Trendy

I’m going to do one of those things I don’t particularly like doing, I’m going to vent and bitch a little bit on Facebook. Verifiable Veteran suicide rates are 22 a day. Recent numbers suggest that number is actually closer to 35. The VA does not account for Veterans that commit suicide who are not currently enrolled in their systems. Often times they do not count Veterans who have been out of the service for more than 2-3 years. 35 Veterans successfully take their own lives every 24 hours. That’s more than one than one an hour. As I have said before, one is too many and is absolutely unacceptable. I am not going to get into the details or try explaining why I feel this number is so high. What I am going to do, is once again, ask that those of you who read this begin to take an active stand against this growing epidemic.

It saddens me to have to say what I am about to say, but I feel that it is necessary. Before I say it, I will add the disclaimer that I am perfectly aware that life happens to everyone, things come up, families have problems, emergencies, are unable to find babysitters etc. Everyone is busy, trust me, I get that. I know that everyone cannot be everywhere all at once and everyone is not particularly interested in doing Yoga, or Crossfit, or going on hikes. I understand that some of these things are not everyone’s cup of tea.

What I am struggling tonight to understand, is why Patriotism seems to only be popular on holidays. Yesterday I saw Facebook plastered with Support the Troops and Remember the Fallen Posts. Everyone and their dog wanted to give thanks to those who gave all so that they could enjoy the very freedom they have to thank them for their sacrifices. Today, all the flags were taken down from the yards and streets. Little to no posts showed up on Facebook to thank service members, both past and present. Very few people showed up to our weekly yoga class. Had we done it yesterday would more of you come out to show your support? Why does it have to be a holiday for people to want to thank the 1% of the rest of us that have or continue to serve? Team Red White and Blue has one mission, to enrich the lives of America’s veterans by connecting them to their community through physical and social activity. This mission is to give them a sense of purpose and reintegrate them into their communities so they stop doing things like committing suicide. If you want to thank those of us that still walk the face of the Earth, if you don’t want to have to remember another one of us next Memorial Day, then start proving it.

I’m not only advocating for Team RWB. I am also advocating for the IAVA, the Vet Centers, the Red Cross, any of the other organizations that are putting forth the effort to battle this ever increasing problem. If you don’t want to come do Yoga and do the physical activity thing then you can still help out in some way. You can share the event notifications, you can start educating yourself on why PTSD is such a problem and learn how to deal with those of us that have it. You can donate time, money, man hours, and clothes, anything that might help those organizations who are taking an active stand against suicide rates accomplish their mission.

One of the big reasons that I do advocate Team RWB is because registration and membership is open to EVERYONE, regardless as to whether or not you ever dawned a uniform. It’s free, you don’t have to buy or donate anything but the 30 seconds it takes to fill out their registration form. Registering and getting involved with this organization does not mean that you have to go to Yoga or Crossfit every week. It can mean that at events like the triathlon at Sand Hollow on Saturday you can come help man an aid station and give out water to those who are racing and participating. It can mean that maybe, just maybe you can help make a difference in one Veterans life and do something good for those you praise and shower with accolades when it’s trendy to do so on Facebook. If not Team RWB then find some way to get involved, that is all that I ask. I cannot speak for every Veteran, I cannot advocate for every group trying to make a difference, and I do not speak directly for any of these organizations. These are solely my opinions and mine alone. Personally, I would rather feel neglected by the population as a whole 365 days a year than be praised on a few holidays when it’s trendy to do so and forgotten about all the rest.

If you truly support Veterans and current Service Members, then I leave you with an age old adage and a challenge: “Actions speak louder than words,” prove that you care, get involved.   

Four Little Letters

As always, I've been doing A LOT of thinking about Veterans and PTSD. As always it is somewhat disheartening to think of all the Veterans out there who are not getting help for it. I absolutely despise the fact that 4 simple letters carry the amount of negative energy that these one's do. It's a tragedy that these 4 little letters are synonymous with weakness, shame, and a shopping list of other stigmas and stereotypes. Their power is so great that many of my brothers and sisters in arms choose to take their own lives rather than face a life carrying this unfortunate label. The current rate of Veterans suicide is 22 a day! That equates to damn near one an hour. This is absolutely unacceptable to me, however, it is also completely understandable to me. I have been there, and I truly know that hopeless and incredibly lonely feeling. Call it the grace of God, good fortune, or some part of my soul that absolutely refuses to give up or accept defeat, call it whatever in the Hell you want, but know that I am living proof that this affliction and it's labels and stigma's do not have to be what defines you. If not my example, then use the undeniable argument that is math and statistics of 22 a day, and realize that you are NOT ALONE.

With that being said, today I am officially asking that you take a stand. Not just the OEF/OIF Veterans, but EVERY Veteran out there. I'm not even going to stop there, if you are a current service member in any branch of the military that has not deployed, or you were a someone that served and did not deploy, or you are the family member of anyone that falls into any of these categories, or if you know anyone that falls into any of these categories, I am asking you to take a stand. I am even going to take it one step further than that, if you are a living breathing AMERICAN who can recognize that the mere 1% of our great nation who choose to serve in the Armed Forces deserve nothing but the best that life has to offer, I am asking you to take a stand.

In asking you to do this I am not asking for much. All that I am requesting is that you start showing your support for the 1%, that you start helping break down the unfortunate barriers, stereotypes and stigmas that 4 little letters carry. We are the greatest nation on the face of this Earth, we can and will defeat any enemy, foreign or domestic, that poses a threat to our way of life. Lets start by raging war on these 4 little letters, let us come together as a nation, as one people and remove all the power that 4 little letters can carry. We have defeated every enemy that we have ever faced, there is a reason that we do not show our palms to the world when we salute, I have to believe that this also means that we can defeat a simple stereo type. Four little letters.

I am going to start by reaching out to those with whom I have served, in particular those that I have deployed with. You are my brothers and sisters. I know that not all of you came back with issues related to these 4 little letters, I get that. But when we were in a combat zone you had my back and I had yours. There is no doubt in my mind that there is nothing we would not have done for one and other to ensure our safe return home. No enemy, weapon, or Army we would not have faced to ensure the safety of one and other. You stood by me in that God awful desert in one way or another, and I stood by you. Now that we are home I am asking that we continue to do so. Our war is no longer in a distant desert on the other side of the world, it is here, at home, against 4 little letters. Today all I am asking of all of you that deployed over seas is to register with the IAVA, help show our strength in numbers via a program that has been developed completely with us in mind. If you have a digital copy of your DD-214 it literally takes less than five minutes to complete the registration. If you do not have a readily available digital copy of your DD-214 it will take even less time, but they will still let you register. The second thing that I ask of you is to start attending the various gatherings that have been organized for, and in many cases by fellow Veterans. Be it a support group, yoga, run/walks, BBQ's, anything Veteran related. I regularly post the dates and times of these events on my page, which if you are reading this, then chances are you are aware of it. If not, and this has been shared then you can find me on Facebook by searching for Phil Ritzert. Even if you are not struggling with these 4 little letter issues come and show that you still care about the people whose lives you once defended along with your own. Take a stand with me against an enemy whose only power is in what people believe its power to be. Together we can strip these 4 little letters of their power and defeat them all together.

Much Love,

Phil

Fear

FEAR

I have been thinking a lot lately about fear and what a terrible and controlling thing it can be. Fear can be defined as an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat. I think that this a pretty good definition for such a thing. Fear has been ingrained in us since man took his first steps on this floating rock of ours, it is an unavoidable part of the human condition. Oddly enough, the catalyst for this recent subject of thought was a movie I watched a couple of weeks ago, "The Croods." Yes, I am aware that this is a cartoon and in no way shape or form a historically accurate portrayal of our ancestors or their way of life. However, it is my opinion that the mantra that this family lives by is: "Never be not afraid." This mantra seems to have been passed down both consciously and subconsciously through every generation of human beings since the dawn of time. This is absolutely understandable if you ask me.

How terrifying must it have been to be a caveman! Think back to such a time, instead of four constructed walls and a roof they had caves. The closest thing to electricity being delivered to these early dwellings might have been a bolt of lightning striking a tree near the cave entrance. Running water meant living near a creek, river, lake or ocean. Clothes, if worn at all, were likely the skins from the animals they hunted for food. So much of what we take for granted now hadn't even been formed as a thought back then! Everything was brand new, and so much of what they experienced on a daily basis must have been petrifying! Imagine the first deafening crack from a bolt of lightning striking close enough to cause their hairs to stand on end and eviscerate a nearby tree. Although they obviously hunted, they were by no means the top of the food chain. They were probably more likely to be killed and eaten by a creature than to kill and eat it. They had rocks and pointy sticks and eventually fire to fend off would be predators. Would you go up to Alaska and hunt bear with nothing more than a pointy stick, a rock, and maybe a makeshift torch? I strongly doubt it. Over time they formed tribes and learned their own ways of defending themselves and communicating. Inevitably, they would cross paths with other tribes who did not communicate in the same way as them, again, another terrifying experience.

What did all this fear do? They feared the animals that were predators and threats to their way of life, this caused them to hunt and kill these creatures, to find ways to keep them at bay. When they came across other tribes they could not communicate with what did they do? They fought and killed them if they were perceived as a threat. They feared thunder and lightning, but couldn't defeat it, so what did they do? They withdrew from it, took shelter. I could go on and on about the things that scared them and they in turn tried to kill or withdraw from, however, I think that I have made my point fairly clear. Since the dawn of mankind, our fear of the outside world and one and other has dictated the majority of our actions in dealing with these fears. Fear bred violence, killing, hatred and anger right into the very fabric of our souls. For the naysayers, I understand that to some extent fear kept us alive. However, it must be said that fear and danger are two completely different matters, debatable another time perhaps.

It goes without saying that we are quite obviously no longer in the Paleolithic era. However, it once again is my opinion that fear is still a predominate decision making factor in each and every one of our lives. Modern times dictate that we no longer need to live in constant fear of animals or other marvels of mother nature. We have developed enough as a species to mitigate the dangerous risks associated with these things. Instead, we now let fear have a much more crippling effect on our day to day lives. As I mentioned, fear has been ingrained into the very fabric of our souls. Much like any addiction we feel the need to latch onto it. It's always been there, since the dawn of mankind, without giving it a second thought this seems to create in each of us a desire to feed it. It will never occur to most of us to stop doing so, to let it go.

Just because modern fear has changed and doesn't necessarily pose a physical threat to our safety doesn't make it any less real. The most common modern fears that come to my mind are fear of failure and judgment. Our fear of failure and judgment is so paralyzing it tends to dictate that we perpetuate the same amount of minimal effort we're accustomed to exerting in order to keep our personal, social, and religious perceptions of failure at an arms length. Too often we sacrifice our happiness, and that of others to maintain the comfort zone that is not failure, but is not true happiness or success either. It is these very fears that tend to prevent us from attempting to change things in an effort to improve our own lives. We are so scared of failing and being judged as a failure that rarely do we step outside our comfort zones to take charge of our own lives and emotions. Obviously something's working, we don't live in pure terror each day, so why change things? The thing is, not living in absolute terror and being truly happy are drastically different things. I challenge you, if you are reading this, to step outside your comfort zone and let go of one thing you are afraid of. Be it forgiving yourself for something that you are ashamed of and thusly scared of being judged for, telling someone the honest to God's truth about the way you feel, or anything that you are scared of in any way shape or form. It's actually quite freeing, go on and try it. What are you so afraid of?

Much Love,

Phil

LETTER TO AN EX

LETTER TO AN EX

I thought I would do something different for a change and say thank you this time. Since losing my friend in November my life has began a total transformation. This transformation, I recently realized, began with you. Although reluctant at first I have began making drastic changes in the way in which I now live. After months of therapy and education I have learned a lot about myself as well as a condition which six months ago I would have denied even having. The condition I am speaking of is best known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In addition to this I have also been diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder.

Through treatment and education I have only recently learned how to best describe the last few years of my life. Over the course of a six year span from 2005 to 2011 I spent a total of close to 40 non consecutive months deployed in a Combat Theater of Operation. In addition to these 40 months I spent close to 24 (also non consecutive) months training, or training others for these tours of duty in a combat zone. That equates to roughly 1/6^th of my life being dedicated to the act of war. As with all wars this meant a front row seat to an inundation of violence, destruction, and death. With the exception of sociopaths, these three traits do not come naturally to human beings.

In order to adapt to this lifestyle, most Soldiers must develop somewhat of an alter ego, or personality as it were. The development of this alter ego comes naturally the first time a Soldier finds himself surrounded by the horrific atrocities he sees his fellow man visiting upon one and other. In past wars, many American Soldiers were deployed once for an indefinite amount of time into a combat zone. They hardened themselves and did everything they could to survive these long periods of deployment away from home. They fought until the war was won, they were injured too severely to continue fighting, or God forbid, they gave their lives for the conflict in which they were engaged. For many of those Soldiers who made it home they knew they had served their time and would probably never again have to face the evils with which they would spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. They buried those evils and did their best to never think, speak, or even dream of them again. As we have learned in recent years, this has had an extremely detrimental effect on our brothers and sisters who found themselves in harms way for love of their country and way of life. Sadly, many suffered their entire lives in silence and took their issues and memories to the grave, that was what they believed was the right thing to do. Many felt it was their responsibility to bear these burdens inside so that those who had not seen the ugliness of war could be protected from it.

Having seen the negative effects combat can have on the human psyche, the military attempted to avoid similar problems in our most recent conflicts across the Middle East. They attempted to treat and diagnose these problems early on in these conflicts as if they were the same in nature to the wars preceding them. In many ways they were quite similar, however, given the size of our current military force and the nature of a war on an ideal, not an organization, we are only recently seeing many extreme differences which are having a negative impact on our brothers and sisters in arms. This brings me back to that alter ego our service members develop as a coping mechanism for dealing with these stresses. In previous wars, these alter egos were created and utilized as a tool for the duration of the Soldiers deployment. Once the war was won, or they came home (generally permanently) and that tool became something they packed away with their awards, uniforms, weapons, and war trophies in a chest in the attic. They had used it for the purpose of war, and now that they were home they would never need it again.

Enter the war on terror, a seemingly endless war on an ideal, not an organization. Not Nazis, North Vietnamese, Koreans, or Japanese. To some extent we placed the face of the Muslim nation on it, but that did not change the situation. The problem we are now seeing and beginning to understand is the detrimental effect of multiple deployments. It didn’t matter if you were a Navy seal or a National Guard Admin Clerk, you knew beyond a reasonable doubt that if you came home from the first deployment, you were facing a second, third, fourth, or even fifth. Here in lies the problem. Once a Soldier returned from their deployment they kept their combat gear, equipment and tools to include their new found alter egos. There was no cedar chest to place in the attic with these things, but instead wall lockers and contico boxes kept readily accessible for the inevitable return to the sandbox.

Knowingly or not, this creates a interior battle ground within the Soldiers mind. Prior to war we poses basic ideals of right and wrong, good and bad. By the time we reach the age of becoming eligible for Military service we have, for the most part, developed our sense of self. For most Americans this sense of self does not include the necessity of visiting violence upon our fellow man. It does not include an instruction manual for processing the feelings which accompany the taking of a life, it does not prepare us for the day to day stress of waking up each morning and wondering if that day will in fact, be our last. Or could that be the day we are required to send a .50 Caliber machine gun round straight through the engine block (and every occupant in its line of trajectory) of an oncoming vehicle which only failed to slow down on account of the driver being distracted by the rowdy children in the back seat? There is no way for us to prepare for these things, we can only do our best to process each unique situation as it unfolds before us, day in and day out. So we do what we have to in order to justify these varying actions. We harden ourselves and bury all emotions with the exception of anger and hatred towards the enemy. We try and convince our fellow comrades that we are tough enough to do whatever it takes to get them and ourselves home, that these violent actions are commonplace for warriors on the battle field and emotionally have no more toll on us than eating breakfast. These are just the things warriors and Soldiers do, and if you are affected by them in a lasting manner, then you are weak and not fit to fight alongside your brothers in arms.

And then we go home with the knowledge of all that we have done, good, bad, and indifferent. Furthermore, we become acutely aware that we will soon be called upon again, to return to the sandbox, to relive that hell of a groundhog day of violence and destruction. This makes it all but impossible to revert back to that original sense of innocent self. That self was weak and unprepared for the rigors of combat. We’ll be damned if we are going to let that self come up for a breath of air so long as the possibility of the need for the hardened self should arise again. We then act accordingly, we bury that innocent self, we pretend that it does not exist, for if it does, we expose a weaker more vulnerable persona to the world which we have come to view in a very negative light. Before we know it, this hardened, angry, confused version of our self begins to run our lives, making all decisions based on a life or death scenario. And for those of us who came back, once, twice or five times, that means the hardened self has succeeded in its mission of keeping us alive. It is now our dominant self whose soul interest and purpose is preservation of self and those other poor souls who have arrived at the same conclusion. We form a tight knit family which we know those who have not been there cannot hope to even begin to understand.

This creates a very unique, dangerous, and often destructive situation. This hardened self does not understand love, compassion, happiness, or even sadness. It understands fear, which it has labeled as the enemy. The appropriate response to the enemy is anger, hatred, violence, and aggression. We then seek out fear, for without it, our hardened self has no true purpose. So we volunteer to keep going back to the sandbox, we pick fights with our friends, family, and loved ones to feed that need to fuel the only self we recognize any more. And we bury the innocent self a little bit more each day that we fuel this fire. And a conflict begins to rage out of control because no matter how hard we try to kill that innocent self image, it fights to remain part of us. We become even more confused, not knowing which persona to let rule each day of our lives, and I can personally attest to the absolute madness this causes internally. So we drink, we do drugs, we commit crimes, we become violent and short tempered. Anything to try and numb that confusing battle raging within ourselves. Unfortunately, many times it becomes to much to bear and we see the destruction it has caused in our lives, the relationships its ruined along with our credit scores and ability to function in public. And unfortunately many of us see the only solution to this very temporary problem as the permanent solution of suicide.

I thought my innocent self was gone, destroyed by the better part of my adult life being spent at war. But I tried to pretend that I was just fine and the same guy I was before round one in the sandbox. And then we met. And on two separate occasions you looked into my eyes and all I saw was love, and kindness, and compassion, and this love and kindness and compassion was for me, who definitely did not deserve it, or so my hardened persona thought. The first time I saw you look at me like that woke up my innocent self, and a month or so later the second look gave it reason to fight to rejoin the ranks of the human race. At this point the battle inside my mind between these two personas began to rage both internally and externally and sadly, I tried to take it all out on you. Picking fights and saying the most hurtful things I could muster, anything to drive you and the feeble foothold of a normal life away so as to let the easier, more familiar hardened self destroy what was left of my soul.

I can never unsay, or undue any of the hurtful things I said to and drug you through. I can no longer apologize as apologies have become meaningless, weightless words. All I can do is thank you, you were a single ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak and pitch black existence. You were the shooting star who was kind enough to let me rope your tail and who ultimately carried me out of that dark place. You may not know it, but you saved my life. For that I will be eternally in your debt, you will always have a special place in my heart and I will never stop regretting the hell I put you through. Thank You.

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME...

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME...

Last year I said these exact words to a friend of mine: "The worst part of going to war is coming home from it." At the time I was in a dark place, but being the stubborn hard headed shit head that I can be, I was pretty certain that I was absolutely 100% right on the money with that statement. I mean, I went and came home four times, how could I be wrong? At that point in time it was my opinion that I was what the Army referred to as a "SME," or Subject Matter Expert. There was no arguing with me. Also at that point in time I would have told anyone that asked that there was no way that I had PTSD. PTSD was a sign of weakness that came along with all sorts of stigma's and taboo's that I was not willing to attach myself to. Hell, I wasn't even in the military at that point in time and I was still concerned about what that "label" would mean.

My hero's growing up were those of the previous wars, the "Greatest Generation" and the Vietnam Vets. I even remember sitting in class in 2nd grade (maybe 1st, maybe 3rd, I don't particularly feel like doing the math on that one right now) and having my teacher come into our classroom in tears. She proceeded to tell us about these two Soldier's who were fighting in this place called Mogadishu on the other side of the world, and how some friends of theirs' helicopter had been shot down in the middle of a fire fight. They saw an uncountable amount of bad guys heading towards the crash sight and knew that at least one of their friends, the pilot was still alive. No one else could get to them, so these two Soldiers volunteered to get out of the relative safety of their helicopter and go down to the crash sight to protect their friend from the city of bad guys advancing on their position. Twice their Commander denied their request, the third time however, he granted them permission.

On the afternoon of October 3, 1993 Delta Operatives Gary Gordon and Randy Shugart gave their lives to protect the pilot of downed Blackhawk Super Six Four, Mike Durant. Later, a book, as well as a movie would be made about this very same day, Black Hawk Down. As my teacher told this story, again, with tears in her eyes, I was infuriated! Who the hell were these bad guys? They just killed American Hero's?! They made my teacher on the other side of the world cry! This was absolutely unacceptable in my book. I wanted nothing more at that moment in time to march right on over to this "Mogadishu" and join the fight against these bad guys, something had to be done. My teacher then brought me back to reality and had each student in the class write a story about a hero that we knew. I wrote about my Grandpa Phil, who was in the Navy back in the day and fought in WWII.

I grew up trying to emulate these hero's of mine, if I could have spoke when I was born and the doctor would have asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, there's not a doubt in my mind that I would have told him proudly, and with a smile on my face: "GI Joe!" So that's what I tried to do. At the ripe old age of 17 I enlisted in the Army National Guard. The unit in my home town was an Artillery unit, I wasn't certain what that was at the time, but I didn't care, I was joining the Army! During AIT I would get rather upset that I had joined an Artillery Unit. They needed volunteers for Jump School, a three week course where you learn how to fall out of a perfectly good and functioning aircraft. How cool is that?! They didn't even finish explaining the who's what's why's and where's of this school before I raised my hand to volunteer. A few days later my Drill Sergeant would politely explain to me in front of the entire platoon that I was in fact the dumbest private he had ever taught, and that a snowball had a better chance of surviving in hell before they let an National Guard Artillerymen go to jump school. Damnit! Shot down. I went on to graduate top of my class as Distinguished Honor Grad for the cycle, I showed him dumb! A few weeks later he also informed us that it didn't matter what our Military Specialty was, we were on our way to war. Some assholes had just flown planes into the World Trade Center. We wouldn't let this go, and it didn't matter if you were Guard, Reserve, or Regular Army, you would be in this fight.

He was right, now 14 years, four combat and one stateside tour later, I have separated from the Military. I got my wish, I got to go to the other side of the world and pick fights with those bad guys who were doing bad things to good people. I always assumed/hoped, just as I mentioned in another post, that like Lt. Dan from Forest Gump, I would die in the glories of combat, hopefully in exchange for a fellow Service Members life. This just made sense to me, that's what I was supposed to do. And then I didn't, as I've mentioned, I came home four times, Whiskey Tengo Fox?! Why, this wasn't fair, this didn't fit into how I always assumed my life would go.
*Side note:* It is now my opinion that there is no such thing as "Glory" in combat. It is an ugly, terrifying, unnatural thing to take life, even if it is for what you believe to be a good cause. Furthermore, I now recognize that that was an incredibly unhealthy way of thinking and looking at life and I am inexplicably grateful that I did come home all four times.

So, back to the matter at hand. I was resentful and angry for a long time that I had come home and so many of my brothers and sisters hadn't. Many of those who did come home along with me were beginning to take their own lives, some intentional and some unintentional, but with the same result. I can't say that I know exactly how they felt in those last moments, I cannot say that I can relate directly to the reasons that led them to that dark place, and I cannot profess to speak for anyone but myself. I can however say, that I have been in dark places myself, while I may not necessarily understand the reasons and words that torment so many of the Veterans of the Sandbox Wars, I believe that in many ways I can relate to the feelings that they experience as a result of these 14 year wars on an ideal. I can say that it is my opinion that these wars have taken a severe detrimental toll on many of our psyches who have come home.

I can tell you how I felt, and sometimes still do. Hopeless, angry, rage filled, distant, disconnected, anxious, paranoid, scared, thinking there is no way anyone else could possibly understand, that I was weak for feeling those feelings. That my brothers and sisters who I had served with, as well as the people who for some damn reason kept calling me a hero would view me as weak and less of a man for feeling those things and not doing what the Greatest Generation felt they HAD to do, bottle those things and bury them deep inside in hopes that no one else would ever have to experience them. To put on a front where you fake every smile and laugh and say that everything is fine. To feel like you will never feel like a human being again.
But now, all be it early in my treatment for PTSD, I can tell those of you who are having feelings similar to these, that they do NOT have to be permanent. That you can feel like a human being again. That it is possible to start feeling happiness, and love, and excitement, not just anger and rage. That those bridges that you feel that you have permanently destroyed with loved ones are not permanently destroyed, they may have taken a little bit of abuse, but they are not burnt down. That there is not a single Soldier, friend, or family member that views PTSD as a negative sign of weakness. That those judgments you are worried they'll make if you tell them you think you are struggling with PTSD likely won't happen. And if someone does give you shit, or tell you that your weak or don't have PTSD, chances are that they are just scared of admitting that they are struggling with similar issues.

There are always going to be haters, and they are always going to hate, that is part of the human condition. But in my experience there are far more supporters and people who would rather see you be happy and still around than judge you. I still care about you, especially if you are a Veteran, or a even just a Soldier who has not deployed. By virtue of wearing that uniform, be it Army, Marine, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, or one that I can't think of or am forgetting, you have a giant family that stretches across the world and who do care and want nothing but the best for you. There is hope, but YOU have to start fighting for it. I'll tell you this much, you fought and lived through a war full of bullets, rockets, mortars, IED's, and whatever else they could come up with to throw at you and you had the fortitude to live through it. Especially now that the wars have come to an end for the most part, it's time to start fighting for YOU. That's gotta be way easier than dodging bullets, right? I think so.

Much Love,

Phil

HELPING HANDS

HELPING HANDS

This week has been truly amazing, humbling, and inspiring. I cannot say it enough, or find the words to express my gratitude for all the amazing people in my life who show me every day much kindness and love there still is in the world. I know that many of you who follow my page and read my posts are going through what seems to be a pitch black tunnel with no light at the end to guide you through, and that at times the world seems so bleak and hopeless. While I have not, and cannot walk a mile in your shoes, I can offer this advice: I have been in that dark, lonely, seemingly endless tunnel, I have felt lost, hopeless, and abandoned. But I have found that when we reach out our hand to ask for help, even if that means doing so blindly, that there is always a hand there to take our own, and although that hand may not deliver us to the light at the end of that tunnel, it will help get us pointed in the right direction, and to the hands that will ultimately help carry us out of that dark place. It is however; our own, and no one else's responsibility, to extend our arm and reach for that first loving grasp that will get us back in the right track.
Much Love,
Phil

FAITH

FAITH

I am not, nor have I ever been a particularly religious person. To be perfectly honest, I strongly doubt that I ever will be. I am of the school of thought that in order for something to exist, there must be empirical evidence to validate its existence. I should be able to experience it with my senses, if I cannot see it, smell it, touch it, taste it, or hear it, I have a hard time believing that it can exist. For a very lengthy period of my life, I was quite adamant that if there was this thing or person called "God," then there could be absolutely no way he was this loving, caring, benevolent being that everyone painted him out to be. Did people not look around I wondered? Did they not see the world for what it was? Were they just ignoring the ugliness of and often times despicable acts of their fellow man? In my travels I have seen things that I truly wish I could un-see, un-learn, un-experience and never have to think about again. I have witnesses first hand the deplorable acts one man will visit on another for disagreeing with his point of view. How many violent acts and how many wars have been fought in the name of "God" or religion?
Here is my answer to that question: None. Violence and war are acts committed by man against man and in the name of man. Mankind as a whole is confused, weak, and scared. What do people in these mindsets do? Act irrationally and then try to justify their actions by placing blame everywhere but where it belongs, on themselves. What better scapegoat than something that cannot necessarily be proven to exist, or not exist. Now, many of you probably assumed that up until this point I was probably going to go on this anti God rant and rave. Not even remotely the case. Just because I personally do not believe in such an entity, doesn't mean that I should try and force my point of view on any of the people reading this. I also don't believe that people can predict the future, but Nostradamus sure did a pretty good job illustrating what he believed the future would hold. I also accept that there are things that I cannot, and will not ever be able to understand or fully wrap my mind around.

==========Break============

I wrote everything up to the "Break" between seven and seven thirty this morning. It is now four twenty six in the afternoon. Now I must rewind and go back to before that point, detailing my actions between now and then. I returned home from the gym around six fifteen. I was fairly exhausted but my mind was amped up. I've been trying the whole meditation thing lately, I sit cross legged on the couch and listen to Mozart while trying to relax and clear and my mind. I did this until six forty five-ish, then I gave up because it just didn't seem to be working today. I got up, made a protein shake, and began Facebooking. I was surprised to see the amount of religious related material posted by other people, mostly because I already had this post started in my mind and knew it would be about the very same subject. First I saw a story about a smoker going to church which I shared. Then I saw a video, which I will embed at the end of this posting. It nearly brought me to tears. It also further validated my thought that this was the post that I was supposed to be writing today.
I got in the shower and couldn't stop thinking about a moment from my past when I felt what the LDS would refer to as the spirit. At the time I referred to it as a group of guys getting together and being genuinely concerned about our first trip to the sandbox. Feelings are contagious, I assumed that is why I was moved that day. Here is the background on that. Before deploying to Ramadi back in 2005, we were required to spend a month at the National Training Center in Ft. Irwin, California. What a miserably hot boring place that was. When we finally got around to convoying an entire Brigade out of a single staging area, the slinky effect was dreadfully painful. Drive five to one hundred feet, stop, wait, repeat. If I remember correctly we were the tail end of the slinky, or very close to it. This went on from approximately sunrise to just before sunset on a Saturday I believe it was. By the time the head of the convoy made it to the Forward Operating Base we were supposed to be going to as well. They shut down the convoy. We thought we were lucky, this put us at a stop next to another F.O.B. which part of our Brigade was staging out of as well, this was a training mission from the moment the convoy started moving so that meant we would have the ability to pull into the F.O.B. and be provided with security for the night. Wrong. They wouldn't let us in for whatever reason so we set up our own security, which meant everyone would be getting less sleep, in addition to pulling our own security we had to maintain the ability to deliver artillery support if it was so called for. I was the driver of the Platoon Sergeant, and I was in the Fire Direction Control Center. I would be pulling double duty. By the time I got to officially go to sleep, it was near morning and I passed out on a pile of body armor and duffel bags in the back of our Humvee. Super comfy, let me just tell ya, I woke up feeling worse than before I went to sleep.
Now it was Sunday morning, and being a National Guard Unit from Utah the Battery held a makeshift LDS service with the people that weren't preoccupied with other things at that moment. I had nothing better to do, and having spent the better part of the last five months living in a Humvee with a fairly religious guy, it wasn't hard for him to talk me into attending this service. All I remember of it was standing in a circle with maybe a dozen other Soldiers, I'm sure we talked about the upcoming mission. At this point we knew where we were headed in theater, Time magazine had labeled it the most dangerous place on Earth that month. Fallujah had already fallen and all the bad guys that weren't killed or captured had fled to a city to the west, which one? Yup, Ramadi, right where we were going. The reports we had received were terrifying, that place was quite literally the wild west. Soldiers were dying on a daily basis there. There was a genuine terrifying concern we wouldn't be bringing everyone home with us. It was a very somber service. Anyways, one of the only parts I truly recall was the prayer given by a Lieutenant, as he began speaking the words: "Dear Lord....." the men in that circle bowed their heads. I watched as they crossed their hands in front of them, some crossed their arms over their chests, but all bowed their heads. I can't remember any of the other words, but as I looked around the circle of men with whom I now stood, a genuine feeling of love and camaraderie fell over even me, and for the first, and one of only times in my life, I bowed my head in prayer with them.
I said my own prayer that day. I had grown to know and love these men with whom I was about to be tested in the fires of combat with. I had become especially close to our Platoon Sergeant, that was unavoidable having lived in a Humvee with him for the better part of five months. I knew he, and many other of the men standing there would be leaving wives and children behind as we embarked on this path that all Soldiers hope to step foot on, but dread at the same time. As I said my own prayer, I spoke to this God which I had little to no faith in, but whom they all loved so much. I did not ask him for protection that day, in fact, I did not ask him for anything. I TOLD him only thing. If you must have the life of a Soldier from this unit in the coming months or year, you will have mine. I am unmarried, I am childless, I have struggled with every aspect of life so far with the exception of the Military. It would not be right for him to take a father, husband, brother, doctor, police officer, or any other person who contributed to society outside of that uniform. I had grown up dreaming of being G.I. Joe. Like Lieutenant Dan in Forest Gump, I did not plan on returning home. When the prayer was finished, we all stood there for a long silent moment. This feeling, the "spirit" was obviously being felt by all who had attended this make shift service. I have rarely given that day a second thought since then.
As I showered I had two predominate thoughts on my mind, this makeshift LDS service from way back in 2005, and the title to my next Facebook Post. Faith. When I got out of the shower I dressed, then turned my phone to airplane mode (I do not like distractions when I am writing), then turned on some Mozart and began typing. The first two paragraphs came out no problem and rather quickly. As I was finishing the second one a strange feeling had begun to creep over me, not a terrible feeling, but definitely not a good feeling. I could no longer focus. I got up and went into the kitchen, for some reason this morning I had also decided that, just to see how it would go, today I would act completely on impulse. If I was tired, I was going to sleep, regardless of the time. If I was hungry, I was going to eat, even if it wasn't a meal time. If I felt like going back to the gym, I would. Today I would not weigh the consequences of feeding any of my bodies messages to me, I would only act on them as soon as they were delivered. Why was this so important to me this morning? I couldn't tell ya, I just felt that it was extremely important that I do that.
I milled around the kitchen for a few minutes, looking through the fridge and pantry, but seeing nothing to my liking I decided to instead go outside and smoke a cigarette. The strange feeling I mentioned earlier began to intensify at that point. Death was looming in the air. I could feel it, it had not sunk its claws in yet, but it was in the air. I was certain of this. It was not for my own life that I was concerned at this point. In fact, it was for no ones in particular. But half way through my cigarette, something began to scream at me from inside, it started as a whisper, then grew stronger and stronger. Put out this cigarette, go inside, turn on your phone. NOW. I tried to ignore it, it repeated and grew louder. NOW. Oh, yeah, I am supposed to be acting completely on impulse today. Toss the smoke and go inside. I picked up my phone and stared at it. I was petrified. I was going to turn it on and find out that something terrible had happened to someone that I cared about. I was certain of this. I laid down in bed and shut airplane mode off. I waited. Still petrified. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one...... VIBRATE. You have one new message.
I opened my messages folder, and saw who it was from. The person that I am house sitting for. Shit no, shit no, shit no. He is quite literally like a brother to me. I opened the message and it was just a will you shut my sprinklers off message. Nothing more. We exchanged a few texts and that was that. Other than that my phone was silent. I sat and waited some more, the feeling had still not left me. I waited and waited for about thirty minutes, finally convincing myself that I was crazy, hungry, and dehydrated. Wait, I'm hungry, I'll go get breakfast. Finish breakfast and start watching the Cosmos show I am watching on Netflix. Episode two is all about evolution and how science can undeniably prove that happened now. The narrator did not do what I assumed and denounce spirituality at this point. He praised it and said how he personally thought the two could now, more than ever be combined. Odd I thought, usually there are scientists, and there are religious people. Very rarely are they one in the same.
I still had this feeling, but it had worn me out and the next episode of the Cosmos show was coming on. I looked at my phone, a few facebook notices and messages but no emergencies. I turned the ringer up anyways and dozed off. This poor girl from Cedar was driving down to see me and drop off a sample of this new supplement Thrive. Maybe this stuff would make this feeling go away. Thirty minutes later my phone rings, I don't recognize the number, but that's not all that unusual these days so I answer. It's a friend of mines wife. He only recently re-entered my life but we are close, he deployed with me to Ramadi. Someone needed help, Military One Source didn't seem to be cutting it, he told her to call me. I would know how to help, I'm running this thing called CSTA. What could I do she asked? All I can say further into this matter is that I truly believe this giant family that shares the common bond of having a loved one who served came together today and truly helped someone. I started my day with Faith, and I now close it with Faith. Did I find God today?