Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Another friends post, home coming.

I live with two companions who sit on my left and right shoulder and whisper into my ear. One is named delusional while the other one is named rational. Delusional tries to convince me that I am still in a war zone while rational tells me that everything is okay and that I am safe at home. Though I tend to listen to rational more often, my quest is to silence delusional. I feel delusional’ s voice is getting weaker and growing more silent everyday while rational is growing in strength. I take comfort in locked doors and handguns for protection. I live with a heightened sense of awareness that I cannot control. In restaurants or crowded areas, I can feel the eyeballs staring at me as if laser beams are burning my forehead when I am being watched by someone. I sometimes cannot concentrate on conversations in restaurants and have to move to another booth. I am aware of all the vehicles around me when I am driving. I avoid those who drive recklessly and pay particular attention to those who tail me for an extended period of time. Rational tells me that everything is okay but delusional is always in my subconscious, whispering and lurking in the library of my mind.
Shortly after we arrived back in the United States, I said goodbye to my weapon which stayed with me throughout the deployment.  In my mind, my weapon represented my security. My weapon was something that could keep me alive to see my wife again. Throughout my time in Iraq, I stayed on guard and prepared my mind for anything that could go wrong. I knew where all the exits were and kept a keen eye on the friendly Iraqis around me. Our enemies hid among the good people of Iraq so we could not put our trust in anyone. I planned out in my head what I would do in all sorts of scenarios. Even in my bed at night I would think of what I would do if something went wrong. My weapon was always at an arm’s reach.  
The big day had arrived. We were returning home to the lives we left behind. In my mind, everything was normal and we were going to pick up the pieces where we left off. I didn’t think that I was any different than when I left and hoped that I could continue living my life the way I left it. I flew home in my uniform and met my family at the airport. Coming home was a surreal experience. I felt like it wasn’t real. The food that I desired and the people I missed were right in front of me. A welcome home BBQ was all set up for me when I arrived home. The first sign that everything was not normal was revealed that night.
BOOM!
The explosion hit with a hard punch. Nope, it was not an explosion. A football hit the side of the house. My step-brother and a friend were in the backyard throwing a football while I was enjoying some BBQ ribs in the dining room. My mother, step-father, and a few other people were at the dinner table with me. The football hit the wall and I was startled. This was something that didn't cause anyone else to flinch but my body reacted in a different way. Everyone at the table saw my reaction. I tried to play it off like it was nothing.
The deep sea is an environment that humans were not meant to survive in. To explore these environments, we invented breathing machines and submarines to travel to the far depths below the sea. When we leave the deep sea, we must go through a process of decompression. If our bodies do not go through a proper decompression process, this can lead to serious health problems and even cause death. As soldiers, we never had a decompression process when we came out of the war zone. We just turned in our gear and flew home. We had no period to adjust to the slower pace of civilian life and we had no instructions on how to decompress. We were on our own and many of us were too proud to admit to each other that something was off. Our traumatic experiences were suppressed and we all dealt with it in our own way.

I believe deep down that anyone can achieve just about anything if a self-motivating drive exists within. You can be born with all the brains and resources in the world but if you do not have a self-motivating drive, you may end up not reaching your full potential. I believe that my self-motivating drive came from the obstacles and struggles that came my way. Nothing good comes easy and without struggle. If you do not struggle in life, you do not learn to appreciate or value the things that you have. I am the sum of my hardships and struggles, for without them, I would not be the person I am today. When we are young, we learn to walk. A parent’s first instinct is to run and pick up a child when they fall. If the parent never allows the child to learn to get up, the child will never develop the muscles necessary to get up by themselves. We learn from that struggle to get back up. We gain strength from fighting the gravity that pulls us down. We develop the strength to handle anything and everything that comes our way.

First guest post

                If you were to ask your  friends what the most common injuries for veterans returning home from overseas is, you’d likely hear a gruesome tale of torn flesh and shattered bones. We have been shown these malformations and tragic sights in movies and television most of our lives. Although these injuries are the ones most covered in the media, there is a more common and equally disturbing sickness is haunting our brave men and women returning from battle, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
                Post traumatic stress disorder is the psychological reaction to an individual’s nerve being pushed to its breaking point. This can happen in any number of ways from abuse in childhood too having to fight for one’s own life on a kill or be killed battlefield, Which is why it is not surprising to see that so many of our fighting men and women suffer. What doesn't fail to surprise, however, is the fact that even though as much as 30% of veterans suffer from the ailment, the government and the public does very little to combat its negative effects on both the individual and society.
                The best estimates according to the Department of Housing and Urban Development states that as many as fifty thousand veterans go without shelter and basic necessities on a daily basis. This staggering number could be blamed on a lack of paying jobs available due our national recession, or on the unwise investments of their army earnings. There are literally infinite points you could argue on such a sprawling subject that touches so close to so many people. Doing so may be inconsequential but My belief however is that if our country could be more dependable in the ways of supporting and rehabilitating its most necessary peoples, our veterans, than we would see these statistics plummet.

                What truly matters is what we are going to do to say thank you and welcome home to our soldiers, who put their lives on the line to protect our freedoms to even be able to discuss such matters. How are we paying them back for their sacrifices? When it comes right down to it there are countless organizations, or lack there of, you can blame for the disheveled state of our greatest human resource, but if we are ever going to be able to move forward in the fight for curing Post traumatic stress disorder and bettering the lives of our troops we need to realize that the only ones we can count on to make a difference is ourselves.  Arguing and pointing your finger isn't going to rebuild lives, only actively building a better world will.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

I still struggle.

Through out the years I have began to mediate more and more. A thought has crept up into the recesses of my mind. It has been a nagging thought and I can not find out why I have done this.

Being from the west coast, my earliest memories of summer are of water. Large lakes, pools, rivers, and the beach. The beautiful southern California beaches. I remember swimming, and trips to the river, I even remember going to the beach and getting a tan on Christmas day one year.

But it has been two years since I have been to the beach, two years since I have been in a body of water larger than a bathtub. And I don't know why. I try and analyse it, I try and figure it out. Nothing solid comes to mind. Except fragments of things that I know don't make sense.

I have ideas of being cut off from an escape, ideas of having a giant wall of water stopping 50% of the directions I can run. But 100% of the area danger can come from. Humans are land creatures, we are terrible water mammals. If I had to escape I would have to fight the current, swim while avoiding the danger, or run towards the land based threat.  

Water, the thing I used to love about summer has been taken. I think that this is why I can't go near water, but I can't admit it. I can't admit that even after years of being away from my event, I am still struggling with avoidance, and haven't realized it yet.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

I remember the day I jumped.

I remember the first time the noises caused me to jump. I was living in a tiny two bedroom house, I was married, I had a son on the way. My wife at the time, was in the kitchen pregnant waddling about, making breakfast. I was looking for a job. I had spent the night before crying in her arms, after a couple hours of fighting my nightmares. Sleep was still hanging on my breath, and exhaustion gripping at my eyes.

I was scrolling through site after site, it was 2008, if you remember that year it wasn't a good one for anyone. Funds were running low, rent was due soon, and we had the little one on the way. Stress was building up.

The wife was dancing and spinning in the kitchen, happy as could be. I peeked in the kitchen and saw that breakfast was almost ready. Her hips swung and she bumped the utensils drawer closed. It slammed a little harder then she intended, and the ringing of silverware pinged through the house.

Like a tidal wave, I was back there. I felt the heat of Iraq swim up my feet and hit me in the face like a truck. I felt my nails bend as I grabbed on to the computer desk. My teeth grind in my skull, echoing from far off. Hands ached, muscles twitched. Tears welled up.

My breathing stops. My hearing gives out. My vision is blurred. My heart is beating, I can feel it everywhere. My nightmares have come true. I never came home, I am still there.

"Breakfast is ready baby"

I hear, but I can not react. I am drowning in molasses.

"Baby?"

I am trying to come back. I want it to be real. I want everything back, but I am stuck there.

"Baby, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Are you ok?"

The fog is drifting away. Slowly I am coming back to where I belong.

"Yea I'm ok, I'll be there in a second."

I decided then and there that I would hide it all. Hide the weakness, hide the terror. Hide everything I had just been through.




Do not hide the symptoms, you will lose more than you know. You will lose yourself to fear, and doubt, and everything you bottle up inside. Seek help, find someone, anyone to talk to. Find someone to help you fight the demons.  

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Method #1 for dealing with PTSD

So this first technique is so simple it can be done anywhere, anytime, and will reduce stress. Not to mention if made a part of your PTSD calm down routine, it can help speed up the process. 


Practicing deep breathing meditation

Try to focus on deep breathing, which means to breathe deeply from the abdomen, getting as much air as possible in your lungs. When you take deep breaths from the abdomen, rather than shallow breaths from your upper chest, you inhale more oxygen. The more oxygen you get, the less tense, short of breath, and anxious you feel. 

So first thing to do is to sit with your back straight. This can be done in a chair, or on the ground. Put one hand on your chest and the other on your stomach.

Next breathe in through your nose. The hand on your stomach should rise. The hand on your chest should move very little. try not to force this, your first instinct may be to press down on your chest to make that happen, don't. Tense muscles use oxygen, and create stress.

Exhale through your mouth, pushing out as much air as you can while tightening your abdominal muscles. The hand on your stomach should move in as you exhale, but your other hand should move very little. You should focus on breathing with your abdominal muscles, not your diaphragm. 

Continue to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Try to inhale enough so that your lower abdomen rises and falls. Count slowly as you exhale. In 1, out 2, in 3, out 4 etc. You want to create a rhythm in your mind, and your body so you can relax. 

If you find it too hard breathing from your abdomen while sitting up, try lying on the floor. Put a small object on your stomach, like a book, and try to breathe so that the book rises and falls with your breath.

As a side note, I will continue to post new techniques as I try them out. This one I have been doing for years, modified a bit though.


What happened to the things I used to Love.

Avoidance is a major symptom of PTSD, there are also several ways of dealing with this symptom.

So I am going to try and make this simple, as simple as I can.

Avoidance is like the fear we get when we first fall off our bikes as children. The only way to deal with it is to get back on and try again. As children, this is an easy task. You have endless hope, and boundless wonder. But as an adult, all of that has been beaten out of you, adults (yes you and I) can tend to be cynical.

After our event we are similar to when we were kids, and fell off our bikes. We are afraid to fall, so we avoid the things we love. We no longer find the joy in them that we once did. Whether it is painting, reading, or being around others. These are all things that can actually help us get over a lot of our symptoms of PTSD.

Doing the things you once loved or found enjoyment in, over and over again can make you feel better. Even if you, at first do not enjoy them as you once did. Repeating the motions of the activities can start the healing process, and help you rediscover the love you once had.

As you start to find enjoyment from the things you 'lost' you will begin to have a brighter out look on life. Avoidance is a double edged sword. It makes us keep life at bay, by doing that we lose interest in life. When we lose interest we avoid those things. But one thing leads to another, and another, and before you know it, you have built up walls around you that are destroying your life, not protecting it. But when you force yourself to find that joy, and love for the activities you once loved, those walls come down and we find a reason to live life again.  

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Living with fear

We all have fears, every one alive. The difference with those with PTSD is we live in fear. Everyday we battle the fears our minds hold on to. They form our lives, the change us, destroy the person we could have been.

But they do not destroy us. They do not kill us. They provide us with a choice.

A simple choice: Live in fear, or live with fear.

It is a choice that is so simple we often miss the difference between the two.

One is to be consumed by fear, where it controls our lives. It alters our very minds, and distorts our view of the world around us. We fear the very world we inhabit, the air we breathe, the water we drink. We fear the particles in the water drink to the point where we lose all sense of logic. Parts per trillions of radioactive particles, becomes our water has nuclear waste in our drinking water. We fear  the outside world has dangers around every corner. The sun brings with it a darkness we can not shake.

But living with fear, is to acknowledge our fears, to grow with them. To use them, to our betterment. The fears become our guiding force, our motivation. They become a template for us to plan our lives, and our new goals against. When we walk with our fears we see our weaknesses and we work on them to better ourselves. We strive to grow and gain strength where we once had weakness.

Make it a point in life to walk with, and live with your fears. Do not live in fear, do not let the fear control you. You are not defined by your event, you event is over, now it is time to define your event. Now is the time to claim your life, and claim your fears. 

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Another friend shares his story.

A friend of mine and I talk a lot, collaborate on projects and we deployed together. He sent me this today to share with you all. As I read it again and again, tears flow freely because I was there for this. This and so many other stories like this make us who we are today. So I share with you a story that will continue as he sends me more.

Some who don’t know me may think of me as an arrogant person. I talk openly about my success. I didn’t always think of myself as a successful person. People in my life convinced me that I was worthless. They convinced me that I would never amount to anything. That I would die alone with nothing to call my own. To fight this, I surrounded myself with positive reinforcement. I Googled positive phrases with inspiring pictures and printed them out. I tacked these subtle reminders all over my house. These reminders also asked me questions like, “Are you being productive today, or are you wasting the day away”?  Or “There are 168 hours in a week. How many of these hours were productive hours?” This made me want to focus on being productive with my day. I also put up words that would uplift how I viewed myself. These were inspiring quotes of historical figures. My whole life everyone told me that I can't. I was determined to change that mindset.

As a city mail carrier, I competed to be the best, fastest, and most accurate on the job. That is my competitive nature. But my focus is not on competing with others, but with myself. I am a firm believer in doing your best at what you do no matter what it is. Every day I took a stopwatch with me to improve my times. I was able to deliver a route in less than 4 hours. This was a route that usually took 8 hours to finish. This is the reason why I was the sole survivor amongst my peers of a round of layoffs.

Several months earlier I signed my termination paperwork along with all the other freshman mail carriers. While on my route, a manager drove to my route and told me that I had the best delivery times of the group that I was hired with. He proceeded to tell me that the postmaster wanted to keep me on the payroll as a city carrier. I came to work that day believing that it was my last day of work, but my hard work ethic kept me employed. My hard work paid off.

After work a few months later, I came home and drove to the greyhound station to pick up my brother. It was around Thanksgiving time and he was coming in from Arizona to visit. I drove him to my grandparent’s house and dropped him off. My grandmother told me that a package arrived for me and it looked like it was from the Army. My heart sank because I knew what it was. President Obama ordered the surge in Afghanistan a few weeks prior. I opened the packet and read the first few lines and knew what it meant. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go because I already built a life on the outside. I was successful, even though some told me that I wouldn’t make it on the outside. NCO’s laughed at me as I exited the Army for the first time. They said that I wouldn’t make it. Then my Aunt told me that I was a loser and that I would never make it. These people only fueled my hunger to succeed. I will spend my life proving these people wrong. I will be a success, I am a success, and I will always be a success.

  After visiting my grandparents and finding out the news that I had to go to Afghanistan, I went to go pick up my wife from work. She got in the car and immediately knew that something was weighing down on my heart. I told her the bad news, she immediately started to cry. We had just got our first apartment as a married couple and were just getting used to our daily routines.

On Thanksgiving, after dinner was served and everyone was about to go home, I decided that it was time to break the news to the rest of my family. I was supposed to report to Fort Benning Georgia at the beginning of the year. Everyone was shocked and crying. Hoping for the best for me. The holidays were overshadowed with darkness. The darkness loomed in our household. We all knew that I had to say goodbye and that I might not be coming back alive.

The day of my flight to Georgia arrived. My entire family caravanned down to LAX. I kissed my wife goodbye and began walking towards the plane. As I walked passed the security gate, I looked back towards my family. All four of my little cousins were standing at attention rendering a salute. It was a sight that I will never forget. I got on that plane and left my life behind.

I reported to the Army and found a bunch of former soldiers just like myself. We all loved our country and wanted to serve, but we had all felt that we already served our time. We were all devastated but began preparing ourselves for what was to come. We had to be ready to fight and possibly die for our country. We prepared our last will and testament with the legal advisors in case we did not return alive.

My orders were changed and instead of going to Afghanistan, I was going to Iraq. We went on to Fort Sill Oklahoma for a refresher course in Field Artillery and then to Camp Shelby, Mississippi to prepare for the deployment. My wife flew out to see me in Mississippi. We had an amazing week but then it was time to deploy.

She followed our bus in a rental car all the way to the airstrip. She somehow got passed the guards at the front gate. I offloaded from the bus and went to go say goodbye to her. I handed her my last will and testament. I gave her a kiss goodbye and watched her as she drove off the airfield. A sergeant later told me “She drove all the way onto the airfield to see you goodbye, you have a good woman”.

I knew I had a good woman. The last thing I wanted for her is to make her a widow. I was determined to survive and make it home to her in one piece so that we can carry on with our lives and live in happiness once again.



Saturday, March 21, 2015

Soul searching

Lately, I have spent a lot of time searching deep within. There is one thing I have learned about myself. I am not special, I am not normal either. I am on a quest to heal myself so that I can be like everyone else.

I am on a quest so that I can go to sleep every night without jumping in fright. So that I can not scare the people trying to wake me up because I swing on them. I would like it if I could dream of flying, or swimming. Instead of drowning and falling.

There are people in this world that use disorders as attention getting. I am not one of them (even thou ironically thousands of people have read this blog, about my disorder), I do not find a sense of pleasure from receiving attention. I do not use PTSD as an attention grabber. Millions of us have PTSD, that makes me not special. I am not unique in my fight wit PTSD.

Billions do not have PTSD, so therefore I am not normal either. I wish to be like them, even though I know deep down I never will. And I am ok with that, I truly am. My quest as led me to a realization of sorts. PTSD is a badge we carry.

Like the flair of a soccer mom or the pins on the sash of scouts. PTSD is a badge we wear. It lets the world know we are survivors of nightmare. It tells the world we combat evil and lived. So as I quest for the life I want, I wear my badge in silence, letting the world know that I will fight, but never lose.

Attention is not for me, I am a man of action. I do no want your sympathy or your comfort. I want understanding and a companion on this road. So dawn the badge of honor we all carry, grab your support and help those who have yet to realize that PTSD needs to be fought. Not be glorified, or overcome by.





Thursday, March 19, 2015

Understanding

As we struggle daily with PTSD we all seek the same thing. Other than a quiet moment away from all the doubt, fear and anxiety, we seek some level of understanding from those around us.

But how do we get that when to understand our struggle is to have PTSD. We can't wish PTSD on everyone, I don't wish it on those that have hurt me the most in life. But how then?

I know this is going to freak you the f*$k out. But hear me out.

You have to talk about it. PTSD is a disorder that words can help. Words may not be the cure, but they are a treatment.

Instead of using your fists, use adjectives, and adverbs. Instead of lashing out use "I" statements.

"I" do not enjoy this. "I" do not understand this. "I" can not handle this.

All of these statements are personal. They are about you and they pull people in. You statements push people away.

"'You' are upsetting me'" is not the same as "'I' am upset right now, with you" When we use 'you' statements they can be seen as accusatory. And those people who we are trying to open up to may be hurt by what we say. But if we can make our words reflect what we are trying to say, and how we feel then we are one step closer to understanding.

When I say "I am hurting inside, I do not know if I can keep going." My [Significant Other] understands that I am having a bad PTSD day because we talk, a lot. If I were to tell my SO, that she isn't helping me that would be a statement that isn't helpful for both of us. What I really want to say is "I am not feeling better, by what you said".

I know all of this seems like silly nit-picky word play, but it isn't. I find myself having to back track a lot because I will say something in the heat of the moment, even though I mean something completely different. And instead of trying to tell someone that something isn't working. I accuse them of not helping.

When we accuse people they shut down and stop listening, or caring. But if we express ourselves and the way we feel people can become our greatest allies in the fight against PTSD. My SO has taken on the task of fighting the VA for me. After 7 years of losing to them, I have a new ally. And she is angry. Where I am beaten down, she is confident. Where I am fed up and tired, she is encouraging. Because I stopped accusing and started expressing, she is my new weapon in this battle. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

A New Hope (not Star Wars)

Today as I was commuting home, a thought struck me. I am capable of anything. I am able to do anything. Getting PTSD was the easy part, beating it is the hard part. But I know that since I lived through the worst thing that has happened to me, I can live through the struggle to undo the damage it and I have created in my life.

We have all experienced an event, or time in our life that made us feel as if we are broken. Made us feel as if we are monsters living among people. We may feel as if the world watches and judges us. Our rage at the injustice we survived may boil, and we may push those who want to help away.


But all that means we have the strength to carry on. We have the strength and the ability to be anything because we chose life then, and still do. The worst is behind us, the fight has just begun. Now I am not saying that I intend strap on a tutu and learn to dance. I am just not built for ballet. But I know that after I have knocked on the doors of nightmares and lived, I can at least find the courage to seek help, to fight the problems I have.

I am able to fight the staring and the voices. I am able to get up every day and place one foot in front of the next because my world was destroyed. After you survive the apocalypse, there isn't much that can kill you. If I am not going to die from my fears and my shattered mind, then it is time I had a good laugh as the fear tries to take me.

Thank you all for the stregnth.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

A new place in life

My last post was an attempt at being hopeful and focus on my dreams. I was at my low, grasping at my dreams. Grasping at hope. I try to stay focused when I am planning out my posts, and sometimes, well a lot of the time it doesn't work out.

Focus is hard for me. Focus is another goal of mine. I used to be able to focus on something so hard that I would get lost in it for hours. Now I am lucky if I am able to focus on a conversation and the 100's of people around me.

I try so hard to fight the paranoia. Fight the voices. Fight the nightmares. Trying so hard leaves me drained, and empty. But as I write this blog and talk with you all I realize that even as we are reaching our limits, we still have some fight left in us.

I try to focus, and distractions, fears, and anxiety cloud my mind. But when I connect with you all on social networks. On Google Plus, on Twitter or Facebook you all dust off that last bit of strength I didn't know I had.

So as I go into this week, I am working on focus. The force that will allow me to continue down the road I am on now. And as you all read these words, I am grateful for the support and the strength. Thank you all. 

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Another bad day

Today is a day when you can literally feel your dreams burning. That warmth in your chest when you want to cry, that is the furnace burning your dreams. 

I have a dream, a dream that has followed me since I was a child. To write, would be my heaven on earth. To weave a story, not grand or epic. But a story, woven in such a way that images are painted in minds of all who hear the words upon the soft summer breeze. A story that shows the children of the world that amazing, and fantastic one-way ticket to another world, where anything is possible. Where everything is possible. 

I love stories. I love writing. I love the possibility of anything and everything. I love words, and the study of words (etymology, I even love that word). I love the idea of letting your mind drift and creating something from nothing. 

"Upon the midnight fog rode a bird, silent as the night, as dark as the full moon. It's feather rustled in flight. The ribbon tied around its foot carried a message. A message meant for star-crossed lovers. A message that words written on paper could not express. The bird flew low, and quick across the harbor."

I love the idea that those words can create so many more questions. and those questions can lead to discoveries or creations of their own. Why are the lovers separated? Why is the bird flying at night? What is the message that can not be written? 

I love words and stories, and writing because of the possibility of a better tomorrow. Life sometimes beats me down, as I am sure it does you. They way things pile up and rub you the wrong way. Writing for me is my way of combating those feelings. As I write this post I am in a dark place. But the words I am writing, and the way I am able to close everything else out. That is how I remember that there is going to be a tomorrow. I am able to remember that today has an end, as do the feelings I am having. 

When I write I am free to find a better tomorrow. And with a better tomorrow comes a new hope. Someday I will be able to say that I am a writer and author. That is my better tomorrow. That is my dream and is my happiness. 


I have started to plant the seeds of a better tomorrow, by writing manuscripts. As well as start a gofundme page. 

Help me make my dream come true.

We all have dreams, and fighting for them makes us have hope. We may never accomplish them, but that is a reward in and of itself. the process of following your dreams sets up a behavior in our minds to never give up. When we never give up PTSD can be beaten. Because together we can win. Together our dreams can be achieved.

When all you have is hope.

When you have PTSD things can get ugly. I know life can be hard, it is for all of us sometimes. But even in the easy times life can still be ugly for those of us suffering with PTSD. Even on the brightest of days, on the coolest of summer afternoons, we are plagued by the terrible 'truth' of the world.

The 'truth' that there is evil in the world. We can be walking in the park, and see children running, jumping, loving life, and that is when the truth hits us. That ugly voice comes o' callin'.

"How can they be so happy, there is someone chained to a pipe somewhere, having God knows what done to them, in some psycho's basement."

This is the voice that starts the feelings of self-loathing, of depression, of anger. This is the voice others do not have. You instantly realize that what you just thought was a terrible thought to have. You begin to doubt your sanity, you question your morality, you blame the world for giving you that voice. Your jealousy of others happiness brings forth a wave of depression.

Whatever your event was, whatever it is that refuses to let you live a normal life. The death of a loved one, rape, abuse, combat, whatever it is that is what the voice will remind you of when you see others happy. Happy and ignoring the 'truth' you see.

This is when we are in need of the greatest gift, and the great resource humanity has ever discovered.

HOPE.

I know it's about as rare as finding an earth-like planet in our nearest neighbors solar systems. And I know it is hard to hold on to it, I struggle with it daily. I know the feeling of sitting there brooding over all the darkness in the world, trying to focus on the good. Trying to have hope. I know how easy it is to toss hope away, and bask in the sadness that wants to take root in your life.

But I also know hope. Hope hasn't always been my best friend. For a long time, I was without it. I relied on those around me to have it. I needed them to have it because I lost it. I couldn't even start to find it because I forgot it existed. After my last suicide attempt, the one that was the closest I have come to dying on my own, I didn't just find it. It found me.

As I lay there, the cool wind blowing on my face, the hot sun baking my skin. The fire in my stomach from all the whiskey, and itching in my veins from the pills. There was a light. Not a warm light. Not an inviting light. It wasn't even scary. I welcomed it, I thought it was death. It wasn't.

It was every good thing I had ever experienced in life. The birth of my son, in crystal clarity. The way his little hand reached up for my finger and squeezed so hard his little nails left an imprint in my finger. I felt the same tear I shed, in that moment, again and again as I lay there dying. I felt his body in my arms. I felt how frail he was when I was standing in the hospital room, alone with him. His first hour of life I held him, again and again I lived this moment.

Then it began to fade. His weight in my arms drifted away. His warmth was gone. That first smile was falling away. That is when I found it. My voice.

I said no. No to dying. No to the pain. No to losing hope. No to all the terrible things I know are in the world. No to losing my happiness. No to losing the good in the world.

My dad has saved my life. My son has helped me find hope. It is my job to hold on to life, and never lose hope. I can not fail, will not fail.

Dad, I thank you, and I love you. To my son, you are always in my heart, whether you read this now or years from now I will always love you. I am alive because you, both of you.

Do not think suicide can help anything. It can't, it makes things worse. You are not alone, together we can win. Connect with me or your family, or one of the hundreds of organizations out there. Connect with anyone there are so many people willing and wanting to help. You are not alone, I promise you.    

Friday, March 13, 2015

22 percent


Post by Jon Wolf.

This video was shared on my facebook today, and I shared it. Now I pass it on to you, in hopes that it reaches you and you can see that we are not alone. Together we can make a difference.

Jon Wolf's Facebook

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Always watching you

Since I have been back, I have had a constant companion. I do not know their face, I do not know their name. I have never seen them. But they are always watching me. I feel the eyes of my constant watcher on me while I eat. While I drive home. Even in the dark as I sleep I feel the eye watching. Always watching. PTSD is always watching.

I left work at 5 pm and got home at 7 pm. For two hours, I drove, with my vigilant watcher following me. My eyes darted from mirror to mirror, there he was again. This time the watcher was driving a lifted chevy truck, gold, tinted windows. For two hours, I drove with the watcher behind me. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head. As I always do, I failed. My anxiety could not be talked down. I knew the driver was just going in the same direction as me on the freeway, and nothing more. But the panic would not hear it. PTSD can not be reasoned with.

I sit with my back to the walls in restaurants because I can feel the watchers eyes borrowing into my mind. Judging, watching, planning something. I can't eat, I can't focus, I can't engage the people I am with. My food is bland because all I can taste is the lifeless eyes of the crowd staring back at me. The watcher is somewhere lost in the confusion. I drift out of conversations and let others take over, I appear to be anti-social, or introverted, but the truth is I am searching. Always searching for those eyes. I am tired of being watched, and can focus on nothing but that.

I am being watched, I know it is my mind playing tricks on me. But I can not win that argument with my PTSD. As bills pile up, and rent is due, my job on the line, PTSD is still there. Always there, watching. Still the only solid unchanging force in life. I know that it will always be there, I count on that, I trust in that. The eyes will always watch, and I will always search for them. Sanity may leave, family may walk, friends may drift but PTSD will always be waiting for the day I find it where it hides, watching me.


For those who understand this feeling, remember together we win, together we can find the watcher and stop it.


Tuesday, March 10, 2015

As the Rage Boils

Today, without going into too much detail, was a day full of rage. I raged at the world, I burnt with a fiery anger at the things I could not control. I lost control of myself and that angered me.

I realized two things today.

One being: I do not like to lose control, of myself, my surroundings, or my emotions.

This is a common thread with people who have served, who have PTSD and people with anxiety. A lot of us that served in the military get out and expect there to be a certain level of control in our lives and others we interact with. For those with trauma where control was taken, we may fear that control being taken again so when it is not clear to us that we are in control we tend to get scared or start to panic.

That is when the anger can creep in, at first it's just masked as frustration. Then it pulls the mask off, and you're a shouting, spitting, foaming dragon on the rampage and you don't even realize it. You have become unaware that in your panic of losing control you have done just that. Lost all control.

And the second thing I learned is this: I love the rage.

I never feel as alive as I do, when I am angry. 99.9% of the time (when PTSD isn't a factor) I am a cool, calm, collected fun-loving, relaxed person. But that 0.1% of the time, I am a bull raging, thrashing, kicking, throwing, ball of anger. And I love every minute of it. I know it sounds bad, I have never hurt anyone when I am angry. I never break anything. I just enjoy the feeling of the anger. The one moment of my day, my week, or my month where I am fuelled like I was when I was deployed. And that is really what it is. When I am angry, I am capturing those feelings I had when I was there. Because I know on days like today, when life doesn't make sense anymore, I want to be back there.

That is the truth that I hate to admit about myself, and I know I am not the only one that has spoken (or written) those words. I sometimes hate myself for that truth. But the self-loathing is covered by the love of those emotions until the feeling wears off and I am left with just that small voice inside. That small voice that is perfect at hating yourself, and terrible at loving you.

That is me. I am angry, I am self-loathing. But I am hope, and love.

As always remember together we can win, divided we fall. 

Monday, March 9, 2015

This is not for you

I was reminded by a good friend, one that reads this blog daily. That I need to keep doing this (Writing this blog) for me, and not for others. His reasoning was simple: If I keep writing for myself people will continue to be positively affected by my words. If I am writing for them, then I am pandering to the crowd and I lose my effectiveness in the fight against PTSD.

It is hard sometimes to remember that I am writing this to help myself. To get through all the demons I have. I am conflicted on some days. Some days I want to reach through the internet and heal all the broken memories, giving anything and everything I can, to help anyone who is hurt.

Other days I am struggling to heal myself.

The reminder from my friend, was something I needed. It reminded me of my favorite quote "Write the story you want to read" - (Sorry can't remember who said it, will update when I remember*). So when I say I write this for me, I write the 'story' I want to read, what I am saying is this: I am writing so that I can heal. I am not writing for the numbers at the bottom of this blog, or for the fame, or notoriety. I am not writing this for them money (there is none). I am writing this so you as the reader can follow me alone and see that every day is a struggle, but there are always going to be good days.

And even some bad ones.

I write so that I can get better, so that I can find an end to PTSD, and maybe you can find hope along the way. Because at the end of the day, that is what this blog is about.

Hope.

Hope that someday I can go to bed without jerking awake without feelings of the purest of terror. Hope that some day I can walk into a crowded place and not have to watch my back or worry who is going to be the biggest problem when gunshots erupt out of nowhere. Hope that someday I can hold my head up high without fear that if I talk about PTSD it will not spread like a disease.

Hope. That is such a beautiful word. It's short, sweet, and to the point. It promises a better tomorrow, and a brighter day. A day when we can move on, and grow. No longer bound by our fears, and our worry and our memories.

Hope.

I hope that together we can win and that no one is left alone in this fight.







Update, I found a couple people who said it(*It being my favorite quote) I'll keep looking and update when I find the author til then please don't sue lol.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Fear is not my master

Fear is not my master. I have allowed PTSD to stir up my demons for far too long. Since my event, I have dawned the uniform of a healthy, sane human. I have placed the mantle of ill-directed responsibility upon my shoulders and sought to protect those around me from the things I think they can not handle.

Far too many times I have heard people with PTSD say, "I don't want to share what I've seen because I don't want you to be affected the way I am". For far too long I have allowed myself to believe that the things I keep buried can harm the people around me like then do me. For too long I have allowed the fear to reign.

Today is a day where I am strong. Today is a day that I can feel fear giving way. Inch by inch I feel victory within my grasp today. I know I will not win this war today, but I write this so that you, and I can look back and be reminded that on the days when we are strong that there is light, there is hope.

Today is the day that I reaffirm my dedication to keep on fighting. Today is the day that I say, fear is not my master. I am the master of my life. Of my destiny. Of ME. This is the day we are to look back n when there is no light for us to see the road ahead. This is the time we remember that the road does exist, even though it has been so long since we saw it. That we start to question if we've ever truly started down it.

Fear is not my master. Fear is not your master. You are stronger than PTSD, you are stronger than your demons. Do not ever forget this. I know it is hard to remember, but that is what today is for. To remind you that healing is possible. That there is a road to healing. That we are all on it TOGETHER.

Because alone we falter, but together we win. 

Friday, March 6, 2015

Numb the pain

In life when we are in pain, we reach for those things that comfort us. Whether it is our mothers, our pills or our drink. We all have ways of dealing with pain. For those of use with PTSD, you may be tempted to use alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling anything to distract yourself from the pain you feel.

These things are all temporary, of course. Many of the things we reach for can lead to bigger problems Problems that can actually make our lives harder to deal with. Alcohol, drugs, sex, and gambling can all lead to serious addictions. Addiction can and does have its own set of issues. Both physiological and physical issues can make it hard to start the healing process.

Now I am not saying not to get your drink on. But I am saying not to over indulge in anything to excess while you are trying to focus on healing the old wounds. I have gone down that road, the road of addiction. I have used alcohol, drugs and sex as a means of forgetting the pain. I have drank til the world went black, I have snorted lines til my nose ran red with blood. And the pain never left, it was there in the morning.

This doesn't mean that these things are bad. We just can not let them cover up what we need to handle first. Alcohol can help, drugs can be useful. Alcohol has a way of loosening lips, it has a way of breaking down the walls we have put in place. The walls that guard all those dark secrets we hide for the safety of the ones we love.

There are several studies out there doing work on whether or not certain drugs can aid in the treatment of PTSD. Some are promising, and others, I think others are just an excuse for people to legally do drugs. I am not a fan of drugs, in general, they alter the chemicals in your brain and can damage to certain functions of your brain. My thinking is this: My brain is already messed up with the memories I live with, why make it harder to heal by altering the way my brain functions.

There are things in life we reach for while in the thralls of pain. Never let those things become the source of more pain. You have PTSD because at some time in your life control was taken from you and you experienced real fear. Real terror. Take back control, and start healing. Never lie to yourself and say that the sex, drugs, or alcohol is helping you cope.

Learn coping mechanisms, open up, and be more honest. With yourself and with others.


Wednesday, March 4, 2015

A permanent problem

Thanks to a frequent commenter (Hope) I was reminded of the phrase "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem". I used to rely on this phrase a lot, I thought the problems I was having would go away. And I was lied to.

Problems don't just go away. PTSD doesn't just go away. PTSD is not a temporary problem. This does not mean that suicide is the answer. This means that we need to change our thinking. PTSD is a very real, very long road. Will you or I have it for the rest of our lives? I don't know, and I can't say.

The phrase "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem", is flawed fundamentally. I can no longer endorse this phrase. Or this way of thinking.

First off, the "Suicide is a permanent solution", that is a phrase we should never have allowed to be printed. No matter how you paint it, suicide is not a solution. For your problems or anyone else's. Suicide may not hurt the person committing it. They may slip into the icy grip of death alone, and painlessly. But the wake that is left behind their passing, that is a torrent of pain and anguish that spreads like a tear-soaked wildfire. Suicide causes pain, more pain than anyone is feeling right now. Never think of it as a solution. It only creates more issues and more problems.

Second, the "to a temporary problem" part, is a bit misleading. Any demons, or pain we struggle with are temporary. But a problem? I don't think so. Problems rarely ever get solved. They get patched up and covered up more than anything. A challenge? I think that word is far more fitting. Everything we suffer through in life tests us, molds us, creates us. Even the darkness makes us stronger. So my PTSD is not a temporary problem. My PTSD is a challenge waiting for me to gain the strength to overcome it. My PTSD may be with me for life, but it is not a problem. It is my emotional, psychological trainer. It makes me stronger, and I will grow because of it. I will defeat it.

Third, the ease with which we accept this phrase as a whole. It is candy coated, easy to swallow and tastes sweet upon our tongues. When I was at my lowest, my darkest, my deepest pits of self-loathing hatred, a permanent solutions is all I sought. It's what I needed. I still need a permanent solution. But, suicide is not that or any other solution.

Three times I have tried to kill myself. Three times I sought that promised permanent solution. And three times I failed. No, not failed. I won that battle. Not alone. Never alone. My dad has saved my life three times. He doesn't know that, he only knows of one. The last time, the time I came the closest.

My dad, just being himself has taught me this lesson. Suicide is NEVER a solution, for the challenges of life. So I propose we never use that phrase again. We can never allow suicide to be a solution again. Alone we fail, together we win. Together we can conquer any challenge life has in store for us. If you or anyone you know is even toying with the idea of suicide as a solution, get help. 

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

A New Purpose

When I was in the Army, I hated it, but I loved it at the same time. There was a structure, a rhythm, there was a sense of purpose. When I got out, I carried that same sense of purpose with me. As it faded the problems I had been hiding came to the surface. I began to drift, my life began to fall apart.

Then I got the hand delivered note "requesting" my presence in Iraq. Before my life could unravel I was shipped away, and my issues were compacted upon. I came back with less drive and less purpose than ever.

It took years for me to realize that I needed to maintain a sense of duty, a sense of purpose. I needed to maintain a direction, a goal that I could focus on. The sense of purpose I have now; keeps my fears from taking over. Without purpose, we allow our fears to take over. There are days where I swear if I didn't have bills, if I didn't have people relying on me, if I had a support systems, I would roll over until the world disappeared and became no more.

But the fact that I have a purpose keeps me planting one foot in front of the hour after hour. My drive keeps me ahead of my fears, ahead of my demons. I am not running, I am done with that. I am charging at life, with arms wide open. I am no longer standing alone, fighting this disorder.

My advice may not be the easiest. Nothing with PTSD is ever easy. It will be hard. It will be difficult. That I can promise you. But I can also promise you this, there will be dark days and good days, and as long as you have your eyes focused on your goals. You will move past your fears.

For the longest time, I only went outside to go to school. As soon as I got home I would close and lock the door. I would close all the shades, and I would sit in the dark until the sun went down. I would venture outside once it was dark like a sickly animal.

I lost all my purpose, and my days got darker.

I tried to kill myself.

I failed.

But I found a new purpose and new life. Since I have come to terms with my own fears and my own issues, and have sought to heal. I have begun to heal, my fears have no room as I race forward. On to bigger and better things. My sense of purpose keeps me focused and healing.

Find your purpose, your drive, and let's heal together. Because together we can win, divided we fall.

Monday, March 2, 2015

My Time

I have tried a lot of tactics and methods, and will cover them at a later time. For now I want to focus on one that works for me.

I have days where I am a strong, patient man. Then there are others where I, well I am not. The rage, frustration, anxiety and the demons take me. Those are the days where I refuse to go down. I refuse to let me knee hit the dirt. Those are the days I take 'me time'.

'Me Time' is simple. And I truly think we all need it. Not just those with PTSD. Sometimes we (those with PTSD) can get overwhelmed, and we add to our own problems by running on empty. I propose to you, you with and without PTSD, just take an hour, or two or even ten. Just take some time find a place that is neither comfortable or uncomfortable. Somewhere in the middle. For me, it's a less than busy Starbucks.

There is something calming about the smell of roasting coffee beans, I don't know why it just is. But the amount of people I don't know, and the constant traffic in and out play games with my PTSD. So I am put at ease and stressed at the same time, and I take time to be me. Not that scared little boy inside, but the writing, techie, nerd who wanted to cry when I read Spock died. Read articles that distract you from your surroundings. Listen to those songs that play the strings of your heart.

Find the things that help you ride that edge. The edge between wanting to run, and being completely at home. Find comfort in that gray area, and begin to recharge your batteries. As you begin this exercise it will be difficult. It was for me, and it will be for those of you who have developed agoraphobia.

When I was homeless, Starbucks was one of the few places where I could relax, gather myself, and charge my cell phone. For hours, I would sit there drinking a coffee, charging my phone, and forcing myself to 'be normal'. I had to do all this alone, I had no one, I had nothing. I know this works because to this day I still do it.

This last weekend I took time for myself and recharged my batteries. Between working full time, fighting PTSD, writing these blogs, and school some batteries need charging. But everything I do here, and everyone I meet along the way, every one of you that hit me up offline. You all make this worth it, thank you.

So take some time, recharge those batteries, and fight the good fight. As always, together we can win, alone we suffer.

If anyone ever needs to talk I am always available through my blog, email, or on twitter. I'm even on Facebook if you wanna chat. Links are below if anyone ever needs to talk.



Twitter: @elijahpepper

If you wish to talk in hangout or email comment below and let me know. Thank you all for the support.