Tag Archives: military

Rest In Peace, Billy

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. I have been trying to figure out what to write about and as I finally have it, it changed. My step-dad passed away this morning. It was not unexpected, he had been sick for a while. Last weekend when I was visiting him and mom, he told me he was ready to go, ready to move on, ready to die. He told me that he had done everything he could to prepare for this and make it as easy as possible on mom. I guess he was satisfied with his preparations, he left this life, on his terms I imagine. That’ how he lived, I’m guessing that’s how he died.

I have mixed emotions when it comes to death. I’m not insensitive to it, I just don’t get all wrapped up in it. In this case, he is in a much better place, so it doesn’t seem too bad to me at all. He lived a long, productive life and will be missed. I just don’t really have the emotions any more when it comes to people dying. I think this might be what my psychologist referred to in one of our recent sessions when he said I show signs of being dissociative. I do tend to detach myself from things. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, I think it just means that I don’t let it affect me. The hardest part will be helping my mom. But I’m in a good mindset now to help.

Five weeks ago, or so, I would not have been able to help. I was a wreck in my own mind, not well. I was trying to salvage any sanity I had left at the time. It was five weeks ago that my step-dad began his final journey to the end of his life. He had been in and out of the hospital for years, but this was to be his swan song. Once or twice the last few years it appeared that he might be the end of life, but he was stubborn. He would only leave on his terms. And five weeks ago it was apparent that he was going to die sooner rather than later. And five weeks ago I would have been worthless to my mom. I know it sounds weird, and maybe wrong, but this is much better timing than five weeks ago. I can actually be of assistance. I feel like a dick for saying that, but I know some of you will understand.

See, the thing is, if I know I’m not in a good place to be able to help I shouldn’t be there. If I can’t function, how am I supposed to help anyone else? I know it looks bad to some, those few that don’t understand. But I have become well enough now to be able to say ‘No’ if needed, if I need it for me, for my own mental health. It’s not selfish, it’s reality. I can honestly say that now, today, and for the foreseeable I am much better and can be there for others as needed. It’s all a process, and I’m making it through it. It took a long time for me learn this: I have to put myself first sometimes to be able to be there for others. I make no apologies for that anymore.

A quick obituary. Billy was born in West Virginia in 1935. Died in Alabama today. He was a veteran of the U.S. Army, serving four years in the 1950’s. He was very active in coaching and scouting baseball for many years. He was captain of the deep sea fishing boat Lady Tina and a respected member of the Destin fishing community. The last decade or so Billy spent his time in the collectibles business, frequenting auctions and finding treasures. He is survived by my mom. He is also survived by many other family members too numerous for me to mention here. Rest in Peace, Billy.

To the rest of you, 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

The Cage With Prison Bars

I’ve met them all and put them in their respective places. I know each of them by name. We’ve come to agreements that, quite frankly, don’t benefit anyone involved, but there had to be agreements, whether they mean anything or not. I can’t make them leave, they are part of me and who I am now. I can get along with every one of them very nicely. Except one, except the one that wants to kill me. I keep him locked in a cage with prison bars. They are all my demons and I have them under control.

I entertain them occasionally, just to make sure they know I’m in charge, if I am in charge. Except the one that wants me dead. I won’t let that one out of the cage. But all the others come around once in a while, and if I feel like it I will pet them and send them on their way. They are free to roam because they have learned the rules and boundaries. Except Suicide. That one stays locked up. Behind prison bars. That one cannot be tamed like the others. That one does not play by the rules. That one scares me, even from behind the bars.

When all my demons ran wild and controlled me, it was chaos. I locked myself in that cage with prison bars to stay safe. But that didn’t work. They poked and jabbed through the bars. They laughed and made fun of me and threw things at me. And Suicide was the worst of them. That one won’t stop until you do. And I believed them for a while, every word. And they were right, they convinced me anyway. Except that they were wrong, I learned that later, after it was almost too late. It was hard, but I put them in their places, even the one that tried to murder me. Especially the one that tried to murder me. That bastard is behind bars now. But that one still scares me. That’s the only one I’m truly afraid of.

I look over my shoulder occasionally from time to time to make sure my demons are staying in their places, where they belong. They are for the most part, even the killer that is locked in a cage with prison bars. When I look over my shoulder at that one, it smiles calmly, not bothered at all about being locked up. That one knows that even from the cage it can get me if it wanted to, if I let it. I have all my demons under control except that one, which is befuddling to me since that’s the only one locked up. In a cage. With prison bars. No freedom to roam. Suicide stays quiet in the cage making plans for a reunion. I have no intention of showing up to that party.

But if you have demons of your own, maybe we can get them together for a play date party.

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