Tag Archives: therapy

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

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

I’m ok, I promise

I’m ok, I promise. That’s what I tell people sometimes. And I when I do, I mean it. It’s usually at the end of a conversation when I’ve admitted some things in my life that I’m dealing with or struggling with. I’m writing this post so I can share that I’m struggling, but I’m ok, I promise. Everything I’ve posted has been the real me, but I don’t always go into details. I don’t always share everything. I don’t always share all the darkest parts of my life or what’s going on in my mind. However, what I do share seems to be getting some great responses from people that can relate. To be honest, some of the responses lead me to believe that some of you think I have my shit together. For those of you that know me personally, you know I don’t. You know that I am much better than I was last year, but you also know that I have much work to do and a long road left to go.

About the responses I’ve been getting, I couldn’t be more thrilled and humbled at the same time. A fellow blogger and army veteran contacted me via email because of my blog and we’ve been emailing back and forth, encouraging each other. He has PTSD among other things, far worse than I do. But he let me know that my story helped him. Helped him enough that he even told his VA counselor about my blog. That is a huge encouragement to me because I didn’t set out to be anyone’s angel or savior. My blog was designed for my own personal therapy. But I admit, helping others makes me feel better about what I am doing here.  And I’ve found quite a few blogs that I find very encouraging myself.

Another fellow blogger asked me in the comments of one of my posts about helping a friend that was suicidal. I told her to email me. We exchanged a few emails about her friend, I told her what I would do in that situation. Being a subject matter expert in suicide prevention in the army helps me to give sound advice in such circumstances. (and yes, the irony is not lost on me that I’m a leader in suicide prevention, yet I tried to kill myself). I followed up with her for a couple days and her friend ended up being safe. Not from anything I did, not at all.  But that a fellow blogger that I’ve never met thought to ask me how to help in that situation was another reassurance that I’m making a positive impact on people with my writing.

Recently, a fellow blogger gave me a shout out on his blog, saying that my blog was the encouragement he needed to tell more of his story. He had been wondering if he should share or how he should share. He has PTSD and other issues but is now getting more comfortable in sharing more of his story. I know how liberating, and also scary, it can be to share my story and I’m glad he decided to follow suit. I know he will find some self-healing in his endeavors. And again, I didn’t set out to have that effect on him, but it makes me feel good that I make a difference to people I’ve never even met.

I share these stories because it seem like some of you seem to think I have it all together, but I don’t. I am moving in the right direction, but I’m nowhere close to the finished product. I’m a million miles passed the total darkness I was in last year, but I still struggle. Not as much, but I do. Only about six weeks ago I was struggling bad enough that I needed to reach out to an old army chaplain friend of mine. (Yeah, CH K, I called you old, sorry, LOL). He visited me in the hospital last year after my failed suicide attempt and keeps up with me from time to time. I was having horrible, potentially suicidal thoughts, so I reached out to him. I knew I wasn’t going to kill myself, but the thoughts were overwhelming.

In some of my lesser struggles, I have reach out to a number of other friends. I tell them what’s going in my life or my mind and I always finish with, “I’m ok, I promise.” I just need to talk sometimes to make sure I don’t get stuck on the road I was on last year that included me trying to take my own life. After my failed suicide attempt, I must have promised a hundred people that if I noticed anything in me that resembled the feelings or mindset that almost cost me life, I would reach out. I have kept that promise. And I will continue to keep that promise.  And I will continue to write about it.

I know that I’m not completely well, and I recognize that. But I’m ok, I promise.   And I’m getting better most days. It’s an ebb and flow kind of thing with me, as I’m sure it is for all of us. I’ll do well for a few days, have a bad day, and then do well again. That’s part of the healing process and living with PTSD and major depression and sleep issues and nightmares and anger issues and marital separation and life in general. Life isn’t easy, but it’s good now. At least mine is good right now in comparison to where I was last year. If you haven’t read my post from February titled Battlefield (https://davidegeorge.wordpress.com/2016/02/06/battlefield/), I encourage you to read it and see the progress I’ve made since that night I almost died, that night I should have died.

Thank you all for the positive feedback and for allowing me and my blog to be part of your life in some little way. This was all created for my own therapy and to give my family some insight into what I’ve gone through, where I’m at, and where I’m going. What all this has turned in to is amazing and humbling to me. And very encouraging. I feel like I have a purpose here and almost an obligation now to my readers to continue doing what I do. I will continue to post every Saturday for my own therapy. I will continue to share all this with the world in case it helps someone else. Share your story, you never who it might reach or help. Thank you for taking the time to read Story of my Life. And, I’m ok, I promise.

Good day, God bless.

Dave

Helicopter Ride

I’ve had two deployments, one to Iraq and one to Afghanistan. Those two deployments could not be more different from one another. My Afghanistan deployment (2013-2014) was exciting, dangerous, and filled with travel all over the country. My Iraq deployment (2008-2009), on the other hand, was relatively boring. I spent the majority of my time behind a desk or visiting with troops on the base. There was very little excitement at Camp Bucca, which at the time was the largest Theater Interment Facility in the world. Besides going home on leave for two weeks about half way through the deployment, I only got to leave the base on one mission. Only one. It was a boring deployment, but in some respects that’s not a bad thing. And only once during my time in Iraq did I think that it might be possible I could die over there. Here’s that story.

I was on my way back to Iraq, returning from being home on leave for two weeks. I was delayed in Kuwait for two or three extra days waiting on transportation. It wasn’t the best place to be stuck, but it was almost relaxing to be able to recover from my time off before having to get back to work it in Iraq. I slept a lot between checking with the travel team responsible for getting people from Point A to Point B. If I remember correctly, we had to check in once a day at a certain time. If there wasn’t any transportation to where I was going, I would go back in 24 hours. Boredom set in pretty quickly, but that was cured with naps.

Finally, after a couple days of waiting, I had a helicopter flight going to Camp Bucca. It was actually three CH-47 Chinooks, which we affectionately called Shithooks. All three helicopters were filled to capacity with personnel and gear.  All of us were going to the same place, a direct flight. I was in the last helicopter of the formation. We took off and headed north. I love flying in helicopters. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve done in the military.

The helicopter I was on didn’t seem to keep up with the other two. I could see the other two flying higher. I could feel mine ‘slipping’ like it was not wanting to stay in the air, like it would drop a few feet then go back up. I watched the tail gunner leave his position, talking to the pilots through his radio. The tail gunner opened a side panel above a passenger across from me and looked inside. He fiddled with some gadgets and reported to the pilots over the radio. All the while I could feel the helicopter doing its best to stay in the air, slipping and climbing, slipping and climbing. The guy next to me was fast asleep.

The tail gunner then moved to the center of the aircraft, climbing to the top off all the duffle bags and opened another panel in the ceiling. He banged on some pipes and fixtures with his fist, shook his head, and kept talking to the pilots over the radio. I could see just the slightest concern in the tail gunner’s face, but nothing alarming. I could see the other two helicopters were considerably higher than mine. I guess the good news would be that we would not fall as far from our lower position. The bad news would be that we were in closer range for small arms fire if there were anyone out there that wanted to take a shot. I watched all this, taking it all in, repositioning my body so that if we did have to make a hard landing or crash, my spine might not be broke in two. All this while the guy next to me slept peacefully.

Eventually we made it to our destination, the helicopter I was on did land somewhat hard, just short of the landing pad, then rolled up on to it. We gathered our gear and exited out the rear of the Chinook. I had to wake up the guy next to me and let him know we arrived. The other two helicopters took off after  being emptied of passengers and gear, but the one I was on stayed on the ground. It would be there until the next day when a repair crew could take a look at it. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but I do remember that most U.S. military deaths involving helicopters in Iraq during that time were due to malfunctions, poor maintenance, or weather, as opposed to enemy engagements. I’m glad I didn’t get to see that play out.

I wasn’t worried about dying, but I was aware that I was in a position that it could happen, even if only remotely. It didn’t bother me, it was more surreal than anything, watching the tail gunner lose a little confidence in the aircraft. This is actually one of the stories I like to tell, probably because the rest of my deployment to Iraq was so boring. The one thing I kept thinking about during the flight was whether or not I should wake up the guy sitting next to me. If we were going to crash, would he want to know in advance? Would it freak him out? Would he be upset if we crashed and I hadn’t woken him? Yep, those are the things that went through my mind during the time that it was possible we might fall out of the sky. It’s kind of weird, right? Would I want to wake up in that situation? Would you? I feel like that situation for me was more of a moral dilemma than a life or death situation. Did I have any kind of duty to the guy next to me to wake him up? I still don’t know the answer to that. But that does remind me of a funny story of being at Bagram, Afghanistan, in a tent, half asleep. In my groggy state I heard a whining generator or truck or something along with large shipping containers being moved and banged around. I woke everyone else up in the tent thinking we were under attack again. False alarm.

My different doctors and counselors over the last 9 months agree that my PTSD most likely started in Iraq, but I am certain the helicopter ride is not the genesis of it. There were other things far worse in Iraq than that helicopter ride that I can trace my PTSD to, images that sometimes are front and center when I close my eyes, even though I try to not remember them. Then add to that all the excitement from Afghanistan. I spent years denying I suffered from PTSD. I know now how bad that was for me. Bad for me that I wouldn’t admit to suffering from it. It almost cost me my life last year. I wouldn’t say I necessarily embrace having PTSD, but I definitely embrace the freedom I feel from talking about it, writing about it, and accepting it. I can’t change it, I can only learn to live with it and continue to tell my story.

Thanks for taking the time to read Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.

Dave