PTSD, Organizing the Chaos

Where did this all begin, why did I choose to write? Sometime back in 2017 I was stationed in Hawaii. Hawaii, yes, a wonderful place for peace and happiness, Aloha. It was a couple of years since my last combat deployment. I was stationed in Hawaii with the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA). The DPAA “Provides the fullest possible accounting for our missing personnel from past conflicts to their families and the nation”. Basically, I lead or managed small teams throughout South East Asia searching for and recovering the remains of our missing service members from past conflicts, specifically World War II and Vietnam wars. This travel brought me to places such as Vietnam, Laos, and Papua New Guinea. These travels were in very remote locations. I would go on missions for about 30-45 days at a time with about 2-3 months of down time in between. Why is this important? I will tell you. This was completely different then my usual mission or my usual day in the military. Prior to Hawaii I was nonstop, 12-15 hours days 5-7 days a week. If it was training it was deployments. This means over that period of time I believe my brain didn’t really have the time to process anything from the past. I was always thinking forward. Always thinking about what’s next, what is on the agenda. Planning for bad ass training in the future for my Soldiers. Ok enough of that, let me get off my bad ass Non-Commissioned Officer kick, I’m sure well talk more about that in the future. So, now I’m in Hawaii, living the dream. Snorkeling and Hiking is now about 75% of my life. When I wasn’t digging or managing an excavation site, I guess my brain began to think, it began to process things from the past. Now of course, I am absolutely not an expert on PTSD or how the brain works, I’m simply forming opinions and theories.

How it began

I was on a run one morning with a good friend of mine. If he reads this, I am pretty sure he will know exactly who he is. During this old man run, because we were broken and old by now, we were able to talk. Back in the day I would never be able to run and talk at the same time but, eventually you get old. Not sure exactly what we were discussing but at some point, he stopped me and asked if I ever sought out help. I wasn’t really sure what he was talking about but he came straight out and said I had some serious issues and probably some PTSD and should seek some help. I thought about it and eventually agreed. I was soon to retire in a couple of years and really had nothing to lose, at this point in my career I didn’t really care what people thought and I obviously had the time to take care of myself. I made an appointment to go to behavioral health and get an assessment.

The clinic, first impressions last forever

When I arrived at the clinic, I was more nervous than I ever was in my life but decided it might be worth it. Was it a horrible experience? You bet it was. I was greeted by an awesome lower enlisted aid and he treated me with much respect, not only for my rank but as a person. I then had to go into a conference room. Here I was met by a Major, who was the clinics Officer in Charge and two others who didn’t say anything to me. Instantly this man pounded me with questions. I felt as if I was in my first promotion board. He asked direct questions such as do you want a Psychologist or a Social Worker? I had no idea what I wanted, I asked what the difference was. His reply was, one gives medication the other does not. Do you want medication? My response instantly got hostile towards him. Medication? What the F**k do I need medication for? He said so why are you here? I replied with a bunch of anger, I have no idea. My friend told me to come here because I need help, and well, I’m here to see if I need help. After this encounter with this POG, a term used to talk about non-combat Soldiers I was directed back to the waiting area. I was able to kind of calm down a little. I was then called into the officer of a Social Worker. I won’t mention her name but, she was awesome. We talked, something that is definitely not something I wanted or choose to do, but she had a way of getting it out of me. She obviously determined I have severe PTSD. She asked me to do a homework assignment. She wanted me to write about one of my thoughts and bring it to her. I was interested, so was she. My brain works in a way that was something she hasn’t really seen before. Let me explain.

My mind is like a 24hr news station

We all watch the news stations; you know that little scrolling text on the bottom of the screen that tells you the current news highlights? Well that is what goes through my head. I’m not sure if this is just me or if others experience this so please, if so, comment and let me know. Its rather interesting. Bit and pieces of movies, basically scenes scroll through my head. I could be focused and talking to you but at the same time these scenes continuously scroll past my eyes. I can almost reach out and touch them. Here is the weird part. As we were discussing this she was asking if I could slow them down. Turns out I can. Its almost like something out of the Matrix. Let’s pretend you have a huge 90’ touch screen tv in front of you. You have 100 pictures displayed on this screen. Now pretend that you can touch these pictures and move them around the screen, re-organizing them as you feel fit. Slowly, fast, it doesn’t matter the screen can handle it. You can throw them to the side and it appears on the other side, just like windows do. Crazy right. Now pretend that screen doesn’t exist and these pictures are just floating in front of you, scrolling at a high rate of speed. I found that I have the ability to focus and slow down this scrolling. I can even take a scene, move it over to the side and focus on it while the rest continue to scroll and I can do this over and over again, taking these scenes and placing them where ever I choose. Nuts, right? Absolutely. Now imagine the Chaos that is going on in my head. We determined that if I could slow down the scrolling of these scenes then hopefully, I could control them and focus better. Well get more into this in the future.

Homework assignment

She asked me to do a homework assignment. She asked me to write. Write a few sentences about one of those scenes. She was intrigued with how my brain was working, and to be honest, so was I. I went home and wrote. I wrote about a specific scene that had to do with an attack while stationed in Kabul, Afghanistan. We will definitely cover these more in the future. Words turned into sentences, sentences turned into paragraphs, and paragraphs turned into pages. As I began to write the chaos in my had didn’t go away, but was somewhat controlled. For those in the industry, we all know controlled chaos is ok. When I returned a week later, I gave her my writing. I don’t think she expected so much. I could not help it. The level of detail in my head was so fine. While writing not only did I remember locations, events, timelines, but even smells, tastes, sounds, words. It was almost as if I was still there. Actually, it was more detailed then my reports that were written directly afterwards. I found that writing might not be my cure, but definitely helps me understand what is going on in my head. It also helped me understand that I’m not crazy, I just seriously was involved in some serious, emotional stuff.

Survival begins

I began to write. I was planning on writing a book but I’m not really good at that. To many words, to many thoughts, to much to organize, plus, where would it end? Finally, now, I have decided to release these writings and of course continue to write with the goal and hopes to better understand not only PTSD but, what is going on in my head. Hopefully others will share their stories and what they go through and how they cope. Chances are what I am experiencing is similar to others and together we can figure this crap out and kick PTSD in the ass. I know one thing for sure, we can’t do this alone. I’ve learned this over the years. I have many friends who either directly or indirectly killed themselves due to PTSD. Some were reckless driving, some were alcoholics or drug users, but one thing they all had in common, whether they knew it or not, they all had PTSD and they all had families. I will not do that to my family, I will not leave them behind wondering why, or what they could have done differently. I will continue fighting because that’s what it is, it’s a fight.