Caregivers and service dogs

I am lucky enough to have a caregiver in my life. She is there to take the brunt of my PTSD symptoms and tell me it is going to be OK. She is also my SO, she does what she can for me. She cooks, she cleans, she makes sure to yell at me when I forget to take my meds, or when I forget to text her that I made it to work. She takes care of the things I tend to forget about. She doesn't support me financially, she supports me emotionally.

She is there to remind me that even though I have seen some stuff, that not everyone else has. This may seem like a small thing, but I assure you it is not. If you have read my previous posts then you know how all this started. If you haven't let me catch you up.

All of this started with American Sniper, the movie. It triggered a huge episode, and I was a complete @55 hole to the people in the theater, all because they clapped. I thought I was maintaining through the film, but when the credits rolled, and the audience clapped, I lost it. I had a break down that night, and all of the my PTSD demons were released. I was unable to speak, I was unable to do anything I just remember shaking a lot, crying, and my SO/Caregiver handing me my service dog and taking charge. Calming me down, and since she saw that I was unable to talk about it she made me promise to write about it.

Flash forward to today.

So now I have this awesome little service dog, that comes and checks on me every 5 mins whenever I am writing and sleeps right next to me until I pass out. I have an AMAZING caregiver that makes sure I am OK, and handles the stuff she loves and makes my life easier. But it isn't just about cooking and cleaning. She is always on me, in a good way, to make sure that I am not going down the road I was going down before we met. She is there to easy the frustrations I have with life. A lot of the things in modern society I just don't get. I won't go into them, cause then I'll get distracted and go on a rant again. She handles all the stuff I would not do if I were on my own. I wouldn't cook, I love to cook, but if I were alone, or in charge of that I'd get pizza. or sushi every night. Cleaning, well not gonna lie on that one, I have never been good at that. I tried to use the swiffer thing the other day and some how made a bigger mess. She laughed it off and told me to go write.

Anywho...

We met shortly after I tried to kill myself for the 3rd time.

There is always a high after trying to kill myself, no a high like you feel from a drug, or an emotion. More of a high like, things seems to make sense and work out for me. After my third failed attempt, I was urged to get help by family members, and I did. I felt I had to, I was almost ashamed to the point of depression that I had failed. I felt I had to get help to try and redeem my failure. But I got help, I got on medication, that is working wonders for me. I got the help I needed, and I did what everyone was doing I swept it under the rug, and carried on. I was broken inside, like an engine with a cracked block, running on no oil. I was maintaining, and I was feeling like things were working out.

But I wasn't getting better, I was maintaining, yes. I was fighting a fight I had ignored for so long that I forgot that it was even something you do. My PTSD was attacking me and I was losing. I would put the smile on, and I would tell everyone I was good, but I was and always will be a terrible liar.

When I say this I am being honest and truthful, PTSD was taking me down that road once again. I was thinking and plotting, and planning my own death. All just to make it end, to make the nonsense of life disappear.

Over time, I got more help, and more help. I told others what I had done, and they told me what they had done. Together we realized that we weren't alone. I talk with my best friends everyday now. People I have been to war with, people who I would go to war for, and people who I wish I would have gone to war with. People with PTSD, just like me, people who are fighting the same fight I am.

PEOPLE. Human beings that have been where I have, or are where I used to be.

Now I am not a social butterfly. I am the guy that will go to party, or dinner party, and have to take a nap half way through because social gatherings are exhausting for me. I work 8 hours a day, and commute 4 hours a day, I am up from 4 am to 9 pm. I don't need naps. But if you stick me in a social situation I am done for, expect me to disappear cause I will.

But since my service dog, "B" (yes that is her name), and my social butterfly SO/Caregiver have helped me, I have recovered. There are still days when the thought of suicide graces the darker corners of my thoughts. But I am now able to fight the battle that rages within, without having to remember the water bill is due, or that the dog needs to be fed. Because of my support system, I am able to write, heal, work, and live. My Caregiver does not give me care, she does not take care of me. She gives me the ability to find the hope in life, and chose to live life.

I know it sounds crazy that paying bills or remembering to feed another animal is hard. I know it does. But when half your mind is stuck reliving terrible events 24 hours a day 7 days a week, night and day, awake and asleep. Some how that stuff slips by, BUT when you have a caregiver, or a support system that says "hey, I got dinner, just go take a moment to collect your thoughts, and remember to pay the water bill." HOLY SNOT ROCKETS! That right there, that is a breath of fresh air. Because I still, after almost 10 years can not fight this battle and make mac n cheese.

I can't.

I am a fully grown man, I have a career, I have hobbies, I have responsibilities. But if my mind is taking a trip down PTSD blvd, that is what I am doing. That is all I can do. My caregiver makes sure I don't forget that there is a here and now. My service dog brings me back to the here and now.

Thank you to everyone who helps and supports those with PTSD, we are trying, I swear to you we are. We just can't find our way back all the time. Be that anchor for us, and I promise you, you will see how strong we can be. Remind us to take a moment, come back home, and we will fight for that home til we have nothing left.

Thank you to everyone that has given me hope in his fight. Thank you to all my brothers and sisters in uniform for going down that road.

Until Valhalla, brothers and sisters, until Valhalla.