Catsup

Wow, I didn't realize how much time has gone by since I wrote here. I have since been down to WDC on Veterans Day last for the 25th anniversary of and the rededication of the Wall. The photo is of a Donut Dolly. They were women who volunteered with the Red Cross, I believe to go to Viet Nam to visit troops. There were all kinds of unsavory rumors about these young ladies, but I wanted to believe the best. I talked with this woman for a while and realized with the crowd around me that I did not feel a part of this group here in WDC attending these ceremonies. It has been an issue all along; isolation and not belonging. It's ok to realize this and even better to know these aren't the guys I relate to. They dress up in pseudo uniform and there is nothing wrong with that, but not for me. I can't wear the patches and vests full of the "I am a Viet Nam Veteran" paraphernalia, not even a gimme cap.

This past year has been a very stressful one. In June of 2007 I went to a symposium put on by Maine Veterans for Peace. Dr. Ed Tick was a speaker; he was very eloquent and real. He teared up on stage and I had the opportunity to talk to him. He regularly takes guys back to Viet Nam and to the places where the veteran served. I dissociated during his talk and that was the beginning of a period of visiting Viet Nam on a regular basis. I didn't find it disconcerting so much as now I am very aware that I am doing it.

I am still not employed by the VA, but I have had 3 interviews at Vet Centers and missed out on applying for a local Vet Center because I wasn't paying attention to the VA job website. I am applying like crazy and looking for a new home other than Maine. I am too cold here being a tall thin guy.

Well it seems that my mac is not allowed to upload images on to this site so we will have to tolerate another form of discrimination.

Since I last wrote I have been playing the part of a clinical social worker and I think I am having relative success. I really want to work at a Vet Center, but I am at community mental health and Maine is right now cutting back major dollars to MH even though experience teaches us that when MH funding is cut inpatient use increases, ER use increases and more people end up in the prison system.

So I hope to get out of that system and work at the job I got this education to be a warrior therapist.

The beginning of a conclusion:

I sit and think about these memories, reflections, flashbacks…stories…and it seems to me that with all the movies, books and articles in vivid detail that it may seem made up and I sometimes think, "What if all this has influenced my memories and my response was some empathic reaction to these influences and to the images of the present conflict?"
But I cannot account for about a 3 month period except snippets, some good and otherwise.
AND I don't remember working, doing my job, or any, but a very few, of my interactions with my sergeant and other crew members or forgetting all but one of their names during that time. I also think that what I have remembered is "safe" for me to remember.
So, what's missing?

Only a flashback every now and again

I have been pursuing this PTSD claim with the VA for several years now and it has been rejudicated back to the local VA from WDC and I have to do some follow-up paperwork. What's holding it up is I cannot corroborate my claim. It's not that you can have psychiatric and psychological tests that find one has PTSD it must have either a report of said incident or someone who will offer a notorized statement of corroboration. I don't have it. The one incident I do firmly remember, and I firmly state this happened, is negated by records.
So I've got this report to do. I have been avoiding it and am just ready to give up on the whole thing, but my Veterans representative convinced me it is worth the effort. I have been trying to remember something that might be the saving instance for all this work (and let's not forget the symptoms) that might be enough for this clain to be confirmed.
I KNEW this was going to be difficult. Even as I write this I'm beginning to feel the initiation of anxiety symptoms. (I do remember to breate into it)
Friday night I went out and had a few, just to take the edge off. Though I don't numb out as much as I have, it still comes in handy, occasionally.
Saturday morning with a bit of a hangover and a cup of coffee, I sat in my front room and thought about the months of mostly missing memory on the first firebase I was on, FireBase Birmingham. I thought of what I did remember. The rat who was on my chest when I woke up, just sniffing my breath, damn he was big; the first ambush I went on. The mortar sargent who was such a prick to me. Seeing "The Sound of Music" at the mess hall one night. The road to camp, the dump, the shit cans being burned and the smell of diesel burning. The chinook helicopters.
I dissociate slightly and my breath is shallow and fast, my heart is beating hard, I feel the heat, I stop, I can't do this, I cannot go there. BUT, I need to remember, I need to do this and I think I've begun a segue, between here and now and then.
I get another cuppa and I go to the kitchen with a legal pad, pen and my earnestness.
What I wil write here is my words as they came. It's too bad you can't read my written word because it visibly changes as things happen and memories flood, though it still isn't quite concrete enough, like dates and specific incidences. There are references to other memories, but I decide to bare myself here!
This is for you JASSMOND:
I've been trying to think about what happened on Firebase Birmingham in mid 1970, my heart starts beating rapidly, the room feels close, I'm breathing shallow and rapidly. I got this same feeling painting my last "recovery" painting. I want to dissociate to there & be able to "witness" myself. I was afraid almost all the time, I was drunk a lot, I learned how to smoke pot from the guy who later raped me. I went out on ambush and my ADRENALIN WAS CONSTANT. I LEARNED HOW TO BE HYPERVIGILENT, IT'S ONE OF THE REASONS I CAN'T (scratch that) WON'T GO CAMPING AND WHY I REALLY DON'T LIKE LIVING IN THE COUNTRY. A LOT OF PEOPLE (who don't have PTSD) DON'T LIKE THE CITY, I DON'T SCAN THE TREE LINE IN THE CITY - PROBABLY AN OPPOSITE REACTION WILL OCCUR IN THE IRAQI VETS - YEA, I LIVED IN THE COUNTRY FOR A WHILE, BUT I DISSOCIATED A LOT BEFORE I KNEW WHAT DISSOCIATION WAS.
I think a time frame might be May 8 through July 8 1970. on Firebase Birmingham.
I SIT HERE & AM HAVING A FLASHBACK TRYING TO REMEMBER THE FIREBASE IS ALL LIT UP, THERE'S EXPLOSIONS & GUYS ARE RUNNING EVERY WHERE ALL HELL IS BREAKING LOOSE IT SEEMED LIKE FOREVER. I FUCKING CAN'T REMEMBER IT HURTS TOO MUCH I'M SCARED - THEN AND NOW.

I CAN'T REMEMBER PEOPLE'S NAMES - IT TAKES ME A LONG TIME TO REMEMBER PEOPLES NAMES NOW AND If I DON'T SEE YOU FOR A WHILE, I MAY NOT REMEMBER BECAUSE I CAN'T GET TOO CLOSE TO PEOPLE CAUSE THEY GO AWAY AND THEY DON'T COME BACK SO IT DOESN'T MATTER, IT DON'T MEAN NOTHIN', CAUSE I DON'T FEEL ANYTHING ANYWAY.

YEA AMERICA, WE'RE STILL DOING THIS TO OUR YOUNG PEOPLE.

Later in 1970 I was in Camp Eagle for a few days, or a couple to get the radar fixed, no it was after I came back from radar school in Long Binh, where, I learned in the early part of this decade, I scored the highest of all the students til then. I STOPPED IN TO SEE MY FRIEND HARRIS THE MEDIC AT BATTALION AID AFTER CHOW HE INVITED ME TO HAVE A DRINK & SMOKE (remember: he introduced pot to me.) SCOTCH WITH A WATER CHASER. HE KEPT FILLING UP MY GLASS, THEY WERE SMALL, HAVE SOME WATER, I DON'T REMEMBER HIM POURING MUCH IN HIS GLASS OR DRINKING MUCH ONLY THAT HE KEPT TALKING, HE WAS SORT OF FUNNY - WE (scratch that) HE KILLED A COCKROACH WITH THE NUMBING SPRAY USED FOR WOUNDS - SORT OF COMPRESSED COOLANT - HE WALKED ME OVER TO HIS BED IT FELT GOOD AT FIRST, BUT I'M REALLY DRUNK - IT WON'T HURT HE SAID - HE RAPED ME AFTER RUBBING ME, HE TRIED KISSING ME, BUT I TURNED MY HEAD - WE WERE SITTING ON HIS BED & MY PANTS WERE DOWN AND WHEN I WOULDN'T KISS HIM, NOW REMEMBER I'M 18 AND ABOUT 135 - 140 LBS & HE'S 6'+ AND ABOUT 190 - 200 - HE GRABS ME AND THEN I'M ON MY STOMACH LEANING OVER THE BED & I'M SO DRUNK HE SHUSHES ME, TOLD ME I'LL LIKE THIS AND ALL I HEAR IS THE FAN WHIRRING, OCILLATING & THE PLASTIC STRIPS FLAPPING AND HIS HANDS ARE HOLDING MY ARMS AND I'M STRUGGLING. HE LEANS MORE OF HIS WEIGHT AND I WAKE UP & MY PANTS ARE UP BUT NOT ZIPPED AND FASTENED. I WAS SITTING ON THE FLOOR LEANING ON HIS COT. I HAVE A WICKED HANGOVER & I GO BACK TO MY HOOCH & A LURP ASKS ME WHERE I'VE BEEN - THAT I LOOKED LIKE HELL - SO I TOLD HIM AND PASSED OUT.
LATER AT THE FIREBASE I BEGAN TO DO THINGS EVERY SO OFTEN - I STARTED EXPERIMENTING WITH WHAT SOMEONE CALLED COKE, BUT TURNED OUT TO BE HEROIN - SOMETIMES I'D drink a little obesitol (I think - , but it was liquid "SPEED") I could be really alert. I became involved with S-2 (Army intellegence) and when ideas about how to utilize radar differently were tossed around I would volunteer to do risky missions - unfortunately S-2 continued to assign risky missions.
When Bob Hope played at Camp Eagle, on my birthday, Dec. 26, radar was assigned guard duty on the hill between Firebase Arsenal where there was no enemy movement - that wouldn't happen until later in my tour - in that part of the sector. I got pissed off and left for a couple hours - I went for a walk, watched the sunset from a protected space. Oh yea I was safe. There was no vegetation on this hill and it was shorter than the firebase.
My lieutenant was incensed. Within a week in lieu of an article 15 I was sent out w/Charlie Company for 3 weeks. I was dangerous, just like if I was brand new, "cherry" incountry I was lucky I didn't get killed from my own stupidity.
I became a sergeant and a prick - alienating friends & others - I did more heroin - and I was in charge of 2 radar crews of guys older than me - I thought some were way older, but probably only 8 or 9 yrs for a couple at most.
I WAS CHANGED AND I STAYED CHANGED UNTIL THE FALL of 2000 when I got incredibly depressed for several months, even on meds I cried most of the time then the memories began to emerge. I couldn't stop the nightmares. I thought that was done, that the drugs and alcohol successfully stopped them. Then I was hearing stuff & hypervigilience, tactile hallucinations. Flashbacks & dissociation. There are times when I can be in both places at once, though those are rare. But I did this all before
NOW I'M CHANGED DIFFERENTLY.

That's it…the bold is what I wrote when I was mostly in a flashback. I was emtionally distraught, some sentences took a long time to write and a lot of effort on my conscious self. I have to thank my counselors at the Vet Center where I went when the nightmares began again in 1997…again. Actually I think they never stopped, they just became intrusive and sometimes during waking hours.

FEAR!!!

I was talking with my therapist the other day. We were speaking of my recent PSA test that was like more than 3 times what is the high end of "normal". Having never been normal I should have liked to have just laughed it off, but it was playing me…or rather I was playing me (as we all will do).
I wasn't seeping well, I was a bit anxious and snappy, I wanted to isolate. Things bother me more than usual. I hadn't tied it back to the test. I mean I was miffed at the FNP for not telling me that one was ordered in amongst the other blood tests I got and then I got a letter telling me that the results were "extremely high". What would you do? Well, Roy asked me if I had thought that I might be a little afraid.
Hmmmm! Something I hadn't considered. So afterward we spoke of the way I've been acting and had there been any other changes in my life. Not much recently.
Hmm, fear. What is it? A reaction to an external event usually exhibited by goosebumps, hyperviilence, increased startle response, anger and if extended or repeated exposure, just down right bitchiness on top of all the other stuff, alienation. Of course, one can just freeze up.
I myself get a bit depressed, maybe I cry, sad thngs really make me sad. I have an increased empathy response.
But this is my PSA test. This could mean prostate cancer, removal of the prostate or one of those radiation seeds. feeling sick or worse, just dying. That would solve so much, but not the way I'd llike to resolve things in my life. Geesh, what if THE guy came along.
BTW where has he been all this time?
So I was at a party last night and there was this guy there who was really cute, pretty young, approachable, definitely liked to dance and I froze up to even talk with him. It is amazing how I let fear freeze my actions. There is the fear of success that has sabatoged my 2 previous occupations.
Fear of recrimination when it was time to come out. Fear of the dark that those forces are still out there trying to bring me down.
My friend Janice from university would see this and be amazed at the fear I speak about. I certainly put on the brave face in classes, but fear can be an impetus also. Sometimes the fear of looking silly or emabarrassed is just the needed push to give up and act. Action is the panacea of fear.
I think fear of rejection is my greatest fear. I mean one would think that having survived all the things that I have and going to a most horrendous war zone would quelch such fears, but even to just have someone walk away from you while dancing or talking…well my own self-concept doesn't accept that I can really matter to someone on that level, or is it deserving of relationship or to be happy or successful.
Maybe this blog should be titled "self-sabatoge".

Painting

10-15
Just got back from painting my brother's kitchen. I went down to replace a couple windows, but he had the painting as a priority. He and his wife live about a 3 1/2 hour drive from me. I do these things to help out because:
1. in 1972 he was hit by a train and over the years he has been able to do less and less of this kind of work. He's 63 now. Here is a guy who loved to get up on the roof and put on the electric company's annual budget of Christmas displays. Can't do it anymore.
2. my 81 year old mum lives with him. You all know how mum is, she isn't bad, just that she is mum.
3. they give me a little something besides gas money. A couple years ago they had to have the house painted and I did it. It took a hell of a time coming down on weekends to paint it…and being on a 25 foot ladder, especially fiberglass, isn't my idea of fun! I saved them about half.
4. I am the only relative right now who comes to help.
We, I mean the most of us who interact consistently with our families, do this kind of stuff out of some sense of connection to the past or where we came from. Even if their real self and your real self don't exist in the same reality. My brother is a homophobe and I, of course, am a homo!
He's amazing for all he's been through. He can't work a full time job. His wife, the most wonderful of people, works full time in the insurance and investment trade. He is an Elk, and I think, truely cares about the less fortunate, unless you are gay, of course.
11-2
I finished painting their kitchen last weekend. It was the usual, my niece, he husband and 2 young kids moved in about a month ago so they can sell their house to avoid what ever in their lives they are avoiding. The tension between the 2 of them can be a bit much. I mentioned that maybe they could keep this type of stuff to a minimum while I'm there working because it makes it difficult to be there and my niece accused me of psychoanalyzing her!!!
I may be a therapist and deal with this stuff at my job, I told her, but I certainly never psychoanalyze anyone, least of all her.
I have never understood this tendency of parents to continually help out their kids. I have a friend from high school whose sons, even after having bought homes of their own, lived at their parents' until in their 30's. Or bailing out the financially strapped. In case of a catastrophic event, like extended illness or accident, of course family should rally, but poor financial planning or spending sprees, what is the term?…shopping therapy?…If one becomes destitute, that's another exception and I'm sure there are others, but…
Having never had children, I guess I am destined to never acquire that knowledge. I just don't understand. Birds protect their youth until they can fly and feed on their own or another brood hatched (with some wierd exceptions), again but…

Back to painting. I'm good at it. Not fast, but a close to perfectionist and I take pride in the work. And it's not the thank you's or in some instances the monetary reward. It's a concrete measure unlike working with people, who are so different from one another and the measurement of what they want is abstract.

Maybe this weekend I'll get back to doing the painting that revs my soul…

back on the horse

It has been a while since I first starated writing and this is my second attempt at a blog. I lost all the sign on information and made a complete mess of the writing.
I was writing about the past and relating it ot the present.
I am a Vietnam veteran. I have struggled with the importance of that both in my personal life and how I navigate my life because of it. When I first got out of the military I stopped telling people about it because I got 2 reactions: either complete hate or "that's cool" and nothing else was said and that was fine with me.
It has destroyed relationships as a spector unseen but having influence on the "present". I finally sought help at the demise of a 15 year relationship (2 years before it actually ended) and began to face that incredibly influential year of my life, nightmares, flashback, et al. not withstanding.
I currently work at a community mental health center after getting my degree as a Master of Social Work. Fuck. I wanted to work with veterans with PTSD and I found dissociation as a way to work with them. NOT GOOD!

I think I want to get my PhD. My professors (3 or 4 anyway) urged me to go. Fuck, I'm 54 and am feeling very alienated with my friends. What else have I got to do with my life anyway. It's only 2 - 5 more years.
I'm not cut out for community mental health. I'd make a damn good professor, though.
I see so many people writing with ease about what's going on in their lives; I find this difficult, but, maybe treat this like my diary. Who gives a fuck who reads it.

12/25/06
Well, I guess I do!