Tag Archives: soldiers

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

What Time Is It?

I’ve made a number of new friends in the last few months since I started blogging again. Friends from all over the world. Recently I was chatting with one of my new friends that lives in Australia. We determined that she lives fifteen hours ahead of where I live. That brought back a childhood memory of when I lived in Japan as a military dependent. If I remember correctly, I was sixteen hours ahead of where home was in the United States. I remember thinking that if we were almost a day ahead of back home, why couldn’t we just call and tell them what was going to happen. The illusion of living in the future I had as a child didn’t quite work the way I thought it should back then.  Check out my friend’s blog, it’s pretty entertaining:  https://katemeyer.org/.

Now as an adult, time is still an illusion to me. Where has the time gone? Why can’t I remember a timeframe of certain things from the past? I don’t have time for this. This is taking too much time. Time, time, time. In a previous blog I wrote about not even knowing what month it was at the time when filling out paperwork at my child’s school. Even now, multiple times a day I have to ask or remind myself what day it is. Has time stopped working for me in some respect? Is that part of my PTSD, depression, anxiety illnesses? Sometimes I feel like the deployments I went on were a million years ago, sometimes I feel like I just got back. I’ve been back from my final one for two years.

There are periods we’ve all felt that time stood still. Also, moments that time seemed to fly by. Emotions, surroundings, and other tangent factors give each of us the feeling of how time flows for us, “fast” or “slow”. The fact is, a day has twenty-four hours. Every single day. The same. The sun may shine longer in some days than others, but the length of each day is still the same. Then why is it that we have times that drag on and times that zoom by? How can some events or periods in life have aspects of being both slow and fast?

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Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory

 

During each of my deployments, I was gone from home for a year. During the time I was gone it seemed like it was lasting forever. After returning, it didn’t seem like a year at all. How is that possible? I can tell you with certainty, the slowest a clock will tic-toc is when there’s only a few days left of deployment. That span of time feels like an eternity. But I think the slowest that time ever dragged for me when we were on our way back from Afghanistan.

On the first leg of our trip home we flew in a C-17 from Bagram Air Field to Romania. We were supposed to land at a base called MK, but weather dictated we land in Bucharest. We sat on the tarmac for hours while waiting for busses to take us on the three or four hour drive to MK. That period of being stuck on the plane seemed like days instead of hours. We were not allowed to disembark. We were not allowed to go into the airport and stretch out and get food. We could only stay on the plane and sleep uncomfortably until the busses arrived. Sleep if we chose to. It was hard to sleep, so some of us just stayed awake. I’m sure that contributed to time going so slow.

I didn’t sleep on the bus ride either. I had never been to Romania and didn’t want to miss anything. I wish I had slept though. When we got to our destination the commanding general of our unit had flown in from the States to meet us and wanted a re-patching ceremony. That was to happen before we could sleep. What an ass. Long-winded, boring, knowing we had been up or had little sleep the last thirty-six hours or more, he still chose to make us stand in formation while he spouted out whatever it was he was saying. Fuck off, Sir, we’re tired. That’s part of what’s wrong with the army, selfish leadership.  It was all photo ops and ego for him.

One night in Romania turned into two. But eventually we were on our way home. The trip from Romania to Maine, with a stop in Germany, was on a commercial plane. It was much more comfortable than a C-17, easier to sleep in the seats, and we got airline food instead of MREs (Meals Ready to Eat). There was a layover in Maine before flying back to Ft. Hood. That layover might be ranked second on my list of time standing still. I think we landed around 2 a.m. to a welcoming committee of local military supporters. They opened all the shops in the small airport for us and made us as comfortable as possible. But time stood still. Even with their wonderful hospitality, those few hours in Maine seemed to last forever.

We are obsessed with time. Everything has a clock, everything has a schedule. Maybe it’s my military upbringing and time in the Army, but I have to be on time for things. It makes me crazy to be late. And what’s worse? Watching people consistently be late and not care. That shows lack of character. (I hope some of my fellow Soldiers from my reserve unit read this and take note). I know sometimes we run late. It happens. But if you are always late and aren’t even making an effort, you suck. (My rant about slackers is over).

Time doesn’t feel the same to me as it used to. It doesn’t seem to matter to me anymore. The American rock band Chicago asked it best, “Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?” (Now that song will be stuck in your head the rest of the day, you’re welcome). I don’t think I care anymore about time. I’m tired. I don’t see much use for it now. Of course I’m lying. I am a slave to time, I can’t help it. But I do wish I could see the future like I thought I could as a kid. That would be nice.

Thanks for reading. Good day, God bless.

Dave

I don’t know the route we took, but we finally made it to ‘MK’.  You try to pronounce it.

Crowded on the C-17, but looks like this guy got some sleep on the bus.

 

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

Memories and Afghanistan

My memory is horrible. It has been for a while. I missed my most recent appointment with my psychologist because I forgot what day it is. Forgetting what day it is happens to me frequently, but missing an appointment, or even being late, is absolutely not normal. It’s not just days, but also months and years. I sometimes have to confirm what year it is because I’m not sure. Not long ago I was at my kid’s school filling out a form for one of them. I filled it out, signed and dated it, and gave it back to the lady at the desk. She looked it over, handed it back, and asked that I correct the date before she put her notary stamp on it. I looked at the date I wrote and asked was it not the 21st? She said, “It’s the 21st. It’s just not September.” It was February. I had no idea why I thought it was September.

I’m not sure why, but I can remember things like numbers, movie lines, songs, years that something significant happened in history, baseball statistics, directions (most of the time), and a bunch of other trivial nonsense. I would make some money on the game show Jeopardy. But other things in my memories seem to escape my mental grasp. For some things it’s like a blank slate. It annoys me, but I’ve gotten used to it. It has become part of my new normal.

In the last meeting with my psychologist I remembered something that I had previously completely forgotten. The memory was triggered when we were discussing an event that happened between therapy sessions. An event that had me pissed off to the point that I almost got into a physical altercation with someone. I wanted to. I really wanted that guy to get out of his car and give me a real reason to get out of mine. I would have likely done permanent damage to the individual. I just needed him to start the physical aggression. He had already started the verbal attack. But I didn’t let myself get baited into it, even though I really wanted to. Short of the story was this guy was trying to exit a one lane, one-way, entrance only driveway to the school, as school was ending. Imagine the traffic piling up on the road behind me as I had no place to go. It was getting chaotic, especially in my head. Being trapped like that isn’t the best scenario for someone with PTSD.

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The memory that was brought on by this event was something that happened in Afghanistan. I was in Kabul, going from my base to one called Phoenix with the USFOR-A chaplain team (my unit eventually stopped letting me go on missions with them, but that’s a whole different story). I was in the front passenger seat of an up-armored NTV (non-tactical vehicle). It was only me and the driver in the lead vehicle and two others in the rear vehicle. The driver and I were having a normal conversation like we usually did. Probably talking about going to Green Beans or Pizza Hut. Our base didn’t have those kinds of things, so when we traveled we always talked about what we were going to treat ourselves to. Here’s how the conversation ended up going:

     Driver: “Shit, we took the wrong road.”

     Me: “Maybe this one comes back out where we can get back on the other one.”

     A few second go by as we come around a curve to a pickup truck in the road with 8-10 pissed-off-looking dudes in the back with AK-47s.

     Me: “Turn around, man. Turn the fuck around!”

     Driver: “I’m trying, there’s no spot.”

     Me: “Make one!”

     The men took notice of us, although they made no aggressive moves. We immediately made a place to turn around. They probably thought we looked stupid and laughed after we left the area.

     Driver: “I don’t think they’re going to bother us, they would already be coming after us by now.”

     Me: “You think they’ll give us directions?”

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I had completely forgotten about that event until my therapy session a couple weeks ago. I wonder what else is trapped in my head that I don’t remember. It was a weird feeling to have that memory come back like that. I clearly remember that day now, but for the last couple years it’s like it never existed. It’s not uncommon for most of the Afghans to have AK-47s. But to see a group of men in the back of a truck that looked like they were organizing for something and ready to go, on a road we weren’t supposed to be on was a bit unnerving at the time. It certainly can lend some explanation to me feeling uncomfortable in stand-still traffic. As long as we’re moving, I’m ok. But long stops with a lot of other vehicles around makes me nervous. That’s what happened with the jackass going the wrong way out the entrance, I felt trapped.

I have thoughts in my head that I’m not sure sometimes if they are part of a memory of an event or part of a dream I’ve had. Maybe both. But I know I miss my memory. Well, I think I do. I guess I don’t really know, do I? LOL. I make a lot of jokes about my memory not being so great anymore. I can’t remember shit sometimes, but at least I can laugh about it. I’ve rescheduled my appointment with the psychologist for next week. Don’t let me forget.

Thanks for reading. Good day, God bless.

Dave