Milestones and Reflections

This past week, my blog surpassed 400 followers from all over the world. Granted, that’s not a huge number, but it’s still an amazing milestone to me, considering I write for my own pleasure and therapy. I didn’t set out to create any kind of following for this site, only a place for me to put some thoughts somewhere, like a way to journal. Originally, Story of My Life was a place for me to do some writing during my deployment to Afghanistan and share a few things with my family and friends. After returning from war, I took a two-year break from posting here. I then started using Story of My Life again in February 2016, as an outlet for self-therapy and recovery. Based on the number of followers, comments and likes on the posts, it seems like a lot of people can relate to what I’m putting out there.

As I celebrate a very modest milestone, I also want reflect on Story of My Life and share with some of you that might not know the progression this blog has taken the last couple of years and why I post (almost) every week. I say progression of this blog, but in reality, it’s my progression. These are my thoughts, feelings, experiences that I share here. Some entries are comical or silly. Some are dark and painful. Some are rants, usually complaining about dealing with the VA. I’ve posted poetry and short fiction stories, but mostly, real-life stories of me surviving my life.

While my first blog post to Story of My Life was 5 years ago, it’s only been in the last two years that I started a new journey of using weekly writing as therapy and sharing my story with the world. The beginning of this new journey started with me opening up about a failed suicide attempt, being taken to the psych ward at the hospital in hand cuffs by the police, and being diagnosed with PTSD and major depression. From there, I shared what I saw as obvious irony in the fact that I attempted suicide, being that I was the lead trainer in suicide prevention training in most of my army reserve units. Ironic, in a twisted way, I know.

I’ve shared stories from my deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, stories about my kids, and I’ve written some entertaining fictional stories. I’ve touched a little on the end of my marriage and I’ve exposed some of the flaws with the VA that veterans have to deal with. I’ve written about the struggles I have from time to time with depression and suicidal thoughts. I’ve also written about some of the victories I’ve had the last two years, which include sharing a couple excerpts and progress from the novel I’m writing (yes, still working on that). I’ve written about the weather, traffic, youth sports, investing, the Mississippi River, and I’ve shared some about my civilian job in a few posts. I cover most everything that pops into my head in any given week. We can all see the pros and cons in that. But I do it anyway.

I write every week and post it here because it helps me. I am able to sort my thoughts and put them in some kind of order that makes sense to me. It’s a way to track my progress as well as my low points. Each post gives me a record of what I was doing or thinking and I can go back any time and see what was on my mind. I know, I can do the same thing without putting it on a blog, but I feel that making some of these stories public forces me to put more thought and effort into this project. And I know that my story helps other people, too, which is a bonus for my motivation to keep writing and sharing. Knowing there are people out there that can relate to my issues and mental illness is helpful to me as well. I appreciate all the likes and comments of support on my posts each week.

I do this for me. But I also do it for everyone else that hasn’t found their voice yet in speaking up comfortably about their own mental illness. I share it with the world so that someone that might be in the dark places of the mind, like I have been, know they aren’t alone. If you need help, reach out. If you know someone that needs help, help them find help. You don’t have to be a professional to help someone that is thinking about suicide. You only have to get them to someone that is (hospital, police, fire station, National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1.800.273.8255). Helping is easier than you think.

For those of you that might be new to Story of My Life and want to get a bigger picture of my story, below are some links to previous posts that will highlight my journey the last two years.

https://storyofmylife.blog/2016/02/06/battlefield/  (the beginning of my new journey)

https://storyofmylife.blog/2016/07/16/depressed-ptsd/

https://storyofmylife.blog/2016/11/26/suicidal-anonymous/

https://storyofmylife.blog/2017/03/18/ptsd-moments/

https://storyofmylife.blog/2017/07/15/my-worst-war-memory/

Thank you all for your support, I hope that I am returning the favor in some small way here. And thank you for stopping by this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

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Waiting on a Helicopter

Sometimes the most ordinary or inane event can bring back a memory for me. This week that was caused by the weather. Here in the Florida Panhandle, we have four seasons. They include Hot, Really Hot, Humid with Heat, and a few days of winter. Since we don’t experience the winter most others around the country do, we may have a skewed view of the winter season. When it gets down to the 30’s at night and daytime highs are only in 40’s, we start to lose our minds. And when Mother Nature decides to throw rain at us during those “freezing” temperatures, we act like the world is coming to an end.

Although I’ve experienced snow and cold weather all around the world, I am not a fan. During my deployment to Afghanistan, we had plenty of snow in the mountains 6000 feet above sea level. We had below freezing temperatures, the lowest I recall was 14 degrees Fahrenheit. But the most gloomy, uncomfortable weather I experienced there was like the weather here in Northwest Florida this week. It had been in the mid- to upper 30’s with rain during one missions. The near freezing rain is what clinched it for being classified as miserable. I would have rather it been a little colder and traded the rain for snow.

I went on over two dozen missions during my 9 months in Afghanistan, mostly escorting the unit chaplain to different places he needed to be. Although, I always downplayed each mission by calling them “trips.” It sounded less dangerous. And my roommate over there would go a step further by saying I was going on vacation or a weekend getaway since most of the missions were multiple days. Most of the travel to and from our destinations went well, considering we were traveling in a war-torn country. There were always possibilities for delays, either caused by the enemy or the weather.

https://storyofmylife.blog/2017/03/18/ptsd-moments/

From our base in Kabul, we embarked on what was supposed to be a six-day mission. First, we took the few minute flight to the airport in Kabul. From there, a British C-130 gunship to Kandahar, with a stop at Bastion on the way. For the trip back, we flew to Bagram, which was like my home away from home during deployment. And that’s where we got stuck for a few days. The transition to winter weather was upon us. It was early November, fairly mild up until that point. The days had been comfortable, the nights were cool. Nothing too bad. But that was about to change.

https://storyofmylife.blog/2016/06/04/memories-and-afghanistan/

The night before we were supposed to fly by helicopter back to Kabul, the temperature dropped to almost freezing and the rain came. For three days it rained. Cold, wet, miserable, rain. Knowing the weather would likely result in travel issues, I woke up at 0430 to walk the mile to the terminal to see about flights. If they were flying, I would call the chaplain and the other traveler in our group and tell them to come. But of course, they weren’t flying. I walked back to where we were staying. In the cold, miserable rain.

The next morning, I awoke at 0430 again and made the walk. The rain was just enough to be annoying, light but steady, and still very cold. I was in line to inquire about flights, knowing we weren’t going anywhere. They guy came down the line holding a clipboard, asking each hopeful traveler a single question, “Where you going?”  I answered, “NKC.”  He simply said, “Nope,” and moved to the next person in line.  Back to my bunk, sloshing through the rain, looking forward to a nap. In my journal that I kept about the missions we went on, the single entry for that day was: “Flight cancelled due to weather. Did nothing, getting bored.”

On the third morning of being stuck at BAF (Bagram Air Field), I made the same early-morning walk. Still raining, still cold, still knowing there would be no flights. At least not any civilian contractor flights that we mostly traveled on. But while at the terminal, I was able to find out that the Deputy Commanding General of our unit was traveling through there on his way back to Kabul. And the DCG flies on Black Hawks with military pilots, not relying on the civilian contractors.

When flying with the civilian contractors, you just show up, get on, and go. It doesn’t work that way when trying to hop a flight with a general. When I peeked over the counter and saw the general’s flight on a manifest, I told the guy that I was in that unit, and we had three personnel that had been stuck at BAF for days and needed to be on that flight. He looked at me like I was Jon Lovitz saying, “Yeah, that’s the ticket!” But, eventually, after some phone calls, we were confirmed on the General’s flight.

Finally, just before midnight on the ninth day of our trip, we boarded one of two UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters going back to our base in Kabul. It had been a long trip and I was ready for it to be done. And as much as I loved traveling throughout Afghanistan during that deployment, it was nice to get back “home” to my own bunk. After returning, my roommate told me I got back just in time, that he was going to rent out my bed because he thought I wasn’t coming back. And of course, he asked how my ‘vacation’ was.

Good times. Good memories. Despite the blaring sirens during the rocket attacks and sitting in concrete bunkers at both Kandahar and Bagram during that trip, I have good memories of that mission. And somehow, it was this miserable weather here that elicited those memories and made me smile. There are still things around me that might take me back to an event during that trip that would not make me smile. Perhaps, a fire alarm or loud booms might make me remember the same trip in a different light. But for some reason, and I can’t explain why, this cold, wet, nasty weather we had in Florida this week takes me back to that mission in Afghanistan, and I smile because of it. Go figure.

https://storyofmylife.blog/2017/07/15/my-worst-war-memory/

Thank you for taking the time to check out Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.

Dave