Tag Archives: writing

The Condo

In a recent blog post I mentioned that in 2018 my mind began to clear from a three-year fog.  Life was beginning to come back in to focus.  I started to feel a little normal again.  Well, at least what was to be a new normal for me at that time.  I was beginning to accept that the new me was as good as it was going to get, compared to what and who I was before.  And coming to grips with that was a huge turning point for me in my journey of recovery.  There’s no exact date I can reference in 2018 where I felt like I was righting the ship, but instead it was a process.  A few steps forward, a couple steps back, and so forth.  But I was making progress.  It was a busy year, both good for a lot of reasons, and bittersweet for other reasons. 

Leading up to 2018, there was a significant event in 2017 that helped me along.  But first, let me backtrack a little further.  In late 2016 I went to stay with my sister and her husband for a couple months in Louisiana.  But I couldn’t stay that far away from my kids who were in Florida.  So, in early 2017, I stayed with my mom in Alabama for a few months and commuted an hour and a half each way to work in Florida.  An hour and a half on a good day.  Sometimes the trip would take two hours each way.  It was tiring, but I was on the right track.

I called about a little condo that was for rent that was close to both work and my kids.  I found out they were planning to pull the listing for the rental and sell the unit.  But they offered to show it to me and if I wanted it, they would rent it to me.  I went to look at the condo and loved it.  I told them to give a few days and that I would let them know.  I was basically broke.  I was working again for the first time in a year but had nothing other than whatever was on the next paycheck.  I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but I had to try. 

When I called to let them know I wanted the condo, the lady said, “Great!” and told me to meet her after work with the deposit and she would bring the lease and the keys.  She went on to say that it was perfect timing because they were going out of town the next day for the rest of the month.  Uh-oh.  My checkbook was in Alabama where I was living and I was at work, in Florida.  To my surprise, she said that was not a problem.  She told me to come get the keys, sign the lease, and I could mail the deposit and the first month’s rent.  And they let me move in mid-month without charging for those two weeks.  This was already going better than I imagined it could.

The first time I looked at the condo, I asked how much of the stuff in the condo was staying.  There were beds, a dining room table, plates, cups, cookware, wall art, towels, linens, and much more.  No couch, chairs, or any other place for sitting.  But it had almost everything else.  She assured me that it would all be gone if I decided I wanted the place.  I explained that I was going through a divorce and only had a couple things to my name.  She said they would leave anything I needed.  No extra charge.  Even better.

When I showed up to sign the lease, the lady had brought back clean linens and towels that had been in the condo from when I first looked at it.  That’s the kind of people I was dealing with.  Awesome, terrific, people.  This was amazing.  I couldn’t believe how much they were going out of their way for me; how generous I felt they were being.  They didn’t know me.  They had no idea what I was going through and that in reality, I didn’t know myself if I was going to be able to maintain a job and pay my bills.  Why would they do all this?  Half month rent free.  Trusting that I would actually send the deposit and rent checks within a couple weeks.  Mostly furnished without charging extra.  Washing the linens and towels for me.  God was blessing me in a big way and using these awesome people to do it. 

And that little condo was awesome.  It was perfect for me.  Surprisingly inexpensive and it was on the bay.  My unit faced the pool, but I could walk around the other buildings to cast a fishing line, watch the sunset, or just relax by the water.  As great as it was, I was still financially unstable.  Shortly after moving in, I emptied my change jar so I could buy new underwear and some skid-resistant shoes for my job.  I went to one of those coin machines and dumped in the coins.  And to avoid the 4% fee of using the machine I opted for an Amazon eCard thing, which made the coin-changing process free.  I hate ordering shoes online, but at that time, I had to save every penny I could.  And a few months later, I saved enough to buy a used couch and a chair at a thrift store.  One of my kids still has that chair, eight years after I bought it used.

The place was shaping up nicely.  And even if most of the furnishings belonged to the landlords, it felt like home.  It felt like my place.  I was comfortable there.  It was a good place to be while continuing my mental recovery.  It was less than 10 minutes to work and just 3 miles to my kids.  They could come hang out on the weekends and enjoy the pool, play games, watch TV, play tennis, or sit by the bay.  I was still mostly broke, both emotionally and financially, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I was struggling, but I had become determined to overcome it all.

At the end of the first year, I texted my landlord and ask if I needed to do a new lease.  The one I signed was for 1 year and that was coming up fast.  I would certainly understand an increase in rent.  I was already paying far less than anywhere else outside of renting a mobile home somewhere, and even many of those listed for more than I was paying.  And I knew they had talked about selling before I took the place.  Maybe they wanted to move forward with that.  The response I got floored me.  She asked if I wanted to pay more for rent.  Of course, I said no.  She said, “Well, let’s just do month to month with the current price until you decide to leave.”  That was the kind of wonderful people I was dealing with. 

Three and a half years I lived in that little two-bedroom, one bath condo on the bay.  For three and a half years I continued to recover, continued to write, continued to work, continued to be close to my kids.  It was a good time in my life in a lot of ways.  And without the landlords taking a chance on me and letting me move in, I don’t know if that three and a half year period would have been as helpful.  I’m not sure I would be where I am today without them.  I feel like their generosity and grace gave me a solid foothold on life that I desperately needed at that exact time. 

There is a long list of people who helped me when I was down and out back then.  And the grand majority of those people are people I am related to, or served in the military with, or have known on a personal level prior to being at an all-time low point in my life.  But my landlords helped me as a stranger, a risk, a man who was trying to keep from drowning in the tidal waves he had made for himself.  I told them when I moved out how much I appreciated them, but I don’t think they have any idea to what extent they truly helped me.  I seriously doubt I would be where I am now without their help.  I don’t know if my life would have had the opportunity to be as good as it is now without them unknowingly helping me get here.

Sometimes we do things for people and don’t think it’s a very big deal.  And it may never cross our minds again.  But to that person it might mean the world.  It might be life changing.  You never know.  Do good when you can.  Show grace when you can.  The smallest or easiest gesture can make a huge difference to someone else.  Debbie and Johnny’s kindness changed the course of my life for the better.  And I am forever grateful to them.

Thanks for stopping by today.  Don’t give up on yourself.  Something good is coming.  Good day and God bless.

Dave

The view.

The chair.

Hello Again

Until earlier this month I hadn’t posted to Story of My Life in over 4 years.  I’ve been lazy with it.  But we’ll get to that shortly.  First, I want to look at how this all started and what it has become so far, and then move forward and explore where it can go from here.  It’s been a while, I might need a refresher. 

I started this blog in 2013, months before being deployed to Afghanistan.  The primary purpose of Story of My Life was to tell stories while deployed so that my family could follow along with some of my day-to-day activities, the stuff I was allowed to share anyway.  I made a few posts leading up to deployment.  And then I made a few posts while deployed.  This was the beginning of my blog, the early stages.  Then I went two years before making a new post in 2016. 

After coming home from Afghanistan, I spiraled into the lowest, rock-bottom place I’ve ever been in my life.  It was during a counseling/therapy session at the local Veterans Affairs clinic that I was asked what I like to do that makes me happy.  Writing.  I have always enjoyed writing.  It was suggested that I start writing again.  So, in 2016, I did.  I started writing again and posting to my blog.  And then some amazing things happened.  It unexpectedly took off.

When I came back to writing in 2016, I wrote for my own personal therapy, to clear my mind.  I wrote about my struggles after coming home from war.  I told some stories from when I was in Iraq and Afghanistan.  I occasionally mixed in some fiction, poetry, stories of my kids, and a couple funny posts.  And I shared them on my blog so my family could understand what was going on in my mind and what I was going through.  I wanted them to have an idea of what I and others endured while serving our country and especially how difficult it was coming home and trying to get back to being “normal” again.  At that time, it was mostly just a few family members that followed my blog.

But, as it turned out, my stories resonated with people out there in the blogosphere and Story of My Life began to get a following.  Somehow people were finding my blog.  People I didn’t know were commenting and messaging as to how one of my stories helped them or their veteran loved one or how they could relate to what I was saying, how I was being a voice on topics that they felt uncomfortable voicing themselves.  Not only was my writing helping me work through my own problems and issues, but it was also well received by others.  That made me feel good, like I was making a difference. 

So I kept writing.  And Story of My Life kept getting new readers.  In 2018 alone, my blog had over 186,000 views.  In just a single month in 2018 I had more views than the previous five years combined!  I was floored.  I never imagined my little blog would blow up like that.  That’s certainly not why I started it.  And then, for whatever reason, I stopped.  I didn’t post anything in 2019.  I did a few posts in 2020 and 2021. Then nothing.  Four years without doing anything on here.  I think I know why.

I got lazy?  I got tired?  I got busy?  I had other things to do?  Any or all of these could be a reason to stop.  It wasn’t from lack of motivation.  I have over a dozen pieces I started writing during my four years of down time.  A couple of them I even finished.  But I didn’t post any of them.  And it wasn’t from running out of ideas to write about.  I would lie in bed quite often thinking about stories and composing them in my head as I tried to go to sleep.  But I wouldn’t write them out like I used to.  Something changed. 

Discipline.  That’s what changed, or more accurately, lack of discipline.  I no longer had the discipline to write and post the way I did before.  Motivation without discipline doesn’t always produce the long-term outcome you might want.  For example, I have two dogs.  Sometimes I get very motivated to sweep the floors because of the amount of dog hair they leave throughout the house.  If I were disciplined, I would sweep the floors once a week and not let it get as bad.  But if I rely solely on being motivated to sweep, the floors will look like I have a dozen dogs and then take longer to clean.  I need to be disciplined with that chore.  And this example can be used for yard work, dishes, laundry, stuff for work or school, relationships, vehicle maintenance, or any task, relationship, or hobby that you’re working on. 

Motivation is temporal, meaning that it is only in the current moment and will fade, like my half-hearted posts in 2020 and 2021. Discipline is ongoing.  That means being dedicated and devoted.  Sometimes it means being on a schedule, having a plan, carrying out a plan, working through obstacles to achieve a goal.  Discipline is so much more than just having motivation, it means making something a priority.  For the two years I wrote and posted almost every single week, I had both motivation and discipline. My motivation helped me to have discipline. I worked my writing into my weekly schedule.  I dedicated time to getting it done, I made it a priority.  And here’s what changed for me as I took that long break from writing.

When I had started writing again in 2016, I saw and felt how it helped me.  It was therapeutic and in some ways it felt like I was releasing bad energy with each post and cleansing my mind.  It was both challenging and relaxing.  Sometimes it was deeply emotional and difficult.  But it gave me something to look forward to each week and I needed that back then.  All these things gave me motivation to write, and led to the discipline to keep it going for two years.  But it was in 2018 that my mind finally calmed from my lowest of low points just three years prior.  I was seeing life more clearly.  I had my mental demons under control with counseling and medication.  I took a really good job with benefits, had a nice place to live, and was doing well in life for the first time in a while.

I no longer needed to write for my own personal therapy, which is the whole reason I had been writing.  So, in 2018, when Story of My Life was as popular as it ever was, or likely will ever be again, I just stopped.  I no longer had the motivation or discipline to do it like I used to.  I would occasionally get a flash of motivation and start writing a new piece.  And a few times I would get just enough motivation to make a new post.  But, overall, I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.  I had lost my self-discipline when it came to writing. I didn’t “need” it anymore.

A lot has changed in the last few years for me and I am ready to instill some discipline back into my writing again and share some new stories.  Not because I need it for my own personal therapy, but because I miss writing.  I doubt I’ll post every single week like I did for those two years a while back, but I do have a deep desire to write again, even if it’s just for me and my own entertainment.  But I hope you will enjoy it, too.

I don’t know the exact direction Story of My Life will take, but I do plan to keep it going.  I recently went through my posts and enjoyed seeing the evolution of my writing, revisiting some of the things that inspired me to write.  Some of the posts made me smile, some brought a tear to my eye.  Not all my posts were pretty in subject matter or style, but each one of them is part of who I am and who I was at different times in my life.  And I want to keep doing that, to continue writing and telling stories.  You’re welcome to come along if you want, even if I don’t know yet where we’re going.  Thanks for stopping by today.  Good day and God bless.

Dave

Here’s the spoiled dogs that leave hair all over the place. My wonderful puppies.

I Miss the Old Me

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted to my blog. Almost a year and a half now. I’m not sure where the time went. I know that when I paused my writing, it was only supposed to be a short pause. The first month or two was just to take a break from writing. Maybe a time to refresh my mind, think of new topics, or expand my creativity. By the third month of not writing my brain was nagging me about it. Friends that followed my blog were asking if I were still writing and if I were ok. Then somewhere around six months without posting, it simply became easy to ignore it and not write. I miss writing.

But missing writing isn’t what this post is about. First, let me catch you up on the last 17 months. The divorce went final. The army medically retired me. The Department of Veterans Affairs finally acknowledged some of my claims they had been declining even though I had documentation. I tried to be in a relationship again. That didn’t work. I got a “new” truck. Bought it used, but it’s pretty nice. I’m still at the job I started just before I stopped posting here. That is going very well. My New Orleans Saints were blatantly robbed of going to the Super Bowl a year ago. But on a more recent and triumphant note, my LSU Tigers are now the undisputed heavy weight champions of the college football world. Geaux Tigers.

Back to the reason for this post. I miss the old me. There were things I did back then that I can’t do as well now. There was a confidence from the core of my soul that seemed to faded over time. I had unlimited potential until I hit rock bottom. I feared nothing. I could convey my thoughts easily and not struggle to put the words in the right order like I do sometimes now. My memory was intact for the most part, now it’s hit and miss with everyday things. And I don’t ever remember having anxiety or serious bouts of depression years ago. While the debilitating moments of depression rarely visit now, anxiety is still a daily battle, but not bad.

I started sharing my thoughts and stories here in 2016, of war, suicide, PTSD, and all the things that go with those side effects of my life. It was a form of self-care and personal therapy, a way to get it all out and explore what was going on in my head. It turned into more than I ever imagined it would. And it was good for me. I wrote almost every week. Sometimes it would be a couple weeks in between posts, but for the most part I stuck to it. It was my outlet. I needed it; it became part of me. And I miss that.

Is missing the old me bad? I’ll never be the person I was before. I’ve lost some things, both physically and mentally. I will never get back some parts of the me that have vanished over time. Some of it is from going to war, some it is from getting older. The toll war took on my body and mind certainly amplify the effects of getting older. But I think much of what I deal with and have dealt with the last 6 years is from going to war. I refuse to accept that everything I am going though is from getting older, but I know that plays into it. And of course, growing up is not an option. I don’t plan on doing that.

Ultimately, I accept that I am different and will never be the same man I was before my life changed; changes coming from going to war and other changes attributed to the pains of getting older. But you want to know something cool? I embrace it. Accepting it is one thing, but I embrace it. This has been a new challenge in life that I look forward to each day. And that took a while, years actually. But I now embrace that I am not who I was. And I love the new me. I am learning things about myself that otherwise I never would have known. I’ve never been a fan a change, but if I fight it, it will only be harder on me. That, my friends, is from personal experience and I believe in some cases you just have to roll with it and accept change. Not gonna lie, it was scary, and still is.

I miss the old me. But I also love the new me. I wish I could do some of the things I used to be able to do. But I have new challenges each day and opportunities to learn about myself, to explore my new limits, to continue the journey of me. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I feel like I conquer the world. But I’m at peace with the past and with what the future holds, even if I don’t remember all of the past and have no idea what’s coming. I miss the old me, I love the new me. Life is good.

Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Welcome Home

His eyebrows sagged and his countenance fell. His lips tightened as he went into a blank stare. He wiped a tear from his eye. He was somewhere else in the world right then, a different place, a different time. He had come back from that place years ago, probably before I was born. He had to come back from it again during our conversation sitting at the bar. I wondered how many times he’s had to come back from there in the last 45 years or more.

During my last trip to Ft Jackson, I stayed for a week instead of the usual weekend. When I’m there for only my army reserve weekend, I have a routine I generally follow. I get to town on Friday, check into the hotel, then go to Sonic. And why not? They’ve gotten my order right 3 out of the last 5 times now, getting better. Saturday is usually blur, and Sunday afternoon I head back to Florida. But when I’m there for a week at a time, I usually go to a couple different restaurants instead of eating drive-thru food for a whole week.

One particular night I went to a place I’ve enjoyed a few times before. It’s a sports bar with a killer burger. Not only is it good, but it might kill you, too, at half a pound of beef. Hence, a killer burger. But I’ll take my chances. The beer is cold, there’s sports on the TVs, and the people are nice. That’s where I met Chuck.

The conversation at the bar had to the with the heat that day. Then Chuck started talking to me, saying something about a “dry heat” like in Arizona or something. I told him that only works until it gets to a certain point. I told him it was a dry heat where I was in Iraq, but once the temperature got over 110 degrees, it was just hot. Dry or not, it was hot. Side note. For the record, I took a picture of the thermometer outside our Preventive Medicine office at my base in Iraq. It was at 146 degrees. But it was a dry heat. LOL.

Then Chuck told me he had been to the two worst places in the world. The first place being Detroit during the riots in 1967. The second place was Saigon, 1968. He was a Vietnam Veteran. He told me how he went from Detroit to the jungle. Then he told me that of all the men on the plane that took him to Vietnam, only 4 came home. That’s when he retreated into his mind for a minute. I imagine he was taking a moment to remember each of them. I believe he could see them in his mind, maybe as they sat next to him on the plane or maybe as they drew their last breath, I didn’t ask. Either way, he needed a minute.

When he returned to reality, we changed the subject of our conversation to sports. But in only two minutes before that, I knew his pain. I had a sense of his war stories. I could tell where he had been in some respects. His face spoke it all very clearly. Sports brought a completely different face to Chuck. His sports stories were amazing and fascinating. The sports figures that he met over the years, the autographs he told me about, the memorabilia he said he has in his sports room. It all had me in awe. And he was happy talking sports. It’s his life now, and his job.

Everyone I went with to Iraq and Afghanistan came home. I personally knew a few people that died serving, but everyone I went with both times came home. I can’t imagine what goes through Chuck’s mind when he thinks about being only one of four surviving members of the group on the plane that took him to Vietnam. The only inkling I have of what he goes through is what I saw in his face while he revisited the fallen in his memories.

I have my moments where I get triggered to memories of war. On occasion I get jumpy because of unexpected noises. Being in traffic is hard for me. I battle anxiety and depression all the time. I’m still figuring out a lot of this since coming home from my last deployment. I don’t know his stories, but I can very much relate to how Chuck reacted when taken back to 1968. I also do that from time to time. And I wonder if years from now I’ll still have my moments like that. We’ll see.

I’ll say again what I told Chuck the other night. Thank you for leading the way with your service. And Welcome home. I’m glad you’re one of the four that came back.

Thank you all for stopping by this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Walk It Off

I saw a meme on Facebook that said, “Telling someone with PTSD to get over it is like telling someone who is deaf to listen up.” I guess the same thing could be said that someone with a compound fracture of the leg should just walk it off. Or that someone with a stutter should speak clearly. Maybe we could tell a blind person to look closely. None of this works that easily. There is some truth to that meme. But there are also some things we can do to better ourselves.

I will never “get over” this thing called PTSD that I was diagnosed with in 2015. I will likely have to deal with the symptoms for the rest of my life. Just this week, I had a mild PTSD moment at work, for about a minute or so. And I happened to be working with the only other army veteran in my department at the time. Yeah, he gave me shit, but he was also understanding and helped me out. I have explained to most of my coworkers at my new job how sometimes I might need a minute to regroup in certain situations. In five weeks at my new job, that’s only happened the one time, for that one or two minutes. I’m nowhere near the bad place I was three years ago. I’m not as trapped in the darkness of my mind as I used to be. I feel better now than I have in years, many years. Some of it coincidence of fortunate events, some it is that I’m making decisions to be better.

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

I do, however, still have some issues. I slept on my couch three nights in a row last week because I didn’t feel like taking my sheets out of the dryer and making my bed. Funny thing is, there are two beds in the guest room, made and ready to go. I still have trouble occasionally with sleep and dreams, even with the medications from the VA. I’m also lacking motivation. Especially with my writing, as can be evidenced with the fact that I haven’t posted here in a month. Depression is an ongoing issue, although I deal with it much better now than I have in the past. I’m continuing to learn how to deal with all this. It’s a process.

It’s not easy->  https://storyofmylife.blog/2017/09/02/harder-than-it-looks/

I took a new job last month. If you follow Story of My Life, you may remember that I left working at the restaurant in the airport for a new restaurant job. After two months at that job, I made another change, to what I hope will be my last job change. Here’s the thing. This new job is something I’ve never done before. Years ago, I had the self-confidence to do almost anything. Not so much the last few years. But I decided to make a complete career change. I built up enough confidence to take a chance and go to an interview for a job I had applied for. And to be honest, at the time, I couldn’t remember for which job I applied when they called me for the interview. But I accepted the interview. I had applied for a number of jobs late last year when I knew things at the airport weren’t going to work out. I knew it was time for a change.

Back to Work

At the interview I was asked, “Have you done this kind of work before?” Um, nope. I think I said, “Not exactly. But if you’ll teach me, I’m a fast learner, I work hard, and I show up on time.” In the last year and a half, I can count on one finger how many times I was late for work (not including the time I was subpoenaed for deposition last-minute or the time the VA took an hour and half to do something that should have taken 5 minutes). I was late clocking in one time, by one minute. And for the few of you that personally know me, you know that still bothers me. But my response to his question, along with me already having a commercial drivers license, got me in the door. On a side note, I’m glad I renewed my CDL a couple years ago even though I wasn’t using it at the time.

My newfound confidence paid off. I got the job. I’ve been there five weeks now. This confidence is something I’ve been rebuilding for a while now. It’s taken a long time. It’s not that I was able to “get over” having PTSD, it’s that I worked at it. I take my medications as prescribed. I go to my appointments. I work on staying calm in stressful situations, which doesn’t always happen, but it certainly works a lot better than it did just a few years ago. And I am open with people about what’s going on in my head. Believe it or not, that helps tremendously.

So, like a deaf person can learn sign language to communicate and function in the world, I can learn to deal with and overcome my PTSD. Yes, “my PTSD,” I own that shit. It’s mine, for life. And while the symptoms will always be there, I will continue to find ways to survive and function. It’s not always easy, but it is worth it. Just don’t tell me to get over it. It doesn’t work that way.

Thanks for visiting Story of My Life this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave