PTSD cont.

So here we go, Combat PTSD. First, what exactly is Combat PTSD? Well, combat PTSD is just what it sounds like, a classification of PTSD derived from a soldier’s time on the battlefield in which that soldier undergoes stressors that change who and what he or she is. Within this scope, there are said to be 5 likely issues: 1) Heightened anger and aggression response  2) Heightened startle response  3) Heightened alertness  4) Alcohol and/or cigarettes used for coping  5)relationship abuse / issues – emotional and/or physical. So there you have it. Does any of this sound familiar? Sure it does. Nice this is all well and good, such a nice, flowery definition. But what does it really mean to us> One word, HELL. Yes, Combat PTSD is hell for those of us who are graced with its presence. For the families who are graced to be with a soldier who is graced with PTSD. But oftentimes, our real enemy is ourselves. Yes, you read correctly fellow soldiers, WE are our biggest enemy. Why, because sometimes we are too bullheaded to ask for help, to explain what we are going through, who we are now. So for a few minutes, let me be the voice for some of you, and maybe we can start to break the cycle. Anyone who does not understand PYSD, or is a little confused, or is right in the forefront of it, here is the skinny, and it ain’t pretty. Imagine you’re laying in your bunk on a quiet, hot night, You can’t sleep because of the heat, the flies and the stench of the latrines 100 yards away. You turn to your buddy, who has just gotten back from his turn at guard duty and make small talk. All is well. Finally you fall into a light sleep. You’re dreaming of being home, going to the store, talking to family and friends, your old life. Then the funniest thing happens in your dream. You best friend opens his mouth to speak and all that comes out is a high pitched whining sound. What the-? Then the concussion hits and the ground shakes. Dirt and underbrush hits the side of your tent and you sit upright, your heart in your chest. You’re terrified, but also your pumped. You grab your gear and throw it on while moving out of your tent to your planned out safe place. After a while, all is well again. Then next night you’re eating chow with buddies, talking about shop stuff, small talk. Smoking a cigar or cigarette, and again, a concussion, then gunfire. Here we go again, instant rush. But later you find out something that is so terrifying, so wrong, that you can’t even fathom it. Lives were lost, four or five, but those lives were taken by an American soldier who tossed a grenade into his chain of commands tent, then opened fire. Now the enemy is from within. Who can you trust now? You’re driving through a town looking at burned out vehicles with bodies still in them and you can’t help but think that you’re breathing in the ashes of a person, which makes you cough and gag. You’re flying home on a Blackhawk and see a body lying on the ground a few hundred meters from your base, only to find out that who you saw was a friend of yours who committed suicide, but things are a bit fishy. Now imagine coming home, flying back on a plane, waiting to get back to your old life, only to learn that your old life is no longer there, it will never be there, ever. At first it’s because they are different, they don’t understand you, they don’t understand your sense of humor. You’re foreign to them. It’s their fault. But then one day you wake up alone, utterly alone, laying beside your spouse. You’re alone because you realize that the issue isn’t them, it’s you. You miss that smell, that rush, that high, and it revolts you. You’re a monster, a freak. How can you seriously want to do those things again? You struggle with it silently, of course silently. You don’t want ANYONE to understand what kind of monster you are. You start getting angry for no reason. You start pushing people away. Then you get angry with them when you succeed in pushing them away. Why can’t they just understand? Why can’t they just deal with it? It’s so hard to act normal, having two faces. One that is calm on the outside, calm and loving, while the other on the inside is a stark raving loony who just wants to storm around breaking everything in sight. Then the nightmares come. You start seeing bruises on your spouse and when you ask what happened, they say that you were wild in your sleep. Great, now your causing physical pain. Then you start thirsting for that old high, that rush. Maybe you drive fast, maybe you look outside the marriage, but it isn’t the end result that you want, the end result means that the high is over, it’s the feeling you get while you are doing the actions. Life holds very little meaning now except for PTSD. PTSD stops being a byproduct and start being you. You have lost your identity to PTSD. One night you decide you’ve had enough. You’ve lost it all. But there is one more thing that you have that you can control. So you go to your drawer and grab your gun…… This is a worst case scenario, some of it true, some of it fabricated, but for some people, this was the real deal. This was exactly what happened. Unfortunately, those of us with PTSD ultimately cause our own problems. We don’t understand why, or how to stop, and we need help, but we don’t ask for it. Yes, it would be so much easier for all involved if we just opened up and said Help Me, but we can’t. That means that we have lost control, and control is all we feel we have. We are angry and sometimes mean, usually alert and sometimes cocky, sad and sometimes misunderstood, but in the end, we are broken, and we just want to be fixed.

Next up, PTSD from the Spouses Point of View