Who the hell I am

Who the Hell am I?
Well, this assignment actually blends well with what I’ve been doing and going through lately. My current being has been almost completely shaped by my experiences overseas. I really didn’t have it bad over there. I wasn’t kicking down doors, or walking the streets. I spent most of my time “outside the wire” in a well protected HMMWV or M915 (18 wheeler). With that said, I did personally witness more than enough violence to affect me. One acquaintance was KIA and at least 10 of my friends were WIA.

When I first got home, I displayed numerous signs of PTSD. I drank too much. It got to the point where I would drink myself to sleep, so that the nightmares stopped. I would sleepwalk often. If I feel right about talking in person about this in class, I’ll tell you what I would do while sleep walking. I don’t care to put it on the web. Nothing illegal, just embarrassing. I would often, while driving, have anxiety. I would see a car make a quick lane change, or see trash on the side of the road, and I’d immediately reach for my radio to call it in. My adrenaline would kick in and I’d be back overseas.

Skip ahead about two years… gradually most of those things I mentioned above “went away.” I go through my daily activities with little to no side effects. However, I started my care at the VA and after my initial interview and was referred to psych. I went because I was told to and I’m a good Soldier. I really thought I had dealt with it just fine on my own. I wasn’t having nightmares anymore and the sleep walking had pretty much stopped. Even after I went to the appointment and she suggested PTSD, I said pppsssshaw. I’m fine. Don’t write it down, it makes it real.

This last week I’ve been thinking about the assignment and who I am. It also coincided with a session at the VA where I talked some about my experiences. I, of course, skimmed over details and made it seem rosy. I asked her not to put down on paper the official diagnosis of PTSD. Nah, that’s not it, I’m just going through my readjustment period. One night, after really brainstorming on what I could do for this assignment that represented me and not coming up with much, I went to bed. I had a very intense dream and below are the details I remember:

I was back on active duty at Camp Atterbury. I was out on a range in the middle of the Indiana woods. I had all of my gear on and was by myself. (Understand that just because it is a “range, it doesn’t mean that there is any weapons firing going on. I was on a training range, not in an impact area.) I was just rucking through the woods when I heard helicopters above. I looked up and could see two BlackHawks and one was a MEDEVAC and the other an armed escort. I could see the crew chief manning the M240H door gun. I kept rucking. All of the sudden the escort starts doing some aggressive maneuvering near my position. I see a shack ahead so I speed up towards it. Bullets start raining down around me.

As I get to the shack, there are two elderly people sitting outside on lawn chairs. They don’t seem to understand the danger. I drag them into the shack and as I do, the man’s legs are blown to bits. Quickly though the bloody pieces turn into pieces of prosthetic legs. I go back and get the woman in. I get hit this time in my neck. I bandage myself and find a radio. I radio range control and they don’t give a crap and don’t do anything to stop the firing. I pull out my commo card and find the freq the helicopter’s on and radio them. I pop a smoke grenade to prove I’m friendly while talking to them on the radio. They finally stop. I treat the two elderly while I wait for the medics.

The medics finally arrive and take the two elderly away. I tell one of the medics I was hit and show him the bandage on my neck. He removes the bandage, takes one quick look and says there’s nothing there. All of the blood from before is gone. My uniform is pristine again. My hands are clean. “You’re not hurt,” he tells me while rolling his eyes. I saw the blood when it happened I felt the burn when it hit. I KNOW I’M HURT. I just can’t explain why there is no blood anymore. We go back to garrison. I spend the rest of the dream chasing that medic all around post trying to convince him, and anyone else I see, that I am hurt. At one point I am sitting on the steps outside the medics’ apartment sobbing. Someone comes up to me and asks what’s wrong. I tell the story and remove the bandage. Again, nothing is showing, so he too thinks I am crazy. Please believe me. Why won’t they believe me?

So now I’m awake and I’m thinking about the dream; I write it down so I don’t forget it. I wasn’t going to use this as my project at that time. That dream filled my thoughts the rest of the week, though. I couldn’t shake it. After I analyzed it, I realized that it is a snapshot of who I am and what I’ve been doing for the last two years since my return. The medic is my conscious self, I am my own subconscious, and my “neck wound” is my PTSD. My conscious self has ignored it and tried to make it go away; I’ve hid it from myself and everyone else. I couldn’t convince my own conscious self that this really is a problem; that I really need some help. My self-conscious has been sobbing for two years and I’ve ignored her. I’ve used self-medication to shut her up, I’ve painted a picture for myself and others that it really wasn’t that bad. I’ve tried to just plain ignore her. I’ve told myself that others have had it so much worse, so why should I complain? I have some back problems, but that’s it. I have all of my limbs. I had it easy compared to them. Life’s rough, get a helmet, right?

No, that’s not it. My subconscious knows I need help and she’s gently nudging me. I wrote this because if I tell someone else I need help, I feel a personal responsibility to get that help. I can’t ignore it anymore. I’m going to talk about this dream in my next session. I have also created a piece that somewhat conveys my feelings right now.