Of all the spaces to be, I’ve been in a bad one. Really, I have been far from my happy place for quite some time now…about a month.  Yea, it’s been really close to a month now. I decided to go ahead and file a claim with the Veterans’ Administration. Last August/September I contacted the VA and got a packet of forms so that I could initiate a claim and renew on that I had cancelled when I went back active duty. That was the easy part: fill out the form and say something like, “I wish to reinstate my previous disability claim. I would also like to have it re-evaluated. Additionally, I am initiating a claim for injuries I received to my right shoulder, elbow and wrist while in Iraq in 2004 and a claim for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” And, into the mail it went, no postage necessary. In early December the original claim came through, but VA called me about the other claims. I chatted to the lady and she told me what I have to do for the process and she mailed me another packet for the new claims. Not much of a problem for the arm, but to make a case for PTSD you gotta prove

• “Stressor”:  Proof of a traumatic event in-service.  Called a “stressor,” it is the basis on which all PTSD claims are based.  In short, no stressor, no claim, end of story.  A stressor is generally defined as personal exposure to a life-threatening event such as combat, a serious accident, or rape.  For those who hold a combat-related decoration such as an individual valor award, the Purple Heart, or the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the issue of a stressor is conceded by the VA.
• Diagnosis: A diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder rendered by a psychiatrist.  Counseling reports prepared by Vet Centers may be considered in determining the degree of your impairment; however, there must be a diagnosis of PTSD made by a physician specialized in psychiatry.

Well, I have the diagnosis, but I haven’t put a lot into the ‘stressor’ in a written format.  The claim requires a written format. And the VA being the VA, they have access to all sorts of records that reflect the combat actions. In a lot of cases down to the specific engagement. I’m not sure how all that is recorded and maintained between the military and other agencies and the VA, but there seems to be a good method for follow-up. This is one way to help prevent fraudulent claims, liars, and wanna-be folks.

 

Well I took a stab at the written part. I did some research on how to make a good report got a worksheet to help out and got started. Then got stopped. I found it pretty hard to actually put this stuff into a narrative form. It was really hard. I felt like my head just put the ka-bosh on any ability to write it down. And I got crappy over it too. This was in early December, maybe later in November. I decided that I would just let it go and not bother with the claim. Take the old claim and leave it at that. It was definitely easier. But the week that I sat on it, I couldn’t stop ruminating about it. So I contacted the Veteran’s Services. [for you UKers and other out of the US folks, each state in the US has a state-level veterans assistance organization. How effective they are and their focus vary between states. Not to mention funding, staff, and location access] I called the fella in my town, but he’s really new and decided he couldn’t help me. So I contacted a regional office and set an appointment to go over my claim with a person there. Set the date for December 17^th. This was a good guy to work with. He’s been helping vets for quite some time and knew how to go about it. He and I got all the papers filled out, waivers signed, releases of information finished, and all put into order.

 

Then I had to work on the PTSD statements. That sucked. I need to mention here that by this time I had started to go bonkers. I felt like I was barely hanging together and the thinking patterns of a PTSD episode (I don’t know what else to call them) was coming on hard. Once that ball starts to roll, it’s near impossible to get out of the way. Things go crazy. But since I felt something coming on, and because I felt emotionally explosive, I met with my doctor the week before I had to go for my appointment. We did the doctor-patient thing and I let him know what was happening. That I was going down pretty hard even with the medication I’ve been on. I wondered if I was building a tolerance to the Welbutrine. I thought I was on the maximum dosage, but he only had me on 150mg tabs two times per day. He raised my dosage to 200mg twice a day. I started right away. he also prescribed me Ativan (or Lorazepam) to help ‘soften’ the anxiety. I didn’t take any of the Ativan, it was in case something came on.  I was on the new meds for about four days before I went to the meeting with vet services.

 

The PTSD statement wasn’t fun. I churned up a lot of sh!t. I had to go pretty deep and it just stirred the pot. Cotton mouth. Shakes. Not fun. But I didn’t feel too wacky as I drove the 45 minutes home. I thought, and even told my wife, that the meds seemed to be helping because usually in this situation, I would have fallen fast and right away. At that time I felt okay. God that changed in a couple of days. I went down as fast as a bomb over Afghanistan. It took me about three days to realize that I was spinning out of emotional control. I was isolating, sitting at work just staring out the window, totally unfocused, didn’t shave and hooked my brain onto a lead weight and cast it overboard to sink. When my boss said something to me about my office presentation, I took the rest of the day off and went home, straight to the Ativan. I took one tab (benzo’s can get addictive pretty fast) to try and chill the head. This lasted from about the 23^rd until just a few days ago, last Friday. I had to take the Ativan two to three times each day and I still felt like I was barely keeping thing together. I was an inch from divorce. It was just a miserable time. My brain was in a blender non-stop.

 

It’s a very sickly feeling to have, knowing that I am in the throngs and spasms of a horribly crazy experience; reaching to get to the bottom and waiting for the bounce; and being utterly unable to stop the emotional drop. Not even caring. In a near-vomit like state always. Impatient, intolerant, insomnia. At the same time being emotionally cathartic. Noise, of any sort, driving me crazy. Even just my kids talking loud. Not in a ruckus. I would just plug my ears and close my eyes hard trying to get it all gone. Somewhere in there it stopped. End, done, finished. I woke up and the stomach nausea was gone, head clear. That was last week. This sh!t is crazy. Sucky part is that I will have to go get some evaluations at a VA hospital to go over it all again with a psychiatrist. Not looking forward to that. I gotta ask myself if it’s worth it.

 

My insurance just took on some mental health finally. Better than nothing, but I have to pay 50% of the bill and they limit me to 12 sessions in a calendar year (that makes absolutely no sense). So I will have an obnoxious bill paid off at the end of February and those funds can help out with the cost of some counseling. The insurance carrier says 12 sessions will fix me and I don’t have $200 available to pay for more individual sessions each week. And so in 12 sessions I will have become better and all over it. Fixed.

 

05OCT04     CAMP CUERVO

This morning's prayer reflection was about the Communion of the Saints.  Beyond just the bread and wine and that all people are saints in difficult times.  I prayed that God would watch over my family and keep them safe.  I asked that He protect me so that I can go home to share His Word, through my actions, with them.  I thought also that I am fearful of death, the pain it would cause my family, and not being with them.  But not of comming to Him.  I asked God to remove the fear, or at least give me the strength to deal with it.

 

15OCT04     CAMP CUERVO

We ran up to Heifa street last week as part of the ING's certifiation.  Talk about live-fire training.  All set-up to spend the afternoon fighting, but didn't - Yea!  Our company pulled into a blocking position at a major traffic circle on the west end.  Another did the same on the east end.  A third company pulled a raid on a coffee shop suspected of holding a cache of things, don't think it was espresso.  I don't know what was found.  It all went fast and we left.  Good way to be on Heifa.  People start shooting things there pretty quick.  Suprised nothing this time.  Today is Ramadan Eve, we have two patrols, one is tonight in Jisyr Dialah.  Shit.  Intel says to expect the crap at the front end of Ramadan to be directed at U.S. Forces to try and infulene the elections.  Expected targets to be U.S. units and locations.  I don't know how coordinated the Wahabists or Mahdi Militia are in J.D right now.  Probably enough to set IEDs, shoot RPGs, and ambush in small groups.  I hope that I'm about eight weeks out from leaving.  Not sure though.  I miss my family and it seems as time gets "closer" missing them increases.  Gotta get ready for the morning patrol.  TTFN.

 

...15OCT Again

Getting ready for another JD patrol.  Uncomfortable.  Don't know mission specifics.  As usual Captain isn't saying much about the mission to us.  I understand keeping things from haji, but not us.  I wonder if he will ever trust his NCOs.  Fv<king officers.  Hopefully Captain will leave it with a patrol on the east side and clearing the palms.  Hope we don't have to go into town.  This time of the celebration its said some haji's believe it's a given ticket to paradise if you die in jihad if you die during Ramadan.  Ending.  Ha!.  Missing home and family much this evening.  About two hours until we leave to go to ZGC to meet up with the ING then do the patrol.  Oh, well.  Gotta do what's next I guess: get through and end another day.  Closer to home after my eyes let me sleep...Well it's changed already.  One hour left.  Now a raid on some guy's house.  From a "reliable" source.  Fv<k, like any of them are reliable.  After 10pm, JD's not the best place to be.  I always go into that town amped.  Well it may be exciting, door kicking can be okay.  I tend to be pretty nervous before we go in and am able focus when wheels start turning.  More later.

CPL Jason M. Bogar

KIA 13 JULY 2008

Afghanistan

 

I went perusing the web today and came across a story about the battle last month in Afghanistan where a forward Army post was attacked by some 200 taliban.  Like most of you, I had heard about this, but I didn't do any follow-up.  I found a story about it today (http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=63479&archive=true, 7/23/2008).  I'm pasting it here in case the link dissapears as they often do.

 

It hurts to hear.  Bogar was one of the soldiers in my platoon.  I was the Platoon Sergeant and he was one of the newer Privates.  I worked with him for about 10 monts before we deployed to Iraq in 2004.  He was in a different unit and I moved to the advisory team.  He was a pretty good kid.  I think he was 20, maybe 19, at that time and was just learning about growing up.  A soldier who still needed to mature, but was able to learn and do good.  He was quick to be able to make folks laugh and had a lot of fun.  I am sure he continued to develop as a soldier, as I see that he was promoted to Corpral.  The loss of another person who I knew directly and worked with hurts.  It continues to bring home the reality, and I feel ashamed to say, that when I heard about the battle on some remote spot in Afghanistan that I acted like so many others - read about it and then went on to the next thing I was doing, forgetting there was a war, that I was a part of that war, and that so many are still being directly affected by it in so many ways.

 

Peace be with you Jason

I pulled this picture and the other one, now in My Photos, from a friend of Jason's MySpace page (http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=11718756, specifically from the Photobucket they link to here: http://s35.photobucket.com/albums/d167/DancinAng27/?start=20)

It looked surreal. It looked like a movie.

That was what Spc. Tyler Stafford remembered thinking as he stepped onto the medical evacuation helicopter. The 23-year-old soldier would have been loaded onto the bird, but the poncho that was hastily employed as his stretcher broke. His body speckled with grenade and RPG shrapnel, the Vicenza, Italy, infantryman walked the last few feet to the waiting Black Hawk.

That was Sunday morning in eastern Afghanistan’s Kunar province. At a forward operating base — maybe as big as a football field — established just a few days prior.

Outnumbered but not outgunned, a platoon-plus element of soldiers with 2nd Platoon, Company C, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment (Airborne), 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team accompanied by Afghan soldiers engaged in a fistfight of a firefight.

After maybe two hours of intense combat, some of the soldiers’ guns seized up because they expelled so many rounds so quickly. Insurgent bullets and dozens of rocket-propelled grenades filled the air. So many RPGs were fired at the soldiers that they wondered how the insurgents had so many.

That was July 13. That was when Stafford was blown out of a fighting position by an RPG, survived a grenade blast and had the tail of an RPG strike his helmet.

That was the day nine Chosen Company soldiers died.

It was just days before the unit was scheduled to leave the base.

The first RPG and machine gun fire came at dawn, strategically striking the forward operating base’s mortar pit. The insurgents next sighted their RPGs on the tow truck inside the combat outpost, taking it out. That was around 4:30 a.m.

This was not a haphazard attack. The reportedly 200 insurgents fought from several positions. They aimed to overrun the new base. The U.S. soldiers knew it and fought like hell. They knew their lives were on the line.

"I just hope these guys’ wives and their children understand how courageous their husbands and dads were," said Sgt. Jacob Walker. "They fought like warriors."

The next target was the FOB’s observation post, where nine soldiers were positioned on a tiny hill about 50 to 75 meters from the base. Of those nine, five died, and at least three others — Stafford among them — were wounded.

When the attack began, Stafford grabbed his M-240 machine gun off a north-facing sandbag wall and moved it to an east-facing sandbag wall. Moments later, RPGs struck the north-facing wall, knocking Stafford out of the fighting position and wounding another soldier.

Stafford thought he was on fire so he rolled around, regaining his senses. Nearby, Cpl. Gunnar Zwilling, who later died in the fight, had a stunned look on his face.

Immediately, a grenade exploded by Stafford, blowing him down to a lower terrace at the observation post and knocking his helmet off. Stafford put his helmet back on and noticed how badly he was bleeding.

Cpl. Matthew Phillips was close by, so Stafford called to him for help. Phillips was preparing to throw a grenade and shot a look at Stafford that said, "Give me a second. I gotta go kill these guys first."

This was only about 30 to 60 seconds into the attack.

Kneeling behind a sandbag wall, Phillips pulled the grenade pin, but just after he threw it an RPG exploded at his position. The tail of the RPG smacked Stafford’s helmet. The dust cleared. Phillips was slumped over, his chest on his knees and his hands by his side. Stafford called out to his buddy three or four times, but Phillips never answered or moved.

"When I saw Phillips die, I looked down and was bleeding pretty good, that’s probably the most scared I was at any point," Stafford said. "Then I kinda had to calm myself down and be like, ‘All right, I gotta go try to do my job.’ "

The soldier from Parker, Colo., loaded his 9 mm handgun, crawled up to their fighting position, stuck the pistol over the sandbags and fired.

Stafford saw Zwilling’s M-4 rifle nearby so he loaded it, put it on top of the sandbag and fired. Another couple RPGs struck the sandbag wall Stafford used as cover. Shrapnel pierced his hands.

Stafford low-crawled to another fighting position where Cpl. Jason Bogar, Sgt. Matthew Gobble and Sgt. Ryan Pitts were located. Stafford told Pitts that the insurgents were within grenade-tossing range. That got Pitts’ attention.

With blood running down his face, Pitts threw a grenade and then crawled to the position from where Stafford had just come. Pitts started hucking more grenades.

The firefight intensified. Bullets cut down tree limbs that fell on the soldiers. RPGs constantly exploded.

Back at Stafford’s position, so many bullets were coming in that the soldiers could not poke their heads over their sandbag wall. Bogar stuck an M-249 machine gun above the wall and squeezed off rounds to keep fire on the insurgents. In about five minutes, Bogar fired about 600 rounds, causing the M-249 to seize up from heat.

At another spot on the observation post, Cpl. Jonathan Ayers laid down continuous fire from an M-240 machine gun, despite drawing small-arms and RPG fire from the enemy. Ayers kept firing until he was shot and killed. Cpl. Pruitt Rainey radioed the FOB with a casualty report, calling for help. Of the nine soldiers at the observation post, Ayers and Phillips were dead, Zwilling was unaccounted for, and three were wounded. Additionally, several of the soldiers’ machine guns couldn’t fire because of damage. And they needed more ammo.

Rainey, Bogar and another soldier jumped out of their fighting position with the third soldier of the group launching a shoulder-fired missile.

All this happened within the first 20 minutes of the fight.

Platoon leader 1st Lt. Jonathan Brostrom and Cpl. Jason Hovater arrived at the observation post to reinforce the soldiers. By that time, the insurgents had breached the perimeter of the observation post. Gunfire rang out, and Rainey shouted, "He’s right behind the sandbag."

Brostrom could be heard shouting about the insurgent as well.

More gunfire and grenade explosions ensued. Back in the fighting position, Gobble fired a few quick rounds. Gobble then looked to where the soldiers were fighting and told Stafford the soldiers were dead. Of the nine soldiers who died in the battle, at least seven fell in fighting at the observation post.

The insurgents then started chucking rocks at Gobble and Stafford’s fighting position, hoping that the soldiers might think the rocks were grenades, causing them to jump from the safety of their fighting hole. One rock hit a tree behind Stafford and landed directly between his legs. He braced himself for an explosion. He then realized it was a rock.

Stafford didn’t have a weapon, and Gobble was low on ammo. Gobble told Stafford they had to get back to the FOB. They didn’t realize that Pitts was still alive in another fighting position at the observation post. Gobble and Stafford crawled out of their fighting hole. Gobble looked again to where the soldiers had been fighting and reconfirmed to Stafford that Brostrom, Rainey, Bogar and others were dead.

Gobble and Stafford low-crawled and ran back to the FOB. Coming into the FOB, Stafford was asked by a sergeant what was going on at the observation post. Stafford told him all the soldiers there were dead. Stafford lay against a wall, and his fellow soldiers put a tourniquet on him.

From the OP, Pitts got on the radio and told his comrades he was alone. At least three soldiers went to the OP to rescue Pitts, but they suffered wounds after encountering RPG and small-arms fire.

At that time, air support arrived in the form of Apache helicopters, A-10s and F-15s, performing bombing and strafing runs.

When the attack began, Walker was on the FOB. He grabbed an M-249 and started shooting toward a mountain spur where he could see some muzzle flashes. Walker put down 600 to 800 rounds of ammunition.

He got down behind the wall he was shooting from to load more ammo and was told they were taking fire from the southwest. He threw the bipod legs of his machine gun on the hood of a nearby Humvee. A 7.62-millimeter caliber bullet struck Walker’s left wrist, knocking him to the ground. A soldier applied a tourniquet to Walker and bandaged him.

Walker and two other wounded soldiers distributed their ammo and grenades and passed messages.

The whole FOB was covered in dust and smoke, looking like something out of an old Western movie.

"I’ve never seen the enemy do anything like that," said Walker, who was medically evacuated off the FOB in one of the first helicopters to arrive. "It’s usually three RPGs, some sporadic fire and then they’re gone … I don’t where they got all those RPGs. That was crazy."

Two hours after the first shots were fired, Stafford made his way — with help — to the medevac helicopter that arrived.

"It was some of the bravest stuff I’ve ever seen in my life, and I will never see it again because those guys," Stafford said, then paused. "Normal humans wouldn’t do that. You’re not supposed to do that — getting up and firing back when everything around you is popping and whizzing and trees, branches coming down and sandbags exploding and RPGs coming in over your head … It was a fistfight then, and those guys held ’ em off."

Stafford offered a guess as to why his fellow soldiers fought so hard.

"Just hardcoreness I guess," he said. "Just guys kicking ass, basically. Just making sure that we look scary enough that you don’t want to come in and try to get us."

(I don't know where this was first posted, but I found it here: http://www.thecommunitypaper.com/ on their August 21, 2008 edition)

"Jeff Emanuel summed the fight up very well, "Perhaps the most important takeaway from that encounter, though, is the one that the mainstream media couldn't be bothered to pay attention long enough to learn: that, not for the first time, a contingent of American soldiers that was outnumbered by up to a twenty-to-one ratio soundly and completely repulsed a complex, pre-planned assault by those dedicated enough to their cause to kill themselves in its pursuit. That kind of heroism and against-all-odds success is and has been a hallmark of America's fighting men and women, and it is one that is worthy of all the attention we can possibly give it."

Of the original 45 paratroopers, 15 were wounded and The Sky Soldiers lost 9 killed in action in the attack. They were:

1LT Jonathan Brostrom of Aiea, Hawaii
SGT Israel Garcia of Long Beach, California
SPC Matthew Phillips of Jasper, Georgia
SPC Pruitt Rainey of Haw River, North Carolina
SPC Jonathan Ayers of Snellville, Georgia
SPC Jason Bogar of Seattle, Washington
SPC Sergio Abad of Morganfield, Kentucky
SPC Jason Hovater of Clinton, Tennessee
SPC Gunnar Zwilling of Florissant, Missouri

Of the nine that were lost, Sgt Walker says: "I just hope these guys' wives and their children understand how courageous their husbands and dads were. These men were truly incredible warriors"

Last week, there were nine funerals in the United States. Nine warriors were laid to rest. Nine warriors who had given their all for their country. All proud members of a brotherhood that will carry on in their name. They fought and died in what most would consider impossible circumstances, and yet they succeeded. A nameless fight in a distant war which, until you understand the facts, could be spun as a defeat. It wasn't. And it is because of the pride, courage and fighting spirit of this small unit that it was, in fact, a victory against overwhelming odds. And there's little doubt, given that pride and given that fighting spirit, that we will be back to reestablish the base, this time with quite a few more soldiers just like the ones who "kicked ass" the last time there

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, did I hear someone say get help from VA?  Sheetz, right.  Here is my VA experience on PTSD:

What?  Sorry, would you say that again?  I couldn't hear you.  Oh, did someone say VA gives a damn? I knew I was hearing things wrong.

I know what the VA's solution to the problem is in 4 easy steps:
1 - Make an appointment in crisis and say your suicidal because you can barely keep your head from exploding hoping it will speed things up.  That way it will only take 11 days to get an appointment instead of 21 days.  Gotta prove crisis you know.
2 - Show up for your appointment on time (cleaned and shaved for the first time in two weeks to make a good impression) so you can sit in the waiting area for an additional 45 minutes before the psychiatric social worker will review your level of suici....err, sorry, I mean evaluate the scale of difficulty.
3 - Pass the pre-screen by really, really pushing the PTSD envelope (e.g. hitting 64 on a scale of 70), and be allowed (yes, they "allowed" me to stay) to wait an additional 3 hours in crisis so that you can see the psychotherapist.
4 - See the guy with 25 years working with vets who've got some emotional issues and PTSD, so he can say this:  "I saw you sitting out there waiting for the screening and you don't look that bad.  I tell you what, you can come up (a two hour drive from my home) to the VA once a week for an hour support group each week if you want". 
5 - [hidden step].  Cock your head to the therapists like that dog on the record label looking into the record player to be sure you heard him correctly.

The end.  Problem solved.

 

Easier to be angry.

 

pa·tri·ot /ˈpeɪtriət, -ˌɒt or, especially Brit., ˈpætriət/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[pey-tree-uht, -ot or, especially Brit., pa-tree-uht] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation

From my journal:

 

07APR04          83°F      Baghdad

First mission.  Go on a Leader's recon to the A. O. [Area of Operations].  Company Cdr [commander] also going to a meeting of a bunch of Iraqis.  I don't feel good.  He's not putting out any mission info necessary (e.g. comms, freqs, air, QRF, and essential coordination).  Only taking three vehicles.  A.O. is described as "hostile" too.  Fuck.  Is this guy running on his own or with BN's [battalion's] guidance? ... [break]

 

Things went okay.  Got to F.O.B Muleskinner, ate lunch, got another mission to prep for, came back.  It's really wild driving here.  We rule!  Driving 9.5 tons of turbo-charged truck definitely has advantages.  Especially at 60 MPH.  Put a car into the guard rail once.  Sucks, but we won't slow or stop for nothing.  New mission is fixed sight security at an old (working?) nuke plant.  Area sucks and the Mehdi Army is fighting in that A.O.  [well at that time, like now, they were fighting everywhere]  They're declared hostile and are engage on sight.  I guess they wear some kind of version of a uniform [black pajama's and green scarf or headband usually].  I think it's likely we will have more action around here.  One of our platoons (1st) is doing local security in the towers.  They did a patrol in a dead building area right out of the F.O.B. [Highlander, later Prosperity] and found a cache of 17 RPG rounds, mortar rounds, tube, and AKs.  Crap. Tracks around it looked to be within three days old.

 

PSG [Platoon Sergeant] was detached to work with ICDC.  New PSG came from supply.  Whatever!  What the Hell?  No line experience, not infantry and didn't train with us.  Will take some getting use to [never happened and thankfully I got assigned to ICDC advisor too].  Gotta crash to get mission ready for tomorrow.  Got new levels of adrenaline.  Think it's always in my system now.  Relaxing is relative.  Nighty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     I think, however, if I were to do it again, I would have spent the extra bucks and got this tent, the Keron GT.  The biggest reason is because the Nallo as you can see has an angled foot.  Not a problem in good weather, but in the cold of winter, wet feet from condensation on the foot of the sleeping bag isn't the best thing.

Well I just gotta know why the "updated spaces" is always the same spaces.  Why is it that since I created this space that whenever I go to look at the "Updated Spaces" link it's always the same eight or so spaces...for the past friggin 4 weeks its been the same damn spaces.  And then whenever I go to the "More" link its always displaying "updated spaces" for folks from Asia or South America.  Whatever.

About a year back from Iraq I found that I was giving this guy too much time in my head.  For a long period I thought he was a decent fella.  That changed.  I should have seen it coming, but didn’t until it was way too late.  So when he reared his ugly head I was really taken back.  I won’t use his name, but I sure would like to because people gotta know what this guy is about.  To make a short story long, here goes:

 

Once upon a time there was this brand new lieutenant, all shiny and buffed out.  He’d even spent time as an enlisted soldier prior to deciding that he wanted the bars and to be a leader of men among men.  And that’s the best part.

 

I let this lieutenant take up too much time in my head.  I really have spent a lot of time pondering our final conversation and wondering just what it was that I did to cause him to tell me these things.  Quick history:  the advisory unit I was with was being rumored that it was going to be disbanded and that the members would be re-integrated to our previous units.  So the boy catches me outside of their living quarters and lays into me.  He told me that I was not wanted back in the platoon I originally was assigned to.  He continued to state that “all the boys think you are a quitter”.  God that hurt to hear.  Now some more background.  Every NCO in that platoon left. Yep got up and found another job.  The entire NCO core except for two fellas who’s only experience was national guard time.  Six very experienced leaders bailed out of this platoon and the company.  One Sergeant First Class (E7), three Staff Sergeants (E6) and two Sergeants (E5).  Of use six the break down was two combat experienced, two Ranger qualified (and battalion), three light infantry (10^th Mountain Div), all Airborne qualified with actual unit jumps not just the five jumps it takes to get the wings.  Years of service ranged from eight to 20 years, probably near to a combined 80 years of service.  We all got out of that platoon for one primary reason:  The company Commander.  But that’s another discussion.  Anyhow, that left the lieutenant with really no experienced leadership.  Now, we all didn’t depart at once, but really inside of the first month of being in Iraq.  I started working on finding another unit within being in country about two weeks.  I was up front with the lad too.  I told him I intended to try and find another unit to work at because of the commander and because of the new platoon sergeant.  A filler E7 who came from the supply end of the Army.  He was given an infantry line platoon, dumb.  He got it, I believe, because the First Sergeant didn’t want to loose the supply sergeant he knew, who had threatened to leave the unit if this E7 didn’t get gone, they're best buddies and all.  So to appease his buddy, the First Sergeant put him in charge of us.  We didn’t get along at all and I made it very clear to him that he was not infantry, had not been infantry, and had no business being a platoon sergeant for a line platoon.  Well I eventually tipped the shell over and was given the go ahead to find another home.  Which I did and ten days later I was on the advisory team.  Well by this time it was just me and one of the two sergeants trying to get out.  He was a qualified sniper and was working to get assigned to the sniper team (which was combined at the battalion).  However, he had not been informing this lieutenant, he was being secret squirrel about it, so his transfer to the sniper team came about at the same time that I was leaving. And away we went, clear of that company and platoon.  Breathing room and closer to common sense.

 

So there’s the background.  With the lieutenant barking at me that I should find another place, presuming the advisory team would be disbanded, and that I was now considered a quitter, I asked him if this was the same attitude held towards the other fella who bailed out at the same time that I did.  He just stuttered.  So it was specific to me.  Well the I just had to confront him about it.  As I had informed him about what I was trying to do and kept him informed the whole process, he mentioned once or twice that I was quitting on him.  I told him that he was the only one who ever mentioned that to me and so I asked him why he did not quell this talk with the troops if he did not also feel that way.  He told me that he didn’t spend time with the enlisted.  That’s a damn lie.  He was good at that.  Ask me about the time he covered up a negligent discharge of a weapon to cover his ass from the company commander some time.  It is a cute story that ties into this one.  This jerk would sit down and play all sorts of Nintendo games with the troops on a regular basis.  They’d get all buddy-buddy and talk about all sorts of things.  So I figure he was just lying and that he did not want me there, but that he had been the primary instigator of the reason to the enlisted troops there in the platoon.  I really didn’t mind not going back to the platoon.  I didn’t like them anyhow, it was no skin off my back to not be there anyhow.  It was his lies that burnt me.

 

So I toss this around as to why all this happened.  What had I done to cause such dislike?  I don’t have that answer.  Maybe I am just an asshole (quite likely) and shared that very well?  Maybe after 20 years of army service I suddenly turned into someone who don't know crap?  I donno.  Either way, I spend too much time giving this fella rent in my head.  It was worse in the past than now, but the thoughts still crop in.  After all I am the most common denominator in all the things I do.

When I first got back, I kind of hovered around.  It was like when I moved I just slid across the world with really little motion.  Well that’s how my brain seemed to handle things.  And it was really amazing how much stuff just rolled over my shoulders.  I think the only thing I did right away, inside of the first week back, was to begin to look for a job.  That was the only thing that stressed me out.

 

I was sleeping okay, that was not hard at all because I was still on the schedule from Iraq.  That schedule usually involved 4-6 hours of sleep and varied times.  And some times not all together.  It was pretty close to that the whole time I was there.  It lightened up about a month before I came home, but mostly because battalion ordered our captain that our unit would take two days of in a row.  Novel concept.  Until that point we would work out as best we could a rotation where one man would have a day off each day.  As long as we could manage that.  The unit would take one off every ten to 14 days or so.  We usually did stuff, but didn’t head out to patrol.  We were ballistic busy though.  July through September 2004 was nothing short of really insane: 4-6 combat patrols a day (“day”: any combination of time ranging from 24 to 72 hours, but usually around 36 hours).  That would range from traffic control points (TCP) to presence patrols, to door knocking missions, to picking up Iraqi trainees from their basic training, driving around waiting to be ambushed, and what ever else.  It was crazy.  All are classified as combat patrols (like when is there not one in Iraq).  We would run some kind of chaotic sleep schedule.  There were many times it came down to “do I catch sleep or get food” kind of decisions.  And it ran for a long period of time, especially that July.  We were dizzy and just running on adrenaline and pure professionalism to get things done.  Insane.

 

So when I say it was easy to sleep when I got home, it is because the schedule we were on when I left Iraq, though not as intense as July ’04, but it was still running on limited sleep.  You acclimatize to it really.  Or something, I donno…It’s just what had to be done.  My wife said I spend a lot of time chattering away in my sleep, groaning or something too.  That lasted a pretty solid three weeks.  But I would sleep for four hours and wake up sharp.  Bing!  Sometimes I was able to roll back over and get a bit more, but for a long time I was just up.  Kind of a drag when I would be up at 3, 4 or 5 am with nothing to do but fiddle-faddle around.

 

The nightmares didn’t really start until about three months back.  Mostly explosion dreams.  Wild.  I would feel the rush of air, feel the dirt and stuff hitting me, the heat and blast of the shock…and then startle awake.  Sometimes sweaty, sometimes not.  Sometimes shaking, sometimes not.  Sometimes shooting dreams or yelling dreams.  Usually my heart was pumping pretty good though.  I think my body was just so used to kicking out a regular dose of adrenaline and dopamine that it didn’t know how to stop, or want to even.  It wanted the dope it made in the combat zone back!  My brain was gonna shock my system and do what ever it took to get the physiological reactions to kick in so it could get the fix.

 

I really tried to fight it too.  I moved into the “don’t look and its not there” mode.  If nothing else I would pretend it was all gone.  That made things worse really fast and so I gave it up, once and a while anyhow.

 

One of the things that I did do well was know that I was not in Iraq any more and that I did not have to react to the stuff on the side of the road, but my eyes still scanned and my brain wanted to process it like Iraq…but I worked to let myself know that I was safe and that I was driving on my city street and it was not Iraq and therefore I was safe.  Safe, safe, safe.  I put so much effort into reminding myself I was safe now.  I think that helped me some on my daily travels and interactions.  I am sure it did really.  It didn’t stop the habitual actions and reactions, but when I would recognized that I was going there, I would remind my self that I was safe now.  Too bad my brain didn’t pay attention to that in the dreams.  I would have to help calm myself down by some prayer and reminding myself that I was safe.  No shooting.  No ambushes.  No road side bombs.  No car bombs.  No RPGs (God I hated those things!  They freaked me out.  I don’t know why, they just did).

 

So sleep. I’ll have to write again on this matter because it coves a lot of stuff.  I can talk about not sleeping and moving into an episode.  Not sleeping but three or so hours a night, kina-sorta, for five or six days at a time and then the body just collapsing in exhaustion and forcing itself to sleep.  Then the whole process starting over again.  I’ll come back to sleep another time.  This is one thing that really still plagues me, even on meds.  A good thing is that in the six months that I’ve been on medication, I have only had two nightmares.  Much better than two a week.

Hey there,

 

Thanks for showing up.  Please at least look through the slide show there before you take off.  Maybe even hit the guest book there too, don’t have to leave anything more that a period (.) if you want.

 

This is the third time that I am trying to plug this thing in.  Actually the second time was the best set-up, but for all my efforts and settings, I just could not get any hits…none.  Dead in the water.  I don’t know why, so I closed it.  Some of the blogs were pretty good, but not as good as the ones in the first Space I set up.  With all my bright ideas, I didn’t save the writings in a document.  Well I did for the second one, but bright me deleted the folder they were in (an attempt to make a web page that sadly failed…or failed sadly).

 

The first and most important reason I started this was to start writing while I was tweaking on PTSD periods.  I wasn’t sleeping anyhow, so putting time into the first blog was pretty easy.  Not to mention the writing was decent.  Or the topics were.  I’m not the best grammaticist (my own word there), but I think that what I was writing about was in some way helping me to clear my head of that period after the war.  Actually, my worst period of mental pole vaulting was really around the two years after and not the first year.  Well both had some really miserably times, that would take me to all sorts of dimensions of LSD quality thinking without the dope.  And “quality” is not used in any form of the positive sense here.  So, then, I’ve lost all that writing, and blew off the primary purpose of why I was doing it.  I wanted to track my recovery from the war and try to share it as much as possible with others through this medium.  As I mentioned earlier, web design is not working for me so the blog was my best choice at that time.  Now here I am, strike three and with none of the original materials available to really help illustrate the process.

 

I finally started on some medication in March 07. Just over two years since I got back.  I tried to get meds several times earlier, and I will save that process for another blog entry, but didn’t push the need as much as I probably should have with the doctors and psychiatrists.  But they also did not inquire or see fit that medications would help me deal with my head.  I finally went to my [new] doctor and just outright said that I really need to get on some meds to deal with the crap.  PTSD is an ugly beast that takes on all sorts of terrors to destroy any mental state that at one time would have been called my normalcy.  There is nothing (well probably there is but) that can rate to coming out of a ‘flashback’ on the highway to see a corner coming up and that the car is going 95 miles an hour.  Or that can compare to the impatient, intolerant, and just plain asinine behavior I would cast upon my family.  It was in these periods of complete loss that I closed and deleted the first two tries at blogging my Iraq experience, or rather trying to record the things that were flying through my head afterwards.

 

Enter happy pills.  Wellbutrin is a wonderful thing.  Thank you GlaxoSmithKline.  So where will this go?  I donno.  I figure I will try to rewrite some of the things that I did in my earlier blogs.  Ultimately though, I hope to get stuff cornered and to share this stuff three years ex-post facto.  I’m not going to play fix me or fix you, but I will share my experience and then see where that goes.