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For Those Going Through Anger - PTSD Style

Discussion in 'General' started by dljwhitewolf, Jun 6, 2007.

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  1. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    June 5th 1993 Pain :boxem: (for unjust complainers, not us)

    Pain, that's what you feel? You make me laugh, let me show you pain.
    I'll wait till I hear "Ouch!", then I'll stop a second, and then give you double doses.
    Pain, I live it, everyday in every area of my feeble life.
    I wish to kill, I wish to destroy all of those individuals who've caused this hatred.
    I hate and I despise keenly.
    Hate is a cancer that bruises the heart with welts, as pistol whipping causes on tender baby's skin, I know factually.
    Flaired, ugly, swollen, discolored welts.
    "Ouch", I say, silently. To let the readers hear aloud may provide an inlet for them to disrupt my already made venom.
    Now we can't have that, can we?
    And when you answer, look closely into my eyes.
    I don't need to look, I've seen you well before I met you.
    It's called pure animalistic instincts.
    If you ever walked in my shoes, you'd have it too,
    only if you survived it,
    like I did.
    (Thank goodness I graduated from this, but hope it helps)
    When The Shit Hits The Fan late 80's

    You can leave me, I cannot.
    When I remember, and feel it, rerunning for the second time.
    You can leave me in my hysterical hell, I cannot.
    When anger steps in, you can run from my flaring fury, I cannot.
    You can leave at any given time, I expect it, in short.
    But the fight at hand is so real, can't you smell the gunpowder, too?
    Once again the warrior must stay and delegate justice, or lack there of.
    You can call me your friend and feel safe next to my side.
    You can ultimately trust me, love me, have faith in me, but in you, I cannot.
    You see I am the product of environmental flaws.
    There are alot of us and we act normal with ease, you see we have to.
    Sanity is our pretend game we play by ourselves, it keeps us going.
    But the most frightening thing of all, is the enemies act just as normal.
    Unless protected thoroughly, a child may meet the enemy.
    Are the parents prepared?
    If not, then be prepared for the monster escaping from them, in the future.
    That same monster that lives in me.
    That same monster I fight daily, to stay free.
    When the shit hits the fan,,, dlj Donna-Lynne Jordan
     
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  3. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    Forgot to mention, I put these in here to show that others are not alone in certain feelings. I hope certain lines make you feel a connection and that you are not alone.
    When my anger hit me, it hit very hard. I stayed by a tiki bar where there were alot of veterans, and played music and just cried. At the time my brother was nearing his death, so I played music that matched where I was, and was protected so no one bothered me.
    I was so skinny, my anger hit my stomach hard, and I walked everywhere for twenty mile stints just to get rid of alot of the adrenalin I had. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror.
    I would be just about ready to eat, and one tiny little thing would set me off, and it would be another 24 hours before I could try to eat again.
    That's where I was, and its a hard road to go through, but having supportive people nearby helped so so much.
    So forget all those that say "just get over it," "forget about the past",
    we can't, and understand they will never understand where you are.
    Anger is a huge part of ptsd, especially when you start to let emotions out.
    That's what we did, stifled emotions, and boy they grow up strong and tall, so when we meet them again, bam!
    All I can suggest is to vent your anger in a positive way, I walked and boxed on a 80 lb. punching bag. Yes, there were many faces on that bag, but it got out the adrenalin enough to walk a few more steps without exploding.
     
  4. WarHippy1%

    WarHippy1% Active Member

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    I like your poem, especially the second verse. We never do REALLY find someone we know we can trust implicitly, like we know we can be trusted by others. At least speaking for myself, I've NEVER fully trusted another human completely since Vietnam. No, I'm wrong, the day I went into the Inpatient Combat PTSD Program at the VA Hospital, I signed in, turned around, and came face-to-face with this DUDE, and we stared at each other, sizing each other up, knowing if we were gonna take control of this group, we were gonna be running up on each other. Then, we both smiled because we saw the other was having the same thoughts, and we shook hands and became best friends until he died from kidney failure associated with agent orange. He was a LRRP(Long Range Reconaisance Patrol) before the LRRP's were absorbed into the Airborne Ranger Company's. I was a member of the MONGOLS Motorcycle Club, and he was an ex member of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. We were supposed to be bitter enemies, but we stood together, fighting a much bigger enemy, PTSD. I never doubted for a moment that he had my back. When he died, his Daughter called and told me. I took one of my Brothers over to his house, and two MONGOLS loaded up a Hells Angels motorcycle into the back of his pickup, for it's final journey back to San Jose, where he had started out from. My friends name was DAGO, aka Larry Orsua. We both spent two years fighting that war, not only cuz we LIKED it, but also to save some FNG's life who didn't have to go because we extended. We both believe the saying, "When I die, I'm going to Heaven, cuz I've spent my time in HELL" PTSD gave me the best friend I ever had.
    Thanks for reminding me, Donna Lynne,
    WarHippy1%
     
  5. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    Here as some from more recent times, they are more our style.

    The wannabe's 1/3/01 (to the pretend vets)

    Why are they here? Man!
    Yeah, I get flashbacks,,,,,,they can too,,,,,,if they get to close,,,,,,,
    in 10 to 15 years,,,,,,,,,,,hee, hee
    Why would they want it?
    Do they really glorify war?
    They really think, pow pow-hero-purple heart-come home,
    but nothing inbetween, like an empty sandwich.
    Do they really think the mind of a combat vet is something to hail,
    no it's something from Hell, with no way out.
    Man, someday we may be able to set our memories into another person's.
    They'd be dropping like flies from the intensity.
    I met a man who had no shoes, then I met a man who had no feet,
    They both traveled.
    So can I sell my flashbacks to those wannabes?
    Re-enact it-watch their faces turn grey with the onset of death, only to be brought back just as violently.
    Sickening, ain't it, oops, that happened today, or was it 1966, hmmmmm,,,,,
    Sometimes can't separate um.
    Oh well, so which wannabe wants to buy my broken mind?
    I'm waitin,,,,,no, I kind of guessed no one would.
    So where are those wannabes when I'm trippin?
    Wettin' themselves in the corner, trying to get away from me,
    "And she night stalks, too! Oh gawd!"
    I was suppose to be a ballerina,
    I was suppose to think pretty thoughts, get married, have kids and live happily ever after.
    Well, I just live, after the fact.
    Survivor, boy, now there's one to glorify, huh?
    Every night I die, and every morn, I'm reborn.
    I'm told to envision myself in the future.
    "Yeah, doc, that's a good one,,,,"
    So my scars are deep- don't feel sorry for me,
    My mind's screwed- but my world is beautiful.
    I just don't let wannabes in.
    Sorry, full house, I don't sell backbones here.
    Read the sing on my world's front door,
    "No Jellyfish Allowed!"
    dlj
    -
    Just Be 1/3/01

    Just be, you're exhausting me.
    Namedroppers and brown nosers.
    Just be, I am I, from first sight, til final flight,
    yours or mine.
    Just be, this is my world, my people, my animals.
    Don't disturb them, cause then I'm disturbed, legally,
    Psychotically, disturbed.
    Never met a man I couldn't deck.
    It's always my first thought, size um up, sorry trained too well.
    Deprogram what? Just little words on paper.
    Just be, so your soft, lucky you, be it,,,,
    Never met a mind I couldn't sway,
    never met a love, eternal to stay.
    Never did I think I'd make it til today.
    But just be,,,,,
    I've danced with wolves,
    I've done the dance of death.
    So I'm a walking frigg'n' zombie.
    But I am who I am, so be you.
    Just be.
    I see beauty in violence, and pain in happy endings.
    I see before sighting, I feel before the touch.
    Pure animalistic instincts bore through the brain.
    Don't envy me, just be.
    Soft or hard, callous or green,
    small or tall, babygirl's a fight'n' machine.
    But I am who I am, and love the wise eyes.
    Those gorgeous laughing knowing eyes, the ones just like mine.
    So please, just be.
    You cannot steal souls, so stop the trickery you play on yourself.
    The wise ones just laugh, well, we can, cause we, just be,
    it made us who we are, it's always kept us free.
    So, do you get it yet?
    Just be.
    We only invite the real in.
    dlj
     
  6. WarHippy1%

    WarHippy1% Active Member

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    I understand your poems too well, maybe. Are you familiar with poems by any Ranger Vets? Does the name Joe Little ring a bell. He was involved in an acting group, they made a video, it was a series of skits with real players re-enacting scenes involving PTSD. I'm sure Sarge would have known him. He wrote quite a few poems of life, in Vietnam and the PTSD caused and dealing with living afterward. His poems brought tears to my eyes because they brought back memories I thought I had hidden successfully, and probably making me sicker because of hiding them. Wait, I think I remember the name of the video, or the acting group, or it had to do with them. It was something like "Home of the Brave Foundation". Your poems remind me of his. We were very close friends, we lost contact somewhere in the chaos of my last marriage.
    Respectfully,
    WarHippy1%
     
  7. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    No warhippy, they come from my experiences alone. I know we have a connection. This is not about that and who else wrote it. I did my own experiences , I am not a box to fit into a world I do not understand, and I understand you understand that.
    And no, Sarge would not have know them, he was too busy helping those that were falling apart, and peicing them together. Life is just as it happens, it doesn't have a rhyme or reason it just is.
    Warhippy meeting Sarge....
    All Sarge would say is, Hey man, ain't that a great sunset?
     
  8. WarHippy1%

    WarHippy1% Active Member

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    That's how Joe is, he volunteered at the Vet Center, helping other Vets for many years, then finally applied for a counselors job there and was approved. I was thinking they might have known each other cuz the Rangers are a pretty close family, they have a reunion once a year meant for all Rangers. Since Joe and Sarge were probably in-country at some time in their tours at the same time, they most likely met and chatted at some point in time. I wasn't attacking you or Sarge or your poems. I'm sorry if you thought I meant you copied your poems out of a book or anything similar, I didn't mean that. I know those are your poems. People who write poems sorta gravitate toward other people who write poems about similar subjects. I thought you might have read Joe's or maybe he read yours at some time. Our world really isn't that big, we do run across each other just doing life.
     
  9. WarHippy1%

    WarHippy1% Active Member

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    And WarHippy would have said, "In case nobody has told you, Welcome Home Brother, it is a nice sunset".
     
  10. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    Yuppers, you get it. Sarge was a great diverter of where you were, he had this, from birth, way of making you stop your hell, and divert your attention to a different path. After awhile I didn't even need words, his voice was the cheese at the end of the maze.
    I was going to write "Billy Jack III", and called California, and spoke to Tom Laughlin's p.r. man. What a richard he was.
    Anyway I was in Florida at the time, mad and angry, and hanging out with vets that I helped through Sarges assistance, and asked Sarge would he want me to write, "Sarge, after the dust settles"
    He was all for it, and I have so many outlines, but whenever I started to pick it up, bam,,,,,,,,,flashback haven.
    My enemies watched the nam footage on the news, I did too, even closer, because they copy catted what happened, only with drugs and more want to have fun, at the faces of the frightened.
    Ergo, couldn't do it. I wanted somehow to thank Sarge, in the biggest way I could, but couldn't. But I think our bond stated more then I allow myself to accept, as far as who I was for him. I was the female counterpart to fixing the brain, as far as we could take it, at least.
    And the one who let everyone know, the mind may have been damaged, but the soul was whiter then ever, and let them know they did have a purpose on this planet. Sarge may have known him, I don't know.
    But for me, I do not, and am afraid if I did read his words, they would trigger far too much, so yeah, as tough as I am, I am a scare dee cat when it comes to triggers.
    During my angry days, I had a knack for getting myself in the middle of very violent people, Sarge, had access to my where abouts, through me, and sent in the troops on occasions. I don't know how many times he said you almost bought it that time, to me. I always said, nah, just stirring the pot, my spiritual guards would never let me leave, I know from experience.
    Thank you for your words, and seeing Sarge through my eyes, and yours.
    That's all I wanted. Blessings, he smiles and lets me know now you get my words. He'll be hanging with ya,,,
     
  11. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    Warhippy, where the heck are ya? You never e'mailed me back, don't have me send out the wolfhound div. to find ya,,,,lol
    Hope all is well
    Respectfully White Wolf
     
  12. mightsurvive

    mightsurvive Active Member

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    Hi
    I cant and wont pretend that i can even begin to undersrand the poems about your war experiences. but the first two really do hit home even though i wish they didnt. They are so deeply powerful. More powerful that i know how to explain to you but i know that you know how powerful i find them. They made me well up but in a good way becasue i know im not alone in having these feelings. The only thing thats stopped the tears from flooding out in a massive deluge is that i have to hide it because im not alone at the moment. Will read them again when i am alone and let the emotions flow. I know that that is good for me even though it is not pleasant. I am a very creative person (wow i said something positive lol) adn would love to give poetry a go myself. Maybe later tonight. Again somthing i know will benefit me no matter how hard it is.
     
  13. dljwhitewolf

    dljwhitewolf Active Member

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    Writing is very powerful but can also be a weapon. I consider my weapon words to be an ancient chinese ferret on occasions, knowing full well a snake attacks, yet not caring and prancing about til I kill it or it gets me..........(ferret joke, I have one)
    What I mean by a weapon is I tend to be an extremist, I will do things to death, and writing can be that as well. Sometimes I need to walk away from what I wrote, and completely avoid it, giving me time to process what can't be done in an instant, (hate instant pudding) (and for anyone else reading this, might and I have a bizarre lingo, just ignore my bizarre comments unless you find them humorous, we do) which frustrates me, if its broke fix it, if they don't have the part give me the proper tools and i'll fabricate it, I want it done now, is my attitude.
    So walking away and coming back in a week or so, when new stuff has occurred, (btw, the way my brain is now post ptsd, I am born every day and die every night, I do not have tomorrows, tomorrows for me are never, I only can relate to what has occurred and what is occurring in the present tense. Make sense?
    Any who, writing is also very beneficial, it sneaks out things we don't realize, again leaving the writing when you've had too much, and come back to discover you threw in a way to help yourself out of a current problem.
    I love writing.....................
     
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