Not in a good space

In five days I will "celebrate" the 26th anniversary of the Embassy Annex bombing in Beirut. The day my life was literally and figuratively turned upside down.  The fun has already begun; the increased anxiety, the vivid recalls, nightmares, edginess, anger, sadness, tightness in the chest, jitters, and the ever present survivor's guilt.
All this and I still have five days to go. There's not enough drugs or booze in the world to stop this shit!!! The healing has to come from somewhere else. That is what's driving me, there has to be a better way, I know there is, and we are trying to put it together. But what really sucks is the shame I feel about all of this. The inability to tell friends and family about the inner torment because they will think I am crazy. I mean after all it's been 26 years, get over it!!!
I am so tired of the shame this brings, if I had been blinded by the blast, or lost a limp or two there would be no shame cast upon me, no doubt cast upon on my condition. Instead people could "see" what I had given for this country. Yet because my scars are internal, many not yet healed, my sacrifices are somehow questioned. My own neighbor this evening was talking to me, he knows of my situation, my service and my current circumstances. He was kind enough to ask how everything was going, and I told him I was holding my own at the moment. His reply "because from the outside it looks like you are doing fine, and we're just wondering if you are gold digging"! Gold digging, what the fuck..for what the scraps of money the VA may someday pay me, if and when they ever get around to reviewing my file. It took 2 1/2 years for them to settle my first claim, and it has now been 5 months since I filed again and I do not have an appointment with them for another month and half. Oh yeah I am gold digging because I love living the way I live. I love shaking, nightmares, flashbacks, having a back that barely allows me to lift my three and five year old children, having lapses in memory that have begun to rob me of days spent with my family and so much more shit. Would he ever had said that if I were missing a leg, or arm? No.. I do not want his or anyone elses sympathy, I served, I fought, I bled, I am damn proud of all that I have done on behalf of this country, I do not want your sympathy, I want understanding and respect. I want to be treated fairly and justly. I do not think that is too much to ask. Do not speak out of ignorance, instead ask questions out of curiosity, I will answer them, I want to educate any and all that which to be so; but if you wish to remain ignorant and propel stereo-types forward, do us all a favor, sign up for a tour in a combat zone, spend a moment in the shit, then come back and open your mouth and if your not willing to do that simply shut-up.
Sorry tonight was more of a rant than anything else. I am burning out a bit. Ever once in a while I look at numbers and see how slowly our efforts are moving forward and it frustrates the hell out of me. What we are doing is RIGHT, yet to get it done you have to jump through so many bureaucratic hoops, red tape, and dole out some serious ass cash, and that is even before you can help anyone.
Everyday when I type on this blog I realize on average at least 18 veterans have killed themselves. And I think if 18 were successful, how many tried and failed? How many had a plan and pulled back at the last moment? How many thought about it?  And I wonder how many of them will succeed in the next 24 hours.
And I all do is keep typing on this blog, waiting and hoping for paperwork to come through, money to fall from the sky that will finally allow us to get out into the communities where these vets are and show them there is a better way....May God give me strength because sometimes I feel pretty damn weak. (and yes that is a very hard statement for a proud warrior to make, but you know what, it is true for EVERY one of us)!!

Look in the Mirror; Is it Time

So what happened after 23 years of "sucking it up", more aptly put as suffering in silence, but the other way just sounds more manly and warrior like, that made me seek help. Simply put I wanted the life I always dreamed of, and was tired of self sabotaging every good thing that had ever happened to me, yet always managed to find a way to blame some one or some thing else for it. That and a good swift, well intended, kick in the ass from my wife.
At the time I had a two year old and number two was due any moment. I had been in one spot, holding down the same job(s), and with the same woman for longer then I ever had since leaving the Corps. I was a husband, a father (of almost two), living in a nice home in suburbia, teaching at a private school, and being a cop in my "spare" time. On the outside I was the warrior I had once been, tough, no nonsense kind of guy. My students knew where the line in the sand was and they never dared cross it. I always walked tall and loved the fact that I was a Marine, a combat veteran, a purple heart recipient. At home I was like superman (without the tights and cape, I do have some pride left) I could do it all, King of the Castle on speed. I was always revved up, even though I was easily consuming large quantities of alcohol every night, each night needing a bit more to mellow me out.
There was no where for me to hide anymore. No where for me to just crumble and become a puddle on the floor. I often yearned to be alone, to have no responsibilities, no wife, no child(ren), so I could go live in the world that Thoreau used to so eloquently describe; just me in the woods living on my own terms. So with the picture "perfect" life being ever so present for my facade, it became even more difficult to to admit that on the inside I was slowly dying. The best way I could manage to describe when I finally went to see my doctor was that I felt I was living a lie. That on the outside I was living the American dream, and on the inside I was living a nightmare.
Soon it was inevitable the the two "lives" would collide. I was frantic, I was dealing with hormone driven teenagers at school all day, and then came home to the "why" stage of a two year old. All well preparing for parenthood take two! The crying, the high pitched shrills and shrieks of one child was driving me to the brink, now I was facing number two and was not sure my insides could handle it. To me the crying and high pitch sounds were not the sounds of the child(ren) that I loved, but of the injured and dying that were calling out some 23 years ago. Early on with my first child, she was sleeping in bed with us, I was having a nightmare (more on those later) and managed to fall out of bed. The noise woke my wife and scared my little daughter who began to cry; I was still in my nightmare/flashback mode and the crying was piercing every fiber of my being, I started to yell at my daughter to shut-up (though not really at her per se but at the sound in my head) which prompted my wife to become upset, and there I am the "warrior" standing in my sweat soaked shirt and boxers screaming into the darkness at the two most precious people in my life; it was time to look in the mirror and ask the question, is this who I want to be? With the answer being "NO" I set out on the journey to figure out why I felt crazy. Was I really crazy? Why after so many years could I still be living the nightmares of bombings, bodies, beatings, snipers, artillery? Was I weaker than those I served with? Was I not the warrior I so proudly held myself out to be? Was I not "man" enough to have the life I always dreamed of having? How could I have been man enough to do all the things I had done, to survive, to come home and not be able to handle the "easy" life? These and many more questions plagued the reflection looking back at me that morning. I was tired of being tired. the energy I put into this dual existence of maintaining a beautiful facade, as the interior continued to crumble had exhausted me. It was time to put my energy and effort into defeating this thing within me, before it defeated me.
In short it was time to be the proud warrior I once was, and still professed to be. It was time to be honest. And don't we know the truth can hurt.
For those that made it to the end of this ramble session, thank you for you time. For those facing circumstances and questions I described above and think I can help, reach out, I will. It is a long journey, but one well worth taking, especially with other warriors walking beside you.

Not Politics, But Purpose

I guess this is what we "bloggers" do we basically type to ourselves..Interesting concept!! When I first started down this path I wanted to make sure my views of the data I was looking at, or that the sources I sought out were not skewed by my political opinion, or of that of anyone elses. As the famous saying goes 'just the facts Ma'am". I am dating myself here, but nothing wrong with being finely aged!! I consider myself political astute, active and a self-described news junkie.
With that being said the issue of treating veterans correctly is not a Demorcratic or Republican issue, it is not a right, left, or somewhere inbetweeen issue, it is simply the just thing to do. No one party can claim a right to us as a group, nor should we allow them to. Where I, or any of us, fall on the political spectrum should not have any bearing on this issue. That is why Jarhead-Pinhead will remain free of any political influence or endorsements. If you support us, it is because you believe in the work we are and will be doing, and that all veterans deserve to be treated fairly by the citizens they so proudly, honorably, and bravely serve on behalf of.
I have five whole followers...and one is the Pinhead part of Jarhead-Pinhead, one is my self appointed editor, thanks SW, and the other three are people I know with good solid hearts that are following this for all the right reasons. We are rolling now, slowly, but hey it's a start and I know as we roll on together we will grow into the force needed to forge a New Way Forward and Change the Face of PTSD forever.

Boring, well no not really!!!

A friend just sent me a message and asked when I was going to post something personal so that others may follow suit? Yeah like I have ever blogged before! This is the first time in my life I have felt passionate enough about anything to lead a charge for change. There is a saying out there "from our wounds, comes our calling". I hear the calling; the echos of warriors from past conflicts as decades later they yell out from their sleep reliving images burned into their brains. I hear the screams of today's protectors as they struggle to figure out why they survived being at war, yet the battles still rage within their minds.
I am blogging when I really do not know how. I am writing for grants when I have never done so. I am facebooking, tweetering and linking all in the hopes of changing the lives of those that fought before me, with me, that are fighting today, and for those who will fight long after my generation is gone to keep this country free, safe, and great.
Why do all this? Because I am one of those warriors who ran around for years thinking I was crazy, and anytime I spoke with someone who was suppose to be an "expert" they seemed to merely confirm it without ever really asking me, about me. So for over two decades I buried myself, and isolated myself, in school, in work, in the bottle. I lived a dual life; the one the public saw, my "friends" saw, my family saw, and the one that raged inside me. Until three years ago, when I decided to fight the beast known as "PTSD" as hard as it had been fighting me for over 20 years.
It has been since that time that I have studied the beast, like any good warrior would study his enemy, and I have found that in the 30 years of having and official name, what was once known by many different names, yet never really understood by many, was still not really understood even though it had been given an "official" name of "PTSD".
I do not know all the answers, I just know that much of what is out there now is not right. I know what I am doing is right, as I do indeed hear the calling. And using whatever means I know, and obviously many I do not know, I will find a way to continue defeating my own enemy within, and help others who have suffered much longer than I, and others so they do not have to suffer as long.
Well that was a bit personal and I hope others feel free to respond with their own stories, help is here, reach out! And if you do not need help, but can help I am reaching out to you!!!

Why BASIC

“PTSD” is a natural reaction to war, and to other traumatic events. It is not a mental disorder but a natural biological response to preserve life. It is the body’s “survival alarm” sounding when danger is present. This alarm system is integral to the body’s oldest brain. Our brain is actually three brains in one: the oldest being the reptilian or survival brain, the next being the mammalian or emotional brain, and the newest being the cerebral cortex or thinking brain. In combat the survival brain keeps us alert and engaged in a very dangerous environment. Combat training calls upon the primitive controlled rage and terror, and the instinct to survive, of our survival brain. Upon returning from combat and back into civilian society, the warrior is expected to switch off the instincts that have kept them alive and return to navigating civilian life without the survival brain on high alert. Once in the civilian world, the very actions that kept them alive in combat---hyper-vigilance, darting eyes, back always covered, emotional numbing, access to primitive controlled rage for killing are now deemed being “crazy”. The warrior no longer fits in, and cannot simply switch off what has now become instinctual. They are not mentally ill, they are wounded; they have sustained a battlefield psychological injury to the survival brain. The body’s alarm is now set way too sensitively and needs to be reset. In the meantime it is paramount that we do not label these brave warriors as mentally ill. How can we call the very actions that kept them alive, and are often praised and rewarded in a combat zone, a mental illness back in society? This is why we have chosen to rename and redefine “PTSD“. We believe the term Brain Alarm Stuck on Is Crazy-feeling (BASIC), is a much more accurate description of what the veteran is suffering from, not a mental disorder.

Why PTSD

 We are all just one step away from what is currently called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. The hyper-vigilance (having your brain’s alarm on high alert continuously), flashbacks (daytime picture memories, played like a movie while you’re awake), nightmares, emotional numbing, terror and/or rage provoked by the small everyday events of life, all of this is what PTSD is. For as long as man has fought wars, and cataclysmic events have unfolded around the globe there has been PTSD. In the military arena it has been called many things-soldiers heart, battle fatigue, shell shock, to name just a few. It was not until 1980 that it became officially recognized by the American Psychiatric Association (APA), given the name PTSD, and defined as a mental disorder. This came about mainly because of the large number of Vietnam veterans who had returned and were being diagnosed with “Post-Vietnam Syndrome”. In order for these men and women to receive treatment an official diagnosis was needed, and PTSD was born. Since that time, research into PTSD has ebbed and flowed depending on politics and the status of our military---whether actively engaged or not; now that the war on terror has produced millions of new combat veterans, PTSD has taken center stage. And we see that not much has been learned in the 30 years since its "official" name was born.

 The current medical model of PTSD comes mainly from the American Psychiatric Association (APA) definition of PTSD as an Anxiety Disorder. Under this classification a subject with PTSD must be diagnosed with a mental disorder in order to receive treatment and services. This, of course, is a high hurdle for young warriors to overcome. If one is to believe this model, they must agree that we send thousands of young, mentally healthy, physically fit, highly trained, military personnel into combat zones around the world, and that conservatively 25-45% comes back with a mental disorder!

Suicides

Using Department of Defense and Veterans Adminstration's own numbers apprx. 20%, or 18 verterans a day commit suicide. There are two things I believe about this. 1) The numbers are low, basically because of the number of veterans that fall off the radar once leaving the service, and it is important to note that this number does NOT include active duty suicides, which are at a record high level. 2) Most veterans' suicides are directly linked to their combat experience. The fighting on the battlefield may have ended long ago, but the battle within their minds rages on for years, often in silence due to the shame they feel as having to be labled as mentally ill in order to be treated. These men and women served proudly for this country and deserved to be understood and cared for by the people they fought to protect.