In a lecture to colleagues, a Madigan Army Medical Center psychiatrist said a soldier who retires with a post-traumatic-stress-disorder diagnosis could eventually receive $1.5 million in government payments, according to a memo by a Western Regional Medical Command ombudsman who attended the September presentation

The psychiatrist went on to claim the rate of such diagnoses eventually could cause the Army and Department of Veterans Affairs to go broke (By Hal Bernton, Seattle Times staff reporter).

We did not hit the lottery because we get this diagnosis, this in not a windfall or something special in terms of winning. The diagnosis for PTSD is not permanent as it suggests, we are subject to reviews yearly and can be called to come before the Compensation and Pension Board. The 100% rating is a living wage paid monthly to us while we heal, and some of us may never heal completely. Most of us do not get the 100% rating, to suggest that this is the normal ‘payout’ for this detrimental psychiatric wound is dead wrong. Most veterans diagnosed with PTSD carry a 30% rating, not much to live on.

The system is overloaded not because of fraud which research shows is under 1% at the VA; the problem is not veterans or soldiers trying to work the system. The problem is not taking care of our soldiers and veterans when they become symptomatic, its not taking them seriously when they get home. This type of culture in the military and the VA effectively keeps soldiers and veterans from getting help in the beginning when it would do the most good.

As axiomatic to veterans as the oath they swore to defend the U.S. Constitution is the reality that a veteran filing a disability benefit claim encounters the VA’s ‘deny-delay-and-hope-you-die’ culture (Micheal Leon, Veterans Today).

It is sad that the we are being labeled as malingerer’s again by another government organization trying to balance their budgets. I was called a malingerer to my face by nurses, doctors, psychiatrists and many people at the VA for the first 5 to 10 years due to a hostile culture towards veterans in the 90s in Louisville, KY (VA is better now in Kentucky). It was after the overwhelming evidence from the wreckage of my life I was finally diagnosed with PTSD in 2005 and received my 80% compensation in 2010.

I was actually service-connected in 2002 with hearing loss and tinnitus due to enemy artillery, but they had issues with reconciling my personal combat experience with the way Desert Storm was portrayed in the media; the myth that the First Gulf War was a bloodless conflict of buttons and smart-bombs. When I told them of the Highway of Death and driving seven (7) days without sleep, about what it looks like to see the world erupt in so much death in so little time; the 100 Hour Ground War was an enemy meat grinder. I was the Point Driver, an Mechanized Infantry Soldier leading our Main Battle Tanks to the enemy. My vehicle led 5,000 men into combat in the Biggest Tank Battle in the History of War. Driving in between explosions, mind screaming to go anywhere but here. I’m looking to move a brigade, not just myself. I am scanning the immediate ground and the terrain for the best movement for our unit, the landscape has a moon quality due to all the craters erupting from explosion after explosions. Their artillery was as good as ours, I hear it most days, boom, boom, boom in the distance, but when the detonation is near you can feel the meat in your body shake like jelly and you try and control your movements to keep going, no time to die.

We operated at exponentially high stress rates everyday of our deployments, living on the edge of life and death to serve our country and freedom. Knowing you should have died a hundred times can leave us numb to everything; our loved ones included. This country owes those who cannot cope with life or make sense of what we did and saw in combat; this may take decades. That is what we should focus on, how do we reduce the amount of time it takes to reconcile war trauma so that we may live without the red vistas of war spraying all over our reality today.

Any therapist or psychiatrist worth their salt can discern malingering, lets test them on that and not the veteran. To blame the soldiers or veterans just alienates them further and reinforces “If you go forward with asking for help then you cannot be trusted.” We loose 18 to 22 veterans a day to suicide, this culture of denial is killing more of our soldiers and veterans then the last 10 years of war, over 60,000 veterans to suicide in the last ten years. That’s not counting the suicide in the military.

Great blog!
I’ve been working with Combat PTSD Vets for 11 years. It brought up a couple things for me and I’d have to agree w/ the survey. There are out there what I call “Wanna bes”, which is about one or two percent of those I’ve worked with. However what sux is those 1 to 2 % ruin it for those who do have it and do need the benef

Cant help but note you have a sidebar the Support our Incarcerated Veterans. I was giving a lecture on how to start a PTSD program in confinement. Question from Head of Army Clemency & Parole Board: “How do you know if someone was where they say they was or was really deployed , where they say the are?”

My answere after I showed some assessment tools and and other ways I work to sort out the wannabes: When I’m counseling someone one I can notice the differnce in the way a person reacts when they say i was sniper andI 10 confirmed kills and he’s talking about it like, how aabout those Bears!” And The way a person describes what was like to be in the midst of a firefight have a buddy beed out in his arms and questioning himself, if i only would of … he night be alive today!” His affect, emotion and how he can barely get the words out with tears streaming down his cheeks.

I guess my answere wasn’t good emough because she went to the head man of military confinement and told him we could be misdiagnosing our guys and giving them clemeny & parole they might not desrve. So i walked into that shit storm after vi returned back to work after visiting my son who just returned from Afghanistan,

It also brought up a few more thought.

One) alot of GWI vets got the parades & then the period of thanks by America. You guys kicked thier ass, 100 days. Yee haa! How ever Non -military civilians don’t realize there was the build up. The war and worse yet the aftermath plus all the other factors oil well fires, death, chemicals, depleted uranium, anthrax shots etc. Then after the hoopla America forgot.

2)Then there was were you in direct combat how do we know what you saw can cause pTSD, lets detemine that with out the person asking the questions with being in war an its environment. How do you know what they saw? I’ve seen many veterans suffer in poverty while some idiot trys to figure this out and then come back & say, “We need more information. Or we can’t explain what you have because it hasn’t been given a name.”

3) Just like alcoholism not all cases of PTSD are not as severe as others, but does that mean a person does not have it. Who is qualified to say whose demons that haunt the soul of someone with PTSD, Combat Stress, Post Deployment Operational Stress Deployment what ever name one choses call it, is not as bad as his or hers.

Bottom line PTSD f’s one up physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Plus the loss of innoccence that the world is safe. These individuals gave ,so it is up to our country not to forget, be it in the honor or the compensation for those who gave while others sit on thier assess and decide if we should go to war or not.

Maybe the bean counters who send us to some wars we don’t need to be in should count the post cost of war and its devestation after the war. Before jumping into a war.

Thanks for all of you have served may you get the honor & the compensation you ddserve!

In the first two years after I got home, the only times I would cry would be in packed grocery stores. I didn’t cry in therapy until recently, after 15 years. I was always jacked up, emotional and confrontational even. Had I had a therapist who could have gotten past their petty reactions, a social worker less depressed then me or an empathetic practitioner who could have opened a therapeutic window so they may intuitively guide me through the landmine field residing in my consciousness in the first two years I may not have had a lifetime of emotional and spiritual pain. If you were looking for me to cry in therapy you would have labeled me a malingerer.

Second, the last post was not about a survey; it was about a memo from a therapist who gave an opinion based in his beliefs, not in facts or recent events such as the Veterans Administrations investigation. The Army took a reactionary response to a burnt out therapist who cannot get past thinking about the LESS than 1% and concentrate on the other 99 Combat Veterans who walk in the door. Thirdly, the less than 1% are not the issue that matters. Hold them responsible, yes. Tie their integrity to mine? I have issues with that. Their deception is not a good reason to jeopardize or threaten my benefits.

If we held financial institutions to the same standard we would not have banks or money. The research and investigations so far show a low fraud rate, to suspect every veteran who walks through the door is counterproductive to a healing environment and not grounded in evidence based science or facts.

Why are we talking about the ONE puke out of a hundred and attributing his behavior to veterans asking for help? That maintains the culture of disbelief in the military and the VA, and blocks the fostering of rapport building, a crucial first step in therapy. I have gone through dozens of therapist for many of these kinds of reasons. Right out of the gate I have always told the doctors and therapist what was going on with me as explicit in detail as I could about the flashbacks and what I was experiencing. Mostly I saw disbelief in their eyes, and many told me directly to my face that I was lying. Decades stacked up this way, I would not get help because a therapist had a idea of what to expect from a combat veteran.

I am usually very agitated and stressed in therapy sessions because I know I am going all in. I would probably seem excited to the person looking for it, but my anxiety level gets me all jazzed up talking about my combat experiences. There are many reasons why a combat veteran would seem excited or want to talk about their combat experiences to an empathetic therapist. For me, every time I went into therapy I was at my wits end, it is always kill myself or go and try and get help. So I spill my beans, all of them, I regurgitate the undigested contents of my emotional stomach. We assume therapists are empathetic, but from my experience most are not.

I went through so many hack therapists at the VA it is a joke, but let’s not talk about that real issue. They have their checklists and surveys to go by and cannot connect in a meaningful way to facilitate healing. A therapeutic window is the term used, whereby an empathetic connection between the therapist and client enables a safe place for exploration of traumatic events. I finally wound up with the department head as my psychiatrist and I will only see a therapist he recommends.

We are killing our veterans by treating everyone of them who walk in the door as though they are faking PTSD! We already know we will be treated as malingerers if we ask for help. One of the tasks for us sadly is finding a therapist who will not let their personal beliefs and issues leak into the therapy sessions.

Along with the mental health issues where I perform the equivalence of aerial acrobatics in a paper airplane with an elephant pilot. Yeah, go read that again.  I have recently started taking a new anti-depressant, Lexapro to help with the seasonal depression which buffers the chronic depression this last year. Since I have a “sensitivity” to such medications I get the distinction of trying novel and ‘off label’ usage of medications. Or I get to be first again, leading the way with taking new medications where hundreds of thousands of veterans will go!

The year 2011 was a year of grieving and mourning; I went into an inpatient PTSD program in Memphis, TN. Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT) is a tremendous tool I was able to learn and apply to novel ways of processing my war trauma. Long story short, I was able to reconcile and mourn 5 marine deaths. In doing so it unblocked a flood of mourning for my grandmother, mother, father and friends who had died since 1991. The year 2011 was the year I took my soul back.

Other symptoms of the Combat PTSD Veteran? Toxic levels of stress hormones and chemicals in the body can cause muscle and nerve damage over years from constant flooding of the body.  Stomach ulcers, acid re-flux and chronic bowel problems.  Then there are the side effects from the medications starting with erectile dysfunction to treat chronic PTSD and the depression that goes with it (I take 9, down from 15 two years ago). If you or a loved one is not on top of your medications they can kill you!

Speaking of family and loved ones. We have the propensity to push everyone away and many of us will alienate the people we need the most. Combined with a sense of loss of community, no wonder we are still loosing veterans at a rate of 18 a day.  I have the gift of hindsight for all the good it does me in repairing some relationships, if I can manage to keep dodging those land mines! Yeah, the flashbacks. We don’t talk about those for two reasons; one because they scare the hell out of us and two, most of us don’t have the language to describe it (I do, drop me a line).

Keep coming back,

Scott

For those of you who don’t know me, I go by a couple of writing handles and identities; Roman General and most recently Combat PTSD Blogger on Facebook. I started writing at PTSD: A Soldier’s Perspective in 2007 and in 2008 CJ contacted me to begin writing here. He asked me to come back to keep the conversation moving forward on Combat PTSD.

I have lived with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder for 20 years following the First Gulf War in 1991. It affects me daily; hallucinations both audio and visual depending on my stress level and the dissociative features strewn about for effect.

Many myths surround this conflict and part of my mission is dispel the media portrayal of it as a war of buttons and bombs. It was the largest tank battle in the history of war and we fought an enemy that died to the man. My brigade was credited with over 20,000 enemy casualties in the 100 Hour Ground War and I drove on point.

Join me here where I will chronicle my life and how Combat PTSD relates to my everyday existence.

Thank you,

Scott Lee

I met with my social worker today for a counseling session and to give him a sense of where I am. We came to a few conclusions that I want to share. He helped me understand why I made a few decisions that I made in seeking out another deployment.

As many of you know, part of my PTSD comes from an artillery strike in the early days of the war in 2003. The Iraqis were able to walk artillery in on us by virtue of our convoy stalled on a high road and unable to turn around expeditiously. As such, I had the pleasure of basically having to sit there and hope it didn’t hit me. It did.

Throughout the war, numerous explosions and detonations occurred near me that led to my symptoms. RPGs whizzed literally inches from my head. 7.62 AK rounds cracked the surrounding air, violently shoving their way towards their target. The sounds of war are unmistakable. If you’ve never experienced it, the closest thing to reality that I’ve seen are the opening scenes to Saving Private Ryan. To fully gain perspective, though, you’ll need a good surround sound system. You probably also shouldn’t live in a townhouse. Turn that sucker up just enough to make it uncomfortable and you’ll get an idea.

Anyway, I had explained to Doc one of the reasons I wanted to deploy was to, I think, gain some closure. I felt like I needed to come back and experience combat again in order to deal with the experiences of last time. My initial intention was do what I’m currently doing and eventually weasel my way back into the fight. By fight, I don’t necessarily mean actually having to pull the trigger, but to just be able to walk the streets and conduct my normal mission.

Even without coming under fire, my job can be a stressful one because it involves walking through the neighborhoods and speaking to people that may or may not want to kill me. There is a heightened sense of attention to detail out there. Every day is a thrill and Doc said that many folks with PTSD want to relive that as a way to overcome their anxiety issues.

It made perfect sense, even though I may not have recognized it. In order to cope with getting shot at, blown up, and barely surviving I had to get shot at, nearly blown up, and fight for my life. Turns out, I came to the right place anyway.

In the first few nights here, I heard the sounds of combat I came to expect from my experience. Bombs exploding, A-10s rocking the Gatling, and jets streaking across the sky. The first few weeks weeks were rough.

Kandahar is the birthplace of the Taliban so it made sense to me that there would be sustained and heavy combat around me. Turns out that our living area is near a major range where AC-130 gunships, A-10s and other aviation assets sight in their weapons. Controlled detonations also occurred on this range.

The sounds I thought were combat were coming from a range, not a real threat. But, before I recognized that, I was able to learn to process the sounds of combat and put my anxiety control methods to work that I had learned over the past two years. I no longer grab my rifle with the expectation of a phone call to man the perimeter – though I’m always ready.

Another good thing about living on Kandahar – if it can be called that – are all the indirect fire attacks we have here. The Taliban are good at lobbing 107mm mortars and rockets at us. But a 107mm mortar has a much different sound than a 155mm artillery shell. But, the explosions that I’ve been near when they landed (not unsafely near) also added to my recovery.

I don’t know if that makes sense or not, but it does. The Lord has a funny way of helping us. Initially, I was complaining at having to be stuck at KAF for my entire deployment. However, it turns out that being here has actually been quite therapeutic. I’ve been able to face the very things that have chased me since 2003 and resolve them in my head.

Doc explained that what I’m experiencing professionals call “prolonged exposure therapy.” Many hospitals are using this method to treat Soldiers with PTSD across the country. Since many Soldiers have already left military service, they don’t exactly have the opportunity that I have to come back and face those experiences. So, programs have been created using scenarios in virtual realities to approach those same trauma-related thoughts, feelings, and situations that may have been avoided due to the distress they cause.

Another treatment is called “cognitive processing therapy.” In essence, this type of therapy helps you to understand and cope with those feelings and thoughts that won’t seem to go away. It provides an alternative rational for dealing with what are essentially irrational thoughts. One of the problems of PTSD is the feeling that threats are everywhere. CPT helps to train your brain that these threats don’t exist and how to handle those feelings when they pop up.

Through both types of therapy, I’ve come to recognize nearly instantly when I wake up to a perceived attack every time I hear an explosion that the most likely cause is training. I usually take a few minutes to make sure and listen for any alarms. If none are sounded, I’m able to convince myself that there is no threat and actually fall back asleep.

This progress didn’t happen overnight. It’s taken me nearly two years (and about 60 rocket attacks since arriving in theater). I still get anxious during a rocket attack, but that is a natural reaction. I also understand that my life is in the hands of God. If it’s my time, it’s my time. I can’t shoot a rocket out of the sky and I can’t redirect its path. So, I have to do whatever I can to stay alive.

Another good thing I’ve done is that I recently fired Doctor Grisham. He’s the guy that keeps telling me it’s okay to stop taking my anxiety medications. My other Doc made the suggestion and I took his advice. I even had his “license” revoked so he doesn’t try practicing his destructive medicine on others. The medications have helped to regulate my moods, especially anger and frustration. And contrary to some ignorant people’s ignorant ramblings, this anger and frustration doesn’t make me violent.

On Thursday, I will restart group therapy as well. This is a necessity that I sorely needed in Ft. Hood, but never found. Not only do I need the camaraderie that comes with meeting with fellow veterans that have faced similar experiences that I have, but I think it’s the responsibility of survivors to share their stories and methods of success with others still struggling. That is one reason why I’m working on a proposal to develop a new program within the Army that focuses on using survivors to help the struggling. I also refuse to allow certain individuals to affect me emotionally, personally, mentally, or professionally in spite of their best failing efforts.

The bottom line is that progress is again being made. I’m dedicated to getting better and being there for my family. I think the military is doing it right with the programs available in theater to assure this progress for me and so many others. We’ve learned something over the years.

I lost a good friend a week ago. SSG Brian Cowdrey died October 13, 2011, during combat operations in RC-East. Brian was a medic with the 82nd Combat Aviation Brigade. That night he went in to get 2 severely wounded patients, and once they were onboard, he went back out to get one who wasn’t as bad. He didn’t need to, but he did. He was hit by on his way back into the helicopter by the rotor blades as a result of high winds and only enough landing space for the chopper’s two front wheels. All the patients that Brian got that night are still living today. There were only two people who died in that firefight – one being SSG Cowdrey, the other being an American Soldier who had already expired when Brian got there.

The shock was difficult to process. We had just been emailing each other that day and I was waiting on a response to question I had asked him about what he does. We were working on a blog post together about the great work that MEDEVAC troops are doing in Afghanistan in spite of some reports.

Then, I read on his wife, Jill’s, Facebook page confirming rumors that he had died. Here I was in Afghanistan and had no idea this had happened and then the nearly 12 hours of silence from him hit me. The first thing I did was head to my email and shot off an email to Brian:

“Brian, you have to answer this. I think I’m seeing things and I need to answer this. I don’t care what you say or if you send me a blank email. Just reply to this email and let me know you’re ok.”

Nothing. Silence. Outlook just jeered at me in a pathetic lack of activity. Two days later, I was still not convinced. “I know now I’m talking to myself, but I miss you bro,” I wrote in a Facebook message to him. He always responded on Facebook. He didn’t respond this time.

The tears flowed freely and I took a day to myself, not leaving my little 5×5 cell. I slept most of the day because I didn’t want to face the world and have people see me in that state. I use the time to grieve and get all the emotions out.

Initially, I was angry because I had missed Brian when he came through when he first arrived. We were making plans to try and meet up at some point while we were over here, but recognized it wouldn’t be for awhile. We got here at about the same time and things hadn’t settled down after nearly three months. I began calling around to find out if his body was coming through Bagram or Kandahar. If I wasn’t here to welcome him to Afghanistan, I was sure as hell not going to miss him leaving!

I sent emails and made phone calls to my leaders asking for permission to fly to Bagram where the dignified transfer was to take place. I didn’t get any response to any of my messages, but I found out that I had missed him by two hours. Strike two.

I contacted his unit to find out when the memorial would be held. I again tried calling my unit and sent emails asking for permission to fly to Bagram to attend a good friend’s memorial. Nothing.

Strike three. I had failed Brian three times. I was blessed to have a friend I know and trust there with me here waiting to go on leave as I struggled with dealing with those emotions of loss. Though it was late at night, he stayed with me and made sure I was okay. Though he wasn’t in my leadership chain, it’s good to have people you can rely on. He’s one of the good ones and I consider him a friend, but I won’t embarrass him by naming him. He knows who he is and needs to hurry back for a new game of Killer Bunnies.

Instead of succumbing to my anger, I opened my scriptures and read. And it just so happened that the chapter I was reading that day was Jacob 3 in the Book of Mormon. The Lord spoke to me immediately in verse 1 saying, “Look unto God with firmness of mind, and pray unto him with exceeding faith, and he will console you in your afflictions, and he will plead your cause, and send down justice upon those who seek your destruction.”

Now, that last part didn’t necessarily apply at the time, but it would. Because as this was winding down I was dealing with the ignorant actions of others that WERE seeking my destruction. People I never met, never spoke to, and who had no idea who I am were going out of their way to create problems and controversy where none existed based on lies. But, these people actively engaged in seeking to bring me down with misrepresentation and blatantly false allegations.

It gave me the opportunity to witness good and bad leadership at the same time. I won’t get into the specifics of which is which or who the players are, but suffice it to say that hypocrisy reigns in today’s military, but there are also beacons of hope and justice in the darkness.

As affliction after affliction began piling onto my shoulders, my training and therapy began to kick in. I decided to start painting since writing wasn’t helping me. The words were coming out too sharp and I wisely sought the guidance of friends (and my wife) who suggested I not publish my words in my current state.

Kandahar is a rough place to be deployed for a year. The layout of the place is dysfunctional and unorganized. The chaos of the layout and the many people coming and going all over the place is stress enough. Add to it the constant rocket attacks and the chaotic schedule that I seem to be keeping and it’s imperative to find things to keep one’s mind occupied. I just finished a semester that kept me busy in what little free time I had. I was taking two classes with heavy writing requirements.

Anyway, to deal with this chaos, Soldiers find ways to take away the monotony with distractions. On Kandahar, we have what is affectionately known as the Poo Pond. It is a 4-stage, water treatment facility. And it stinks. I guess the best way to describe the smell that permeates most of the base is to imagine a cross between the worst sulphur odor mixed with beer vomit and sickly diarrhea. And that still doesn’t do it justice.

The Poo Pond is sort of an icon here at KAF. You can’t miss it. At some point during the day, the winds ensure that its magnificence is spread equally to all four corners of the post. The only ones spared of its odoriferous wrath are the pilots and crews on the other side of the flight line. So, when given poo the only thing you can do is make poo-aide.

Soldiers and civilians from many different countries periodically decorate the Poo Pond with tongue in cheek signs and accouterments. Here are just a few examples of the creative ways the Poo Pond has been honored:

I had been laying the groundwork for a project of my own, but I decided to kick my plans in to overdrive and get started immediately on making my own mark at the Poo Pond. When it was impossible to find paint around here, a good friend rushed me some really good oil paints and brushes. I went to work sketching a design on some discarded plywood I found. My design had to be creative and different that what had already been done.

“Area Fifty-Poo” came pretty naturally. I was playing Killer Bunnies one day and someone played a card called “Area 51.” “Area Fifty-Poo” was a natural play on words and made me laugh inside. I also modeled my spaceship on this card. My partner in crime sent me a few 4-foot tall, inflatable aliens to go along with the theme and I knew this was going to be fun. For the past week, I worked diligently hand painting the sign. It kept my mind off all the trials and tribulations that fallen upon my shoulders over the past week. And the result, I think, is a work of art.

It’s important for Soldiers to find positive outlets for their angers, frustrations, and feelings of guilt and being let down. It will consume us, eating at us from the inside leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell. I didn’t do this during my last deployment. I allowed things to fester until little things became big, unmanageable things. I still don’t suffer stupidity and flagrant ignorance very well, I think I’m getting better.

I’ve exercised more self-restraint over the past few weeks dealing with morons and their moron zombie squads than at any other time. I’ve controlled my responses and found more private outlets for releasing steam. I’ve relied more heavily on the advice and counsel of friends I trust.

And Brian, I still miss you, bud!

Click on all images for high resolution.

Most people with PTSD try to avoid admitting that they suffer from it. There are those that try and use it to get away with wrongs, but those people are easy to spot and identify. Most Soldiers still wish to serve in spite of PTSD. We refuse to allow the label to define us. I refuse to allow the label to define me.

I started writing about PTSD because I wanted others to learn from my mistakes, the first of which was pretending everything was okay. I never sought out attention, special privileges, or any leeway in my job. I continue to demand that I be treated like everyone else and I have been obliged. Most Soldiers feel that way. We didn’t ask for this unwanted gift. I wanted to express to anyone within earshot what we go through in fighting the battles within. I’m adamant that Soldiers committing crimes should be held accountable regardless of a diagnosis of PTSD – including me! As long as the process is fair and impartial, I will always welcome scrutiny and discipline.

As a trained interrogator, there is way to determine to a great extent the guilt or innocence of someone. It is not a surefire method, but it’s mostly true in almost all cases. Criminal investigators will ask suspects a simple question to which the answer is very telling. Let’s take the case of a hit and run suspect. The investigator may ask, “what do you think should be the punishment for someone that commits a hit and run?” Typically, the innocent will respond with something like, “I think they should be locked up for life and have the key thrown away!” The guilty may say, “well it depends on the circumstances,” or “I think they should be given a warning because [insert excuse].” Let me spell this out easily: if I have committed a crime, throw the book at me!

Thankfully, I’m a very centered person and don’t put much weight behind the opinions of others that don’t know me. Heck, I don’t care much for the opinions of most that DO! I’ve learned not to rely on most people over the years. I recognize and understand that there is a lot of misinformation out there about PTSD, some of it being propagated and disseminated by writers that pretend to understand it. So, I refuse to let those people get to me. Those who know me, know the truth about my abilities, my capabilities, my mental state, my leadership abilities, my competence, my heart, and my motives. I know that my words are being used against me. I fundamentally believe that people can conquer and overcome. Resilience is not just a pretty word on a poster or business card. PTSD is not the end of life as we know it.

I’m not going to recap things I’ve already said, but if new readers to this site REALLY want to understand PTSD, please check out a few blogs I’ve written about my journey over the years. Feel free to read these links in the hopes that you better understand what our troops are dealing with.

http://militarygear.com/asp/2011/07/10/the-demons-of-war-are-persistent/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2010/09/17/when-depression-takes-over/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2010/09/20/when-depression-takes-over-part-ii/
http://militarygear.com/asp/2010/03/05/medicated-into-oblivion/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/12/25/coping-with-the-stigma/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/12/26/dealing-and-coping-part-ii/
http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/10/07/get-your-hands-off-my-ptsd/
http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/09/23/cleaning-out-my-closet/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/09/18/the-power-of-seeking-help/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/08/13/suicide-solution-is-no-solution/
http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/07/29/why-me/
*http://militarygear.com/asp/2009/07/25/inner-resistance-or-dont-forget-the-families/

I’m not afraid of my PTSD. I control it, it doesn’t control me. Don’t feel sorry for me as I don’t want pity. The ones in bold are more highly recommended reading [update: for some reason it's bolding every link, so I just put an asterisk next to the ones I meant to highlight]. I don’t write these posts to puff myself up, secure sympathy, or receive some sort of benefit. If you know someone with PTSD, please share with them to help them get better.

Feel however you wish to feel about me and my PTSD, but do NOT use the same tactics with other troops. The last time a writer pushed a Soldier with PTSD, according to that writer, as hard as he is now, the Soldier felt alone, attacked, helpless, defenseless and committed suicide.

I’m not going to make this post a contentious one in which I succumb to the stereotypes that some nameless “writers” have about PTSD. There are litigious ways to deal with those. PTSD affects everyone differently. I believe there are two types of people with PTSD: those who seek help and those that think everyone else is the problem.

PTSD is not limited to military personnel. People that survive horrible car crashes can suffer from PTSD. The survivors from the 9/11 terrorist attacks probably suffer from it. Someone that is robbed at gunpoint or raped is prone to it. I have no doubt that there is an element of it present at mortuaries where people are constantly subjected to bodies that suffered grizzly and inhumane deaths or are in various stages of decay. In other words, it’s a common reaction by people to a particular stressor in life and people react to it in different ways.

Personally, I fell into the second category for too many years. I refused to admit that there was anything wrong with me. I didn’t recognize immediately that I had become reclusive, bitter, angry, and just downright hard to get along with. The one thing I never became was either violent or criminal. I always found an outlet for my anger, whether in writing, playing games, watching movies, whatever.

While I’m by no means “cured” of PTSD, I’ve learned some very dynamic and specialized coping strategies. Through that process of learning, I’ve openly shared my experiences through the darkness that can embrace people with PTSD. I did so in direct contradiction to what many people recommended. I was told that my PTSD would be used against me because either people didn’t understand or they didn’t WANT to understand. I took the Army at its word and began a very public outreach to both heal myself and hopefully help others suffering.

I’m actually in the process of writing a book about PTSD and my journey to recovery – which I don’t think will ever truly end. Through this process I’ve met and spoken with numerous veterans from various conflicts and wars. It blows me away that some of these guys lived with their pain for 40 years before seeking help! I can’t imagine life like that. Six years was bad enough. I’ve learned a lot of coping skills and activities that have helped. I became an avid shooter and began geocaching. I also turned to writing and helping others Soldiers cope. I helped III Corps with some PSA on suicide prevention.

While I trusted the Army and the government at large to be true to its word, what I didn’t take into account was how biased and ignorant the general populace is about PTSD. Likewise, I was ignorant to the fact that some people would try to use my PTSD against me to achieve their own personal motives. Let’s face it, the only time most Americans hear about PTSD is when someone diagnosed with it kills someone (or a lot of people) or commits some other violent crime. Those are the big stories that become the stereotype of Soldiers with PTSD. In my experience, those Soldiers represent about 1% of the PTSD population, if even that.

If not treated, PTSD makes those that have endured traumatic events more prone to feeling threatened in many situations, even when the feeling of threat is not warranted. Some may act on impulse or go to extremes to protect themselves. They invent threats where none exist. Very simple actions and conversations suddenly become threatening without basis in fact or logic.

There has been no definitive study conducted that links PTSD with criminal behavior. There are many different studies out there, many of which I’ve read. Some of them I’ve even had to purchase. While PTSD does seem to increase the possibility that one will commit crimes, it is not a definite link that deserves such a broad brush painted on those that have it, especially those that have sought to overcome it.

Personally, the only time I ever got in trouble was when I was a kid in Jacksonville, FL, at about 14 years old. I got caught shoplifting deodorant, of all things. I wasn’t charged with anything and ended up agreeing to do 50 hours of community service on the weekends at a creepy city cemetery. I also went through something called the Scared Straight program. This entailed me and a few other kids taking a tour through the county jail. It was a traumatizing event. Being the youngest and smallest kid there, I didn’t feel comfortable with all those inmates pawing at me and asking for time alone. I was definitely scared straight.

It’s sad that when one, semi-influential member of the media uses the PTSD argument to justify claims of threat, malice, violence, or mental incapacity that so many people will so quickly and easily agree to those claims. “He wrote about PTSD, so he MUST be a violent person.” “He has PTSD so shouldn’t be allowed to carry a gun.”

In the movie “Full Metal Jacket,” Gunnery Sergeant Harman, played by the most awesome R. Lee Ermy, gets angry during a barracks inspection after one of the G.I.’s uses a John Wayne impression. I can’t embed the video, so you’ll have to click the link. Be mindful that the video contains a LOT of profanity.

In that clip, GySgt Harman says a bunch of things in response. For one, he asks who “just signed his own death warrant.” Do you think that person REALLY signed their own death warrant? Obviously not, at least not to anyone with common sense. He says he will PT the Marines “until you all die.” Was this a true statement? Again, no. Basic training used to be filled with this kind of over-the-top scare tactics before we became soft and touchy-feely and no one ever had to sign a death warrant or “beat their face.” Finally, Private Joker admits that he is the one that made the impression. Harman then tells him, “You had best unf**k yourself or I will unscrew your head and s#!t down your neck!”

This phrase has been used in many situations throughout our history. Was Ermy’s character REALLY going to take off that Private’s head and defecate down his neck? Of course not. The phrase has been used by Old Man Johnson down the street: “If you damn kids cut through my yard again, I’m gonna come out there and rip off your head and crap down your neck!” It’s obviously urban slang used throughout American society and especially within the military. Now if Jeffrey Dahmer said it, I might take it a little more seriously.

Anyone that actually served in the military understands what this means. It means that what you said or did was disrespectful, wrong, unwarranted, unwanted, unbelievable, etc. and that the another person isn’t very happy about it.

I recently read a story where a supposed “writer” was talking about the death of a Soldier. The unit the “writer” is embedded with has suffered many casualties during their deployment, which ends soon. I have friends in that unit that have expressed disgust with how this “writer” has completely disrespected their last two memorial ceremonies by getting in everyone’s faces and taking photos. While people were talking or grieving, he’d walk around taking photos, the audible “click, click, click” of his camera disrupting the services.

In this piece I read, the “writer” explained in dramatic and gory detail exactly how this Soldier had died – lying face down in the dirt, missing his arms and legs. When asked if he was okay, the Soldier responded affirmatively – either recognizing that he was about to die and didn’t want to worry his fellow troops or not realizing the gravity of his situation due to shock.

I took great disgust in this hit piece on the integrity and honor of this Soldier’s sacrifice being laid out in such gory detail for the world to see. But, it’s not the casual reader I care about. What bothers me is that this young Soldier has a family. He has a mother and father that one day will read this account and realize that their son died a painful and horrible death, face down in the dirt! It’s unconscionable that a responsible “writer” with a supposed military background would publish such details.

I’m not suggesting that family’s should be lied to about how their kids died in combat, but unless they specifically ASK for the details of that death they should be protected from having to suffer it. Many families don’t WANT to know those sorts of details. Yes, they want to know that he died on patrol or during a rocket attack, but not that his brains were splattered across the pavement while trying to gasp for that last breath of air, the way one Soldier died in my arms in Iraq. Most just want to know that he didn’t die in pain surrounded by troops that love him and tried their best to save them.

Naturally, I was angry at this lack of journalistic integrity and discretion. Immediately calling upon phrases and slang I’ve heard my entire life, I mentioned how much I thought the piece was out of line and paraphrased Gunny Sergeant Harman’s words to Private Joker.

In typical fashion, my words were taken out of context and falsely manipulated into a direct threat. The “blogger/journalist/writer/photographer” decided to use his bully pulpit to settle a score that he’s been rabidly trying to settle since I called him out on OPSEC violations years ago. I’ve been through the same song and dance with this individual many times and each time it’s noted for what it is – whining.

Here is the full context of what I wrote after reading the story of that Soldier that died last week. Another person, equally upset over the content of that story had commented that they should share what Yon is writing on the unit’s page. Another individual remarked – wisely – that it would only make matters worse. I responded:

I agree. I have no doubt that his wife or mother read the [unit's Facebook] page. I’m positive they don’t read [said writer], but one day they’re going to do a Google search on their loved one, and that ass monkey of a sorry excuse for flesh and cold blood will come up with that information! I want to rip his head off and piss down his windpipe!

Now, to the casual observer with even an inkling of common sense, ask yourself some questions.

1. Is CJ REALLY going to rip off someone’s head and piss down his windpipe?
2. Is it even POSSIBLE to rip off someone’s head and piss down their windpipe?
3. What actions has CJ committed in the past that give any indication he WOULD do something like that even if he could?
4. Is this is a common expression used to denote an angry attitude and dissatisfaction at someone’s else’s mistakes?

The answers are obvious, especially to someone with a real military background. Nowhere did I say, “I will rip off his head and piss down his throat.” There are a lot of things that I’d like to do or want to do, but never will because they are morally, religiously, legally, or impossibly wrong. So, one can only deduce that the “writer” of those lies is intentionally misleading people by ONLY commenting on a single portion of a full quote. By inventing threats where none exist, the “writer” is easily able to influence an audience that is ignorant and subservient to the whims of anything typed into a status window on a social media site.

To be fair, I’m not entirely innocent in regard to this particular issue. I gave entirely too much credit to the history, background, accomplishment, mental capacity, and reasoning ability of the “writer” and his followers when I wrote that. I neglected to notice that he no longer wanted to be treated like a former SF-qualified Soldier and more like a run of the mil civilian without an inkling of understanding about how the military works. It is possible that someone like that with an ax to grind could PERCEIVE a threat where none exists.

Remember what I said about PTSD earlier? PTSD makes those that have endured traumatic events more prone to feeling threatened in many situations, even when the feeling of threat is not warranted. This “writer” has been embedded with many units and claims to be the longest embedded “writer” in history. So, there is no doubt that he has probably seen some pretty nasty things. I know he has no compunction against sharing them.

It’s quite possible that this individual is suffering from an extreme case of PTSD as well. I wouldn’t be the first to suggest it, that’s for sure. His actions over the past few years have gotten progressively worse and more arrogant. He’s expressed anger and frustration when he didn’t get his way. These are natural reactions to stressors. Feeling the need to be always “on guard” can cause survivors to see threat in normal situations. As a result, they may go to extremes to try to protect themselves. High levels of arousal may result in impulsive, irrational behavior that goes beyond what is needed to address the perceived threat.

But, there is a significant difference between me and this “writer”: I sought help and got it when people noted that I had changed! I’ve learned how to deal with and manage my stress. I no longer need to hide my weaknesses and know where to go when I feel those issues rising up in me. I possess coping mechanisms to deal with those stresses and no longer need to drag other people down with me when I don’t get my way. It’s common for someone with PTSD to project their shortcomings onto others when they are cornered or can’t meet expectations. Keep in mind that no one reached out to me personally to qualify my statement let me know they feel like something I did or said threatened or offended them. I’ve seen privates do this! It’s not difficult. But, I’m always available and easy to contact. The door is always opening to learn what I’ve learned. I’m always willing to share my coping skills with anyone needing them.

Now, to all those that are worried about me as the pressure and stress builds as a result of outlandish claims against me, don’t worry. I’m fine. While I’m not cured of PTSD, I know how to manage these issues. My heartrate hasn’t risen, I’m not nervous, I’m not suffering any increased levels of anxiety. I don’t let people get to me, especially inconsequential ones. I have a mission that I am focused on and I will remain focused. I will not be badgered into killing myself like the last Soldier this “writer” went after obsessively. He probably didn’t have the support network or experience I have and I truly feel sorry for that Soldier. I wish I could have told him that this bully was not worth dying over. I won’t give him the pleasure of driving me to suicide. I won’t give him the pleasure of driving me to homocide. The only thing I like to kill are enemy Taliban and AQ fighters, skunks, raccoons, and coyotes! I’m hoping to enjoy killing at least one deer or hog when I get back too! I also like to kill rumors, especially false ones.

Let me state something matter of fact: PTSD is NOT an excuse to commit crimes. No one with PTSD should be given quarter for serious violent crimes that injure or kill others needlessly. I won’t subscribe to that hooey and I won’t be someone that spreads that myth.

The truth is that most Soldiers with PTSD who commit violent crimes already had criminal backgrounds before their diagnosis. I’ve never been arrested for anything in my life – to include my 14-year old shoplifting experience. I don’t have a criminal background. Before this “journalist” came along, I never had issues with the military either!

My PTSD is NOT the cause of my anger. Writing disgusting accounts of how our Fallen Heroes die to get a few Paypal donations is what causes my anger. When I think of what will be going through the mind of that mother, sister, wife or family member having to read that, I’m physically ill. I’m not saying he doesn’t have the right to write it; I’m saying he should have had better judgment. And the fact that he’s making a living writing such things didn’t sit well with me. It still doesn’t sit well with me. My fault lies in not crafting my disgust and outrage in a manner that wouldn’t be twisted for selfish reasons.

Yes, I still have anger issues, but they are internal. Rarely do they ever manifest outwardly anymore (except to my wife who can read me like a book no matter how hard I try to hide it). NEVER does it manifest itself physically. Never has and it never will. Anyone that tells you I’m a danger to anyone is a liar, a manipulator, and downright ignorant. Everyone that knows me can tell you that, even the ones that know me and don’t like me.

As I said in my response on Twitter to this individual: “You can bend it and twist it; You can misuse and abuse it; But even God cannot change the Truth.” God IS truth and His judgment is all I await. He will not give me any challenge I cannot overcome, “for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.” I believe those words. I live those words.

I also believe these words: “I know my Soldiers and I will always place their needs above my own.” I treat every Soldier as if they’re my Soldier. If I am ruined for trying to protect the dignity and honor of a Fallen Brother and fellow Soldier, I readily accept that result based on my faith and allegiance to my oath. If I am guilty of something, it’s caring too much for their memory.

I have gone through this before – false claims levied against me – and I’ve always gotten through it. Like Rodney Atkins says:

Well I been deep down in that darkness
I been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons
Breathing fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled
I’d fall right into the trap that they were laying, yeah

But the good news
Is there’s angels everywhere out on the street
Holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet
The one’s that you’ve been dragging for so long
You’re on your knees
You might as well be praying
Guess what I’m saying

If your going through hell
Keep on going, don’t slow down
If you’re scared don’t show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you’re there

There are always going to be bumps in the road that slow our progress. The key to navigating them is to drive a 4-wheel life! I’ll get through it. I’m not going to stress over it. I’ve got eight more months left here and a real mission to accomplish. I’ve got Soldiers I need to take care of through near-daily rocket attacks, complex and last minute missions, and sustained operations.

I’m thankful for the friends I made from the last time this “writer” tried this crap. I’m thankful that some of his readers contacted me directly first to understand my side of the situation. Yes, there are ALWAYS two sides to every story. I guess there is always some good that comes out of these attacks and I welcome any new friends after this round.

Now, for the minions out there that need to understand a few legal terms they’re likely to soon encounter because they still don’t get it:

Libel - to publish in print (including pictures), writing or broadcast through radio, television or film, an untruth about another which will do harm to that person or his/her reputation, by tending to bring the target into ridicule, hatred, scorn or contempt of others. It is a tort (civil wrong) making the person or entity (like a newspaper, magazine or political organization) open to a lawsuit for damages by the person who can prove the statement about him/her was a lie. This would include any publication or news agency – including Facebook postings, Big Peace and Fox News – that also publishes the libelous writings.

Defamation - the act of making untrue statements about another which damages his/her reputation. Some statements such as an accusation of having committed a crime, having a feared disease or being unable to perform one’s occupation are called libel per se or slander per se and can more easily lead to large money awards in court and even punitive damage recovery by the person harmed.

Slander - oral defamation, in which someone tells one or more persons an untruth about another, which untruth will harm the reputation of the person defamed. Slander is a civil wrong (tort) and can be the basis for a lawsuit.

With the goal to elevate awareness nationwide surrounding the severity of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and traumatic brain injury (TBI), Wills launched the “Crazy Being Home” website (www.crazybeinghome.com) with the multi-objective to reach out to, encourage and support America’s post-9/11 veterans, assist in raising funds for the PTSD and TBI programs and to serve as a communicative outlet for those who suffer to share their mutual stories.

A number of personal accounts appear as postings on the CrazyBeingHome.com site reinforcing the evident need for a public discussion outlet. Adding a second tier to the Crazy Being Home forum, Wills has added a video contest component, extending invitations to visitors, friends, fans and filmmakers to bring their stories to life in video format to demonstrate their support of our returning soldiers and their families working through the issues of PTSD and TBI.

Wills is encouraging folks to create their own original, visual story (music video) using the campaign theme song “Crazy Being Home” in the background. Entrants will receive a free download of the single and the winning video production will be featured on CrazyBeingHome.com as well as Mark Wills’ website. (See details, rules and regulations at crazybeinghome.com.)

Wills recorded the campaign theme song “Crazy Being Home” (written by Chris Lindsey, Brad Warren, Bret Warren and Robin Lindsey) as a tribute to our brothers and sisters of service. It appears on his new album (LOOKING FOR AMERICA) which was released in June; the cut will be released to country radio in October 2011.

When I began my therapy over two years ago, I had the privilege to be in the company of a few Vietnam Veterans. After trying to cope with my demons for over five years, I couldn’t imagine having to do go it alone for over 40! These guys didn’t have the same resources we have today. Reading his story, tears came to my eyes as I tried to fathom his pain all these years. I hope you enjoy it and share it as much I have in the hopes of helping others. It is now my privilege to share Brother-In-Arms Schade’s piece with you here, exclusively. He is a Marine, Vietnam 1966/67, retired corporate executive and author of the award winning book, Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion.

Some manage the Demons onslaught successfully
Others ignore the stealth domination of their soul
Many consider themselves cowards, should they acknowledge the Demons existence
Countless live in denial and loneliness; protecting a warriors pride
Millions survive in destitution, or find solitude through social disconnection
Sadly. many interweave within these emotional conflicts throughout their lifetime, attempting to fight the Demons’ alone
As the most vulnerable, too often, choose to ‘end’ their lives, tormented by guilt, and forever alone
AW Schade, USMC; Vietnam; 1966/67

Prelude

Forty years have passed since my deployment as a combat Marine in Vietnam. Like many Veterans of war, the ‘Demons’ have persisted to haunt me over a lifetime of tears, altered persona, and secretive fears. The purpose of this story is to help Veterans of all eras recognize, there is no longer a need to fight the ‘Demons of War’ alone. Today, the Veterans Administration and civilian medical communities understand the psychological transformation that haunts Veterans of war. It is no longer a dishonor, nor are you less of a warrior if you seek medical assistance from within or outside the Military.

It has taken me more than two years to complete this personal message. It forced me to muster memories of my past, albeit grudgingly, and glance back through the cloak of shadows I have fought alone for so many years. Therefore, please take a few minutes to read this story — before your future becomes a reflection of mine, and thousands of other Veterans past. For the ‘Demons of War’ will intensify in your mind, and if not confronted early their determination to control your way of thinking will persist throughout your lifetime. Until, they eventually imprison your soul.

‘The Demons of War are Persistent’

Friends and family gather to celebrate another joyful holiday. Nonetheless, encircled in the cheerful atmosphere I am often melancholy, as vivid memories of lost friendships and battlefield carnage randomly seep from the vulnerable partition of my mind; a secret place I concocted decades ago to survive in society. Thoughts I silentlystruggle to keep inaccessible for fear of unleashing the worst of war’s nightmares, which continue to blockade my endeavors to reminisce of the innocence and joy of my adolescence and pre-war past.

Although this story is of one warrior, it pertains to countless more. For entrenched within our spirit, humanity has sought expedient motives to send the young to war; and my pledge to God, Country, and Marine Corps was Forty years ago, or more. At eighteen, like many others, I encountered the timeless stench of death and carnage, in the jungles of Vietnam. But as a young unproven warrior, I consented willingly to the ancient rules of war. Too naive to realize, the twisted ‘Demons’ had already begun a lifelong quest, for the possession of my soul.

My journey began as many others, a bus ride to New York’s legendary Induction Center at 39 White Hall Street. We went through lines of examinations, and stood around for hours. We had no choice but notice one another’s bare asses, before we had the chance to learn each other’s name. Nor did we know so many of us would remain together, building deep-seeded bonds of friendships through Parris Island, Camp Pendleton, Okinawa, to the deadly battles in the theatre of war — Vietnam.

We argued and fought among ourselves, as brothers often do. Yet, we never lost sight of the bonds we had as friends, United States Marines, and the indisputable commitment we lived by, to always ‘cover each other’s back’.

Aware of our destination we partied hard in every port, covering each other’s back in countless bar room brawls. In confidence, we spoke about our hardships, growing-up, family, girlfriends, and future plans. As well, the dreams of going home again and the years of lasting friendships we faithfully agreed to share.

We transferred to a converted WWII aircraft carrier, which carried helicopters not jet planes, to transverse the coast of Vietnam to deploy by helicopter into combat zones from the DMZ, DaNang and the outer fringes of Saigon.

Within sight of land, we heard the roar of artillery and the familiar crackling of small arms fire. We loaded into helicopters to descend into the confrontation. With ambivalence, we assured ourselves that we were young, invincible warriors eager to engage in the battle. Indoctrinated in training, we knew the South Vietnamese people needed us, as we found many of them did. Our mission was to save the lives of the innocent and banish the enemy into Hell.

The helicopters plunged from their soaring formation to hover a few feet off the ground where we nervously leapt, some fell, into the midst of heated battle. The enemy was ready and sprung a deadly assault upon us. I was unaware that was the moment my psyche began to change, as I became engrossed in the shock, fear and ‘adrenaline rush’ of battle.

It was surreal! Nevertheless, not the time to ponder the finality of killing another human being, the sight of friends shot dead, the rationale behind the illusionary ethics of war, or absorbing the inherent fury of men slaughtering one another. Nor, was it time to grapple with the thoughts of Demon seeds being sown.

When the killing ceased and the enemy withdrew, I remained motionless, exhausted from the fighting. With only a moment to think about what occurred, shock, hate and anger surrendered to the gratitude of being alive. However, time was not a luxury. I had to find out which brothers did or did not survive. As I turned to view the combat zone, I witnessed the reality of war; dreams, friendships and plans are fleeting thoughts for combatants.

We knelt beside our brothers, some dead, many wounded and screaming in pain — while a few lay silently dying. As I moved about the carnage, I noticed a lifeless body, face down, and twisted abnormally in jungle debris. I pulled him gently from the tangled lair, unaware of the warrior I had found. Masked in blood and shattered bones, I was overwhelmed with disgust and primal obsession for revenge, as I realized the warrior was my mentor, hero and friend.

I shouted at him, as if he were alive: “Gunny you can’t be dead, you fought in WWII, and Korea. Wake up! Wake up Marine; I need you to fight beside me!” Tears flowed down my face as I held him close and whispered he would not be forgotten. I placed him gently in a “body bag”, and slowly pulled the zipper closed above his face, engulfing him in darkness.

Our extraordinary brothers, Navy Corpsmen, worked frantically to salvage traumatized bodies. We did our best to ease the pain of the wounded, as they prayed to “God Almighty”. “With all my heart I love you man,” I told each friend I encountered. However, some never heard the words I said, nor aware of the survival guilt inside me.

When our mission was completed, we flew by helicopter from the jungle to safety on the ship. Yet, none of us rested; we stayed up most of the night remembering faces and staring at empty bunks of the friends who were not there. I prayed the sun rose slowly to delay the forthcoming ceremony of the dead.

Early the next morning we stood in military formation on the aircraft carrier’s deck; temporarily suppressing my emotions as I stared again upon the dead. Rows of military caskets, identical in design with an American flag meticulously draped over each of them, made it impossible to distinguish which crates encased the closest friends of mine.

As TAPS played tears descended unrestrained upon my face, and for the first time I understood, I did not have the chance to say goodbye. I pledged speechlessly to each of them that they would never be forgotten: A solemn promise I regretfully failed to keep, except through years of nightmares or hallucinations.

Combat is vicious, rest is brief, but destroying the enemy was our mission. We fought our skillful foes in many battles, until they or us, were dead, wounded, or withdrew when overwhelmed.

Engaging enemy troops in formidable battles was horrific. Even so, memories of ‘guerrilla’ warfare in jungles and villages were equally, if not more, agonizing to accept or build psychological boundaries around them.

Nonexistent lines of demarcation, the constant struggle to identify which Vietnamese were friend or foe, and the tormenting acknowledgement that a woman or child might be an enemy combatant that had to be dealt with accordingly, was often overwhelming.

Weary, I was not aware of the progressive change in my demeanor. In time, I thought I adjusted emotionally to contend with the atrocities and finality of war. I acquired the stamina to endure the stench of death, eliminate enemy combatants with little or no remorse, suppress memories of fallen companions, shunned forming new deep-rooted friendships, and struggled to accept the feasibility of a loving Lord.

I fought proudly alongside unacknowledged heroes, and led others into battle. Yet, never detected the nameless demons, embedding themselves inside me.

My tour of duty complete, I packed minimal gear and left the jungle battlefields of Vietnam for America. Never turning to bid farewell or ever again wanting to smell the pungent stench of death and fear. Within seventy-two hours, I was on the street I left fourteen months before; a street untouched by war, poverty, genocide, hunger or fear. I was home — yet, alone. Aged psychologically beyond my 19 years and emotionally confused, I had to adjust immediately, from a slayer, to a so-called civilized man.

Except for family members and several high school friends, returning home from Vietnam was demeaning for most Veterans. There were no bands or cheers of appreciation from the country, so many gave their lives to serve. Instead, many were shunned and ridiculed for fighting in a war that our government assured us was a crucial and honorable cause.

As well, family, friends and often myself, never truly understood the changes that transformed me in fourteen months from a teenage boy, to a battle hardened man.

I was not able to engage in trivial conversations; nor, take part in adolescent games many friends still played. For them, life did not change and the realism of struggle was a job, or the unbearable pressures of college. It did not take long to realize they would never understand, there is no comparison between homework, and carrying a dead or dying man.

The media played their bias games, downgrading the military and never illuminating the thousands of Vietnamese saved from mass execution, rape, torture, or other atrocities of a brutal Northern regime. Nor, did they highlight the stories of American ‘heroes’ who gave their lives, shattered bodies and emotional self-sufficiency to save innocent people caught in the clutches of a controversial war.

For years, my transition back to society was unclear, as I struggled against unknown Demons and perplexing social fears. I abandoned searching for surviving comrades or engaging in conversations of Vietnam. Moreover, I fought alone to manage recurring nightmares, in a cerebral chamber I code-named — “Do not open, horrors, chaos and lost friends from Vietnam.”

However, suppressing dark memories is often not to be. As random sounds, smells, or even words unleash nightmares, depression and seepage of the bitterness, I still fight to keep locked inside me.

Today, my youth has long since passed me by and middle age is drifting progressively behind. Still, unwelcome metaphors and echoes of lost souls seep through the decomposing barrier I fabricated in my mind, so many years ago. Vivid memories of old friends, death, guilt and anger sporadically persevere.

No end, no resolution, nor limitations to a time, demon voices that began as whispers, have intensified over decades in my mind. “Help me buddy!” I still hear them scream, as nightmares joust me from my slumber. I wake and shout, “I’m here! I’m here my friend”, and once more envision their ghostly, blood soaked bodies.

Even today, I wonder if more Marines would be alive, had I fought more fiercely to reach them, before so many of them died. “I had to kill!” I tell myself, as visions of lost friends and foe hauntingly reappear at inappropriate times. Guilt consumes my consciousness as I question why I had, and they did not survive. More dreadful, however, is the conflicting torment I feel when I acknowledge to myself – I am thankful it was others, and not I.

This story has one purpose, to extend a helping hand. Regardless of the war you fought, your memories are similar to mine, and mine to yours. I never recognized how suddenly the demons had matured. Disguised and deep-rooted, I assumed anxiety, loneliness, depression, alcohol abuse, nightmares and suicidal thoughts, were traits that haunted every man.

To all past and current warriors, I rise and applaud your valiant stand. Nonetheless, to control War’s Demons takes time, and the battle is much harder should you challenge them alone.

So do not wait to seek medical assistance, as older Veterans had to do. For far too many warriors were less fortunate than me, and even you. PTSD is real my friends, and easily recognizable. Yet, if not confronted in early, can ruin relationships with your spouse, children, family, and career.

Remember, you will always be warriors and heroes to us all. But many will be overpowered by the demons’, and lose ownership of their soul!”

It is up to you to win this battle, as I know many of you will. Only this time family, friends, VA, outside professionals, or peer groups ‘will have your back’!