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