Tag Archives: fear

Depressed

I’ve been battling my depression the last couple weeks. That sounds funny to me, “my depression.” Like I have any control over it or can say when it comes and goes. Do I own it? If I still have the receipt, can I return it? Can I trade it in for something more fun? When I say “my truck,” “my kids,” “my house,” “my recliner,” it sounds normal. Tangible things. Things I can recognize with my senses. I can’t see my depression with my eyes. Or taste it, smell it, hear it. I can feel it, but not in the traditional sense of feel. If I could feel it, I imagine it would feel something like a sticker burr in my foot or a splinter in my hand. Or it could possibly feel like a tank tied to my waist and tossed into the ocean. Lately, it’s felt much more like being tied to a tank.

I have no motivation. No energy. No desire to do anything. I recognize this and have been doing some self-reflection to see if I can figure out why the last few weeks have been seemingly hard for me. I know life is up and down. I just don’t know why this down time is longer and harder right now. I don’t like this. I don’t like how it feels.

But here’s what I know. In the last month or so, the kids have gotten out of school for the summer, the lot behind my house is being built on, there is construction on my street, and I got a dog. Getting a dog was a good thing. More on “Gumbo” later, but he is a perfect addition here and a great dog. But the other things I mentioned, and some things I haven’t, seem to be having a negative influence on me.

I had no idea the old house behind mine was even going to be demolished until one morning my house shook from the slamming of a backhoe into the old house. That was a rude awakening. It was two days of demolition and noise. And with that house gone, I felt exposed to the world. My safe, confined area on the back porch now felt wide open. I could see down the street that runs behind my house. That means I could be seen from down the street. Eventually, a new foundation was poured and construction on the new house began. More noise, equipment, and strange people practically in my back yard for weeks now. I guess the upside is that my property value will go up with a brand new house right next to mine.

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The kids getting out of school for the summer is a good thing, but it changed the schedule I had been on, that I had become used to. I’m staying up later now and sleeping in longer. My sleep schedule is messed up and that’s causing me to not sleep as well at night, even when I take my medications. This might be why I lack energy, have become more irritable lately, and just don’t seem to want to do anything anymore except watch Netflix and play stupid games on Facebook. I’m in a rut. A deep and wide one.

The construction on my street, actually in the whole neighborhood, is annoying. It’s loud. They’ve closed the road a few times which bothers me. What if I need to escape? I know, that’s not likely, but it did cross my mind. It’s a local government doing the work so it’s taking longer than it should and half the workers stand around and do nothing. I’m sure it’s also costing twice as much as it should as well. I haven’t done yard work in three weeks since all the noise and commotion started.

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On a more positive note, I got a dog last month. A great dog, a Golden Doodle. His name is Gumbo and the kids love him. He gets so excited in the mornings when it’s time to wake up the kids. He loves playing fetch with the Frisbee and chasing squirrels. He doesn’t like the nail gun that’s being used to roof the house behind mine. He doesn’t like thunder. One night he jumped up in bed with one of my kids during an exceptionally rough storm. He hates fireworks and jets flying overhead. But he is so gentle and friendly and smart.

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Also, I’ve started working on my novel again. It has been a work in progress for few months now. I’m almost half way through writing it, over 40,000 words so far. I’m going for somewhere between ninety and a hundred thousand words. I might take an excerpt from it for next weekend’s blog to see what everyone thinks. Maybe it will never get published, but I’m going to keep writing it anyway. But who knows, maybe it will get picked up by a publisher. And become a best-seller. And turned into a motion picture. And, and, and. Not likely, but it is a fun thought. And I’m enjoying writing it.

So for now I’m depressed. I have anxiety. I’m not dealing with my PTSD triggers very well. The VA is annoying and slow. Physically I hurt. I’m running out of shows on Netflix that I find interesting. But I know it could always be worse. I know I have been worse before but I’m not there now. I’m still moving forward and getting better, this is just part of it. Sometimes things just suck, this is one of those times.

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

Dave

Tourist at War

During both my deployments I took a bunch of pictures. Between Iraq and Afghanistan, I think I took around 9,000 pictures. Most of what I took were pictures to raise morale. I would post them on Facebook for all our families to see that despite being at war, we could still manage a smile or have fun when permitted. I think most of the people I deployed with can attest to the fact that I always made the best of any situation and tried to help others feel at ease or make their day better. One way I could do that was to share ‘happy’ pictures. It was good for the troops and good for the families back home.

Sometimes during my time in Afghanistan, even though we had jobs to do and missions to take care of, I felt like a tourist. I was fortunate to get to travel extensively throughout the war torn country. I met forces from at least a dozen countries and saw many amazing things, including some remnants from when Russia invaded Afghanistan. I ate at the United States Embassy. I flew on a British C-130, that was an amazing ride. I walked in the streets of Kabul from my base to ISAF (International Security Assistance Forces). At one base, my partner in crime and I found our way to the extreme perimeter where the towers were. We hung out with the South Korean troops doing tower duty. Even though there was much danger when we traveled, I found it exciting. I miss that excitement. I miss the adventure.

As it turns out, the pictures were not only for my fellow Soldiers and families, but they are helping me with my memory. When I look through my pictures I can remember a story or mission, or even how many times we got bombed at a particular base while visiting it. I can look at some pictures and remember details that can’t even be seen in the pictures. I can remember people I met. Sometimes I can remember what I had for lunch that day, just by looking at a picture. The memory is a funny thing sometimes.

Here’s a few pics from Afghanistan and a little caption to go with each.

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Being in the mountains, we got our share of snow.  We got together during our lunch break one day, made snowmen, slid down a hill using cardboard boxes as sleds, and finished with a snowball fight.  It was an hour of forgetting where we were and having fun.

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On the western end of Afghanistan are remnants of a previous war.

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My roommate getting a much deserved promotion.

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Our fearless drive team.  Consummate professionals.

Running flags up the pole after the duty day to send home to our families.

On the left, we visited the South Koreans in a guard tower.  On the right, always great to run into good friends while I traveled around Afghanistan.

These pictures are a small sample of the people I served with and places I visited on missions all over Afghanistan.  These pictures are good for helping me remember things from deployment.  More specifically, it helps me remember the better things from deployment.  I have enough things I remember that weren’t so good.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s post.  If you want to see more pictures you can find me on Facebook.  Thanks for checking out Story of My Life.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

 

 

Breathe in. Breathe out. If you can.

At some point before I left Afghanistan in 2014 I started feeling like I was having breathing issues. I wasn’t concerned about it at the time, but it was noticeable. My bigger concerns were of other physical problems that I developed over there. And I wasn’t even slightly concerned with my mental health because I had been deployed before. I knew what to expect. But obviously, every deployment is different. And not everything about coming home is the same each time.

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My breathing continued to get worse after returning home. Sometimes it was accompanied by chest pains and lightheadedness. It had become difficult to do even moderately physical work. I wasn’t able to do the things that I used to do with ease and it didn’t seem to be getting better. I was driving to class one day a few months after getting home and the breathing was so bad I felt like I might pass out at the wheel. And my chest hurt. Instead of going to class I went to the emergency room at the local Navy hospital.

They hooked me up to all kinds of equipment, ran tests, did x-rays, and asked me a million questions. In the end, the doctor told me it was most likely anxiety and that I should seek mental health treatment. But before I even got home from there, he had called me and ask if I could come back for more tests and x-rays. They found something on my right lung and wanted to get more images from different angles. So I went back for them to poke and prod at me some more. The doctor confirmed a nodule in my right lung. He told me to follow up with my doctor and have further tests done. He wouldn’t speculate if it was serious or not, that a specialist would have to do that.

I waited a year before having it looked at again. I was in a downward spiral in my life at that time and didn’t really care about my health, physical or mental. That part of my life is documented in other previous blog posts. After my failed suicide attempt I decided that if I was going to live, I might as well have my lungs looked at. The doctor at the VA was a complete moron and should in no way be a doctor for veterans. He finally agreed to order tests for me after he realized that I already had some findings from the Navy hospital. During the phone consultation following the first test he informed me that the nodule was small and probably nothing to worry about, that there would be a follow up test in six months. He didn’t know that I already had a copy of the report. So I asked about the second finding in the report, COPD. And he asked, “Oh, are you having breathing problems?” I went off on him, I lost my temper right there. I reminded him that was the whole reason for my appointment before the tests. I couldn’t breathe. Moron!!

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He ordered more tests. Somehow those tests didn’t show any COPD. I guess my breathing problems are all in my head. However, I have documents showing how bad the air quality was in Kabul, where I was at for the majority of my time in Afghanistan. One document from 2009 states, “Kabul air has reached toxic levels….three to 7.5 times higher than WHO (World Health Organization) guidelines for acceptable level of exposure.” In a 2012 letter from Senator Ron Wyden to the Secretary of Defense he points out that “Kabul ranks near the top of worldwide rankings of hazardous airborne contaminants.” But maybe my breathing issues are in my head since the VA can’t find what’s there.

For those of you who have ever dealt with the Department of Veteran Affairs (VA), you know it’s a broken system. Often times dealing with them is like getting slapped in the face, especially when the doctor I have is an ass and should not be dealing with veterans. Another slap in the face was when I recently filled out the paperwork for release of information from providers outside the VA to go along with my updated claim. I got a letter from them saying that even though I filled out the paperwork, it’s my responsibility to make sure they get the requested documents. Is that an ongoing problem? Do hospitals and doctors say no to the VA when requesting information? But I don’t have enough to worry about, so I’m glad the VA told me they aren’t responsible for receiving the documents I requested. Really, I was running out of shit to worry about. Morons.

This is a frustrating system to be drowning in. The bureaucracy involved is ludicrous. The lack of accountability is appalling. The number of veterans that die while waiting for care is growing. I vented to my psychologist about this and he asked me why I’m focused on fixing the VA instead of just getting done what I need to get done. He admits that the VA cannot be fixed. I don’t know about the other branches of the military, but in the Army we never leave a fallen comrade. I’ll get what’s due to me eventually. And I will continue to use my voice to help others lost in a broken system of ineptitude so as not leave someone else behind. But I can only make so much noise by myself.

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If you served in Kabul or Bagram and want a copy of the documents I have, let me know. If you have something helpful to share about this, let us all know.

This is frustrating to me. Why won’t they help? Why won’t they listen? Why won’t they look at the evidence that’s out there? It’s dealing with this kind of bullshit that doesn’t help my PTSD, anxiety, anger management, or hopefulness that I will get the treatment I need. This is where many veterans lose the will to fight the system. We can’t win, so what’s the use in spending time and energy on a losing cause? But I’d still go do it all again if asked. Even knowing what I know now.

Thanks for reading my rant. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Yard Work and Running

Yard work has never been my favorite thing to do. But the last few months I’ve been doing yard work 2 to 3 days a week, sometimes more. I have begun to look at yard work in a therapeutic way. I think of it in a way similar to my mandated daily outpatient sessions last year that I didn’t want to do, but I had to. If I were going to get better, I had to go to therapy sessions. Plus, it was a condition of my release from the hospital. I hate doing yard work, but if the yard is going to look better, I have to do it. And I need something to occupy my time the way running used to.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to run. That was always my preferred therapy for everything. If I had a bad day at work, I could come home and go for a run and feel better. If I had a good at work, I could come home and go for a run and feel great. Running was my alone time. Just me and my thoughts. No ear buds with music, rarely a running partner, no fancy GPS. Just me, my thoughts, and the road. I had routes that I knew the distances and my wrist watch to keep time.

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I would log my runs on a fitness website and track my pace and miles for the month and year. I set goals and tried to achieve them. I was only in competition with myself. Even most of the races I ran, I only competed against myself, whether it was a distance race, mud run, or triathlon. I liked the challenge of pushing myself and seeing what I was able to accomplish. I was never the fastest, but I was committed and could push myself for miles and miles. I loved exploring my limits. And I miss how running kept me in shape.

With yard work, there’s nothing to track. There’s nothing to compete against with myself. Does anyone care if I mowed the yard faster this time as opposed to last time? I don’t. And if you do, well, you might need some help. LOL. The only ones that notice my yard work are the guys that come by weekly with the truck to remove the yard waste I put by the curb. Most weeks there’s a good amount. I’m sure those guys hate me by now. Maybe they’re tracking it. Maybe they have a chart of houses where they pick up from and I’m at the top of the list for most yard waste. I’ll have to ask them next week.

My yard looks 10 times better than it did a few months ago. I’ve cut down 3 trees, trimmed others, mowed, raked, pulled weeds, clean some vines from some of the fences, transplanted grass in hopes it will grow in spots that grass is not growing. It’s a lot of work and I’m not sure I enjoy the yard work, but I am enjoying the progress I see in my yard. That helps motivate me to keep doing it. But no matter what, yard work will never fully take the place of running for me. But for now, it will have to suffice as a substitute, something to get me outside and active.

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I really need to get back to working on my book. I’ve put it on a back burner for too long for now. I need to get back to working on my blog more seriously and coming up with better topics. I haven’t run out of things to write, but I am selective in what I chose to share right now. If any of you that have been following me for a while, or even just recently found Story of My Life, and have a topic suggestion or question, let me know. I might find some inspiration in it. Until next week….

Thanks for reading. Good day, God bless.

Dave

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