who is the object of the humor. We’ve all been there. We’ve all laughed at someone that has fallen down and we’ve been laughed at for doing the same.

This was a topic of discussion recently on a morning radio talk show that I like to listen to, The Rick and Bubba Show. Apparently, a picture of a woman that fell out of her scooter at a Wal-Mart was seen all over the internet. I’m not sure if it’s one I’ve seen or not, but I’ve seen plenty of “People of Wal-Mart” memes on social media. And to be honest, some of them are pretty damn funny. What seemed to be different about this one, according to Rick and Bubba, was that the woman, whose face was not visible in the photo, was distraught and embarrassed by the photo. The only reason anyone knows who that woman was in the photo, was because she came out publicly to whine about it and say that it’s made her life miserable.  (You can check out Rick and Bubba at http://www.rickandbubba.com).

How many actors or comedians have made a living off the kind of physical humor like falling down, tripping, bumping his head? A lot of them. When Chevy Chase opens the attic stairs in “Christmas Vacation” and they crash into his face and he falls to the floor, that’s funny. It’s supposed to be funny. So, why is something in real life that is the same thing not funny to some people? Of course, provided no one is seriously injured. The woman that fell out of her scooter was not injured, except for her pride. So, maybe it was funny. It probably was.

During some training at Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, about 6 years ago, one of the soldiers in my tent fell out of his top bunk after he had fallen asleep. I could see his silhouette in the darkness as he stood straight up after hitting the ground. I asked, “Did you roll out of your bunk asleep or did you fall trying to get down?” He responded in a groggy, confused voice as he tried to piece it all together, “I’m not sure.” Ladies and gentlemen, that was funny. I still laugh at that today. Because it was funny.

Picture this: We’re in Iraq, 2009, our last day, getting ready to load up and head south to start our trip home. To say we were all excited is understatement. One fellow soldier was a little too excited and while doing something with his weapon, smacked himself in the face with the stock of his M-4. It was bad enough that he was bleeding all over the place. Our “Doc” fixed him up and made sure he didn’t need stitches. But to add insult to injury, Doc put a Smurf Band-Aid over the cut when he was done tending the wound. That’s freaking hilarious. A combat veteran wearing a child’s Band-Aid on his face. I took video of the job Doc did on fixing him up, narrating the whole time and asking the guy if he was going to put in for the Purple Heart. He was a good sport. He was laughing and making fun of himself as well. Which was good, because all the rest of us gave him hell. Because it was funny.

What’s the difference between the examples above? What causes us to react to embarrassment in different ways? Here’s a couple of times I fell down and looked like an idiot. In Iraq, I was coming down the steps at the chapel, moving swiftly. I was in full gear. I lost my footing and took a nose-dive. I managed to fall gracefully by rolling and coming right back up to my feet still in stride. As I passed a soldier sitting outside the chapel I quipped, “that’s was pretty good, huh?” I was smiling and chuckling at myself. In my mind I did perfect combat roll, but I’m sure in reality I looked like a clumsy fool. But I laughed. Because it was funny.

In contrasts, not long after I got back from Afghanistan, I was walking through my front door and our dog at the time charged at me and laid me flat out on the ground, escaping the house. The dog then jumped the fence and ran loose in the neighborhood. I was fuming. I was beyond mad and could have strangled that dog had I got my hands on it. Just to be honest, if I had watch that happen to you I would be laughing my butt off. Because it would have been funny.

Here’s the difference. It was my mindset. It was not that I had fallen. I don’t mind being embarrassed by my clumsiness, especially if it’s funny. I make plenty fun of myself when I can. And I will laugh at you from time to time as well. But I had fallen in life. My mind was not right. My confidence and self-esteem were at all-time lows. The reality I was projecting for myself was a façade because I didn’t want anyone to know what was going on in my head. It was my view of my life and the strange things happening in my mind that I hated, and that bled over into how I reacted to things.

It was still funny that the dog bowled me over, just not to me that day. I try to see the humor in things and make the best of most situations, even if I’m the butt of the joke. I invite you to laugh at me if you see me fall off a ladder, stub my toe, or walk into a closed door. And I promise I will laugh at you as well. But if you fall down in life, I will do my best to encourage and lift you back up. I hope you will do the same for me. Thanks for reading this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

 

Not Done Yet

I’m not quite done yet with my Army Reserve career.  I am done with certain aspects of it.  I will never be able to deploy again, among other things.  But I am still in it for the one weekend a month, two weeks a year, for now.  And by the way, as most of my fellow reservists can attest, the “one weekend a month, two weeks a year” thing is really more of a suggestion.  There were calendar years in the past where I logged close to 100 days as a reservists, NOT counting the active duty time for deployments.  I was gung-ho.  Now, I only do my one weekend a month.  I may or may not even do my “two weeks” this year.

As I’ve written about in previous posts, I was always the lead for the suicide prevention and awareness training at the different units I was part of.  I was very good at it.  I took the best of the best of all the resources and training materials I had at my disposal and made a presentation from those parts.  I didn’t use the standard slide show provided by the Army.  I rarely used videos from the Army’s suicide prevention website.  I wanted the training I was conducting to feel different from all the other mandatory training we were forced to sit through.  I wanted it to be real and memorable.  I never facilitated “check the box” training.  “Next slide.”

My section leader at my unit has asked me to go to one of our downtrace units to lead suicide awareness training next month.  It’s been a while.  I haven’t conducted that training since a few months before my failed suicide attempt in 2015.  I write about it here.  But I haven’t spoken to a group about it in over a year and a half.  I have a million things going through my mind about how to approach it, how to get comfortable being in that role again.  It was always emotional doing the training because I took it very seriously and had previously fought off thoughts of suicide.  I would even incorporate my personal story into the training.  But now, I’ll be doing the training after a failed attempt, not just thoughts.

That changes the whole dynamics for me doing the training.  At least in my mind it does.  Am I still qualified to facilitate suicide awareness training?  That’s a rhetorical question.  Of course, I am.  But in my mind, while I’m doing the training, what will be happening?  Will I be emotionally strong enough to talk out loud, to a group of fellow Soldiers, about the risks of suicide?  Will I be able to intelligently get my point across without becoming a complete idiot because of what I know will be going on in my head during the training?  Will I be able to focus?

Writing about suicide is easy, for the most part, compared to speaking to a group.  I can write, take a break, compose my thoughts, come back to it, write some more, change my mind and write about something else altogether.  I won’t have that luxury in front of a live audience.  Once I start, I have to see it through.  There will not be a stopping point to compose my thoughts, take a break, or change my mind.  There are many things we do as Soldiers where we sort of remove ourselves from the reality of what is going on around us.  I fear this won’t be one of those instances.

Every word I speak to the group about suicide awareness will be echoing in my mind and reminding me that I was almost a statistic not very long ago.  I fear that every emotion I felt during that dark time of my life will resurface in my mind while I’m trying to conduct the training.  My mind is a mess already, just thinking about it.  What you don’t see here is that I took a break from writing this last night to continue this morning.  I slept horribly.  My mind was going a million miles an hour.  Again, I won’t have the luxury of a break during training.

I know I’ve come a long way in my mental recovery since August 2015.  But there are situations that still bother me.  There are still thoughts in my head that make me uncomfortable.  I guess the next part of my recovery is getting back in the saddle with conducting suicide training again.  I will be mentally prepared.  I will be academically prepared.  And I will do my best to be emotionally prepared.  Before some of you give me the rah-rah pep talk of how great it’ll go, or the talk of how maybe I should avoid the situation, I got this.  I am a professional Soldier.  I am a leader.  I must always put the mission first.  This will be no different.

Until my career in the reserves is completely done I will continue to do the things I’m capable of doing when asked.  While conducting suicide training again is going to be very hard, I know I am capable of it.  I know it will be uncomfortable, but I know it’s my job.  I know I will obsess over this for the next few weeks, maybe even lose sleep like I did last night.  But I got this.  I have to, someone’s life might be depending on it

Thank you for reading.   Thank you for taking a walk through my mind with me while I hash things out.  This is good therapy for me.  Good day, God bless

Dave

Other posts related to this one:

Suicide Intervention

Passing the Torch

 

2016, The Rollercoaster

As the rollercoaster ride known as 2016 comes to an end, many of us will reflect on the past year, make resolutions, recap major news or life events. I won’t do much of that here except to say that I’m glad 2016 is coming to an end and I know 2017 will be better. There is a wonderful adventure awaiting me with the New Year and I can’t wait to get to it.

Most of my highlights, and low-lights, for the year can be found here in my blog. And I don’t do resolutions. So, what I’ll do for my final post of 2016 is share my top three posts, according to number of views. And I’ll share what my three favorite posts were that didn’t make the top three in views.

For 2016, I made 42 posts on Story of My Life, almost the one a week I had planned. I had over 5,000 visitors with almost 10,000 views. My viewers covered 55 different countries. Amazing. This was truly more than I imagined when I resumed writing again to my blog. I only started again for my own therapy, to sort out my thoughts, to be vocal about PTSD and surviving a suicide attempt. I’m glad I could offer something that seems many people out there can relate to and understand. Thank you all for the support, the encouragement, and the kind words.

The rollercoaster ride of 2017 is coming. Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride all times and remain seated until it comes to a complete stop. Or…. Go out and conquer the world, chase your dreams, be happy, and discover life. I think I’ll go out and conquer the world while chasing my dreams. Enjoy the ride. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Top 3 posts (by number of views)

Battlefield

The Pysch Ward

The Irony of Life

 

My 3 favorites (it was hard to pick just 3)

The Mirror

The Storm

Passing the Torch

Road Trip

I’m on a road trip. When I post this, I’ll be somewhere on I-20, probably in Louisiana. While I have covered several topics on my blog during its existence, I usually focus on PTSD, serving in the Army at war, and surviving suicide. And occasionally I bash the VA because they suck. For example, Friday morning I waited an hour at the VA to be told they couldn’t give me a print out of a recent evaluation I had. Today’s post will be a little different from the more recent ones.

There are certain things about my home life that I have tried to keep off the blog. In a few posts I have mentioned some of the marital problems at home. There are no more problems. I have moved out. And now I’m on a road trip, heading to my sister’s house in Louisiana. I will most likely stay there until the new year sorting through my thoughts, decompressing, writing, and relaxing. I don’t get back to my old stomping grounds very often, so this will be nice.

I moved out because she wouldn’t. I had hoped she would move out and I could stay with the kids, but that’s not a fight I want to take on and make things worse than they should be for the kids. In retrospect, I should have filed for divorce when she moved out in March instead of waiting. Then there wouldn’t be anything to argue about. But I chose to pay the bills instead of hiring an attorney. That’s life. And I expect some negative feedback from our mutual friends. Be careful if you don’t know the whole story.

I left the house around 6 p.m. local time. I made it Jackson, Mississippi, before I needed to stop and get a hotel room, where I am composing this. I’ll get up in the morning and finish my trip to northwest Louisiana. I have no set plans and am not on any schedule. I hope to find the motivation to diligently work on my book. I have neglected it for too long now. I’m sure I’ll see some old friends and catch up on all the years gone by. I’ll spend some time with my dad. I’ll get some rest. I’ll miss my kids.

I talked with them earlier in the week and explained that I would be moving out this weekend. They knew it was coming since last month they were told that I had in fact filed for divorce. But that conversation was still hard. Thankfully, they are all very well-grounded and are old enough to have some understanding of what is going on. I feel like a complete schmuck that I didn’t call my two grown children that are out in the world making great lives for themselves. This whole thing happened a little quicker than originally planned and I was focused on getting my stuff together and making sure the school aged children were okay and getting a grasp of all that was going on. My children know that I love them with all my heart.

There’s a lot in my life that I’m not happy about currently. However, in my life as a whole, I am happy. I believe things are going in the right direction for me. I am not happy that I won’t see my kids for a few weeks. I am not happy that I will be going through a divorce. But I am happy to be starting the next chapter in my life. There was a time not long ago that my mind would have put me through some horrible, dark thoughts concerning the prospect of being away from children under these circumstances. Not now. Yes, my kids are my life. But if I can’t be in good mental health for them, things will get bad, like they were before. So, I guess it’s better to be away and in good mental health than to be in a bad marriage and lose my mind.

I have no idea what all this road trip entails, but I am looking forward to it. I’m in a good place in my mind. I am looking forward to the future. I don’t have all the answers and I have no idea where I’ll end up after this little sabbatical. But I am confident in myself, in ways I haven’t been for at least a couple years. The past is the past. And my future looks good from where I’m sitting. Thanks for reading my dribble drabble this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

2230 Hours, Kabul, Afghanistan

2230 hours (10:30 P.M.), Kabul, Afghanistan, about five or six weeks into deployment. My two roommates and I had already turned out the lights and called it a day. I was half asleep when the loud knock on the door startled the three of us from our bunks. Who the hell was banging on our door so forcefully at that hour? One of us may have even yelled to the person at the door using some colorful language. Oops. To our surprise, it was one of our Master Sergeants. He informed us that Bagram was “getting lit up” and that intel reports were suggesting we were next. He told us to stay put, but be ready. Then he was off to the next room, banging on that door.

Really? “Stay put, but be ready”? Needless to say, I didn’t fall asleep until 3 or 4 A.M. I got online and messaged my friend that was stationed at Bagram and asked if he was doing alright. He told me there was some excitement going on up there, but he was well so far. There was not an attack that night at my base. Where I was stationed, at New Kabul Compound (NKC), there were very few attacks like those at other bases outside of Kabul. My base was across from the U.S. Embassy and ISAF (International Security Assistance Forces). Because of those places, we were fortunate to have greater security.

During my deployment to Afghanistan, I spent a good deal of time traveling. I used to call Bagram my second home because I was there so much. I became very familiar with the rocket attacks that would come in from the mountains there. Same thing at Kandahar and Shindand when I visited there on missions. Loud, unexpected noises still startle me, bother me, and get my adrenaline pumping for a moment. But our threats in Kabul were different. Usually they involved attacking a convoy in the city with an explosive device that could be slapped on to a vehicle stuck in the slow-moving Kabul traffic. Other threats were vehicles loaded with explosives that might try to penetrate the gates of one of the bases or detonate next to a convoy. Small arms fire was always a threat everywhere over there. Then there was the one big threat that was hush-hush, secret.

Whether these threats got carried out or the bad guys were disabled, the threats were real. Dealing with those threats in our minds was very real. We had to be ready no matter what. And having to deal with them over and over without anything happening most of the time took a weird toll on me. I am still having to learn what is a real threat and what is not. I imagine police officers go through that at their job daily. To me, when I’m driving to the store or to pick the kids up at school, I’m looking for threats. I seriously doubt there are any real threats on the roads here where I live, but I’m looking. When I see a car change lanes hastily without a turn signal, I see a threat. When people walk through traffic without using the crosswalk, I see a threat. When someone is driving the wrong way in a parking lot or trying to exit at an entrance only, I see a threat. I’m conditioned to see a threat even though in my rational mind I know it’s not.

At the end of one mission to ISAF we were waiting for the drive team to retrieve us. The two vehicles were separated before they could both enter the base and the second vehicle didn’t get in. A truck supposedly packed with explosives was trying to get in the base and traffic was halted. It was a mess. We were advised to move to the opposite side of the base until the threat was taken care of. The one vehicle that made it into the base met us in the rear. We exited the back gate and eventually met back up with the other vehicle and returned to our base without further incident.

For local missions, we traveled by convoy. Before each trip, we were always given safety and situational briefs by the convoy commander. This covered the route to be taken, who does what in the event of an attack, and current threats in the area. During one brief, we were advised that intel indicated that we should be on the lookout for a white Toyota that was carrying a trunk full of explosions. That information narrowed down our potential threat to about half the vehicles in Kabul. Maybe not quite half, but there were more white Toyotas than any other vehicle on the roads it seemed.

For out of town missions we traveled by helicopter and airplane. One trip coming back from Bagram, a short helicopter ride from Kabul, we were delayed for a day or two because of a threat somewhere in the mountains that we had to fly over. Finally, a pilot decided to make a flight back to Kabul. We got on the bird to head “home”. We took a different route back than we usually would. When you travel as much as I did, you get used to the terrain and route. Needless to say, the change of route was a little uncomfortable to me. We flew around the “bowl” and found our way in and made it safely to our base.

All of the threats were real, some came to fruition, and others never did. But either way, the threats were real in that every one of them had to be treated as such. Every threat brought a sense of self-preservation and wondering about our own mortality. Every threat had an element of reality that any of us could be going home in box draped with an American Flag. I’m still working on what’s real and what’s not in my life now as far as threats go. I’m getting better, but I still can’t help it when I have a flash of feeling threatened during certain situations and events. Some things just trigger that in me. Maybe it will go away one day. Maybe not. We’ll see in time.

Thanks for reading this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Other posts related to this one:

The Fear in the Eyes

Memories and Afghanistan