The first time*... I was diagnosed when I was active duty during the years no one really cared much about PTSD, they cared about alcoholism. Taking the beer machines out of the barracks didn’t really slow us down, much, though. ;) TBH, come to think of it, it mostly switched us to hard alcohol, which is more compact & easier to hide. Not that we didn’t still line wall lockers with trash bags, fill them with ice, and add a few halfracks.
Back to getting diagnosed... The short of it is that I was f*cking up and getting in trouble more and more on base. But I was fine in the field. It became a very predictable dance. Get promoted in the field, come home and lose rank and pay. Rinse lather repeat. Still have scars under my collarbones from getting pinned so many times. My base command was trying to get me booted, my field command was fighting it. It makes sense in retrospect, I was two very different people depending on which environment I was in, but I had my nose seriously out of joint about it at the time. I couldn’t see what the f*ck was the problem, and neither could my field command, so I was pretty damn self righteous about the f*cktard pencil pushers on base, and what they could do with themselves. Which I’m sure didn’t help my cause, at all. So I got a shrink attached to my hip for a few days. Damn near literally. He shadowed me at work, came out with me/us when I played, and I slept in his office.
At the end of it I had a diagnosis and a recommendation that I be kept out in the field as much as possible. Which means I was transferred to a busier squardron, and did a lot more TAD. That was, again, pretty normal for the time. There were a bunch of us who were out about 3x as much as the rest of the folks. Like a duck to water, it was a huge relief.
As far as recommended treatment?
<chuckling> Well... he said 6 months, I said 2 months, we split the difference at zero, and I went back to work. The diagnosis went in my file, but that was all there really was to it. For years and years the sum total of what I knew about PTSD was that it was “nightmares & shit”. But “everybody” had that. Which -to be fair- was true for my world / the smallish niche I operated out of. We were all f*cking crazy, in roughly the same way, and tended to pride ourselves on it. Nightmares, panic attacks, etc.? Those were just the cost of doing business, and normal as all get out. Never pieced the f*cking around, adrenaline junkie shit, or all the rest of it as being a part of.
It wasn’t until I was discharged that my world imploded. And it did so in a really big, melodramatic, and fairly embarrassing way. Not that I made the link to the PTSD diagnosis I’d gotten a long ass time before. I was just a f*ckup, who wasn’t made for this world, so I set about trying to leave it, or make the best of it, in various different ways. It took me about 5 years, but I finally settled my tits down, for the most part.
15 or so years later, when my world imploded again, I decided to give the therapy thing another go, and learn what this PTSD thing really was & how to deal with it.
It’s been pretty mind blowing, to be honest.
In a lot of ways I miss not knowing “why” I was this way, and just being me figuring shit out as I went. Insanity was certainly a lot more fun, that way. I left a mile wide wake of wreckage behind me, doing that, though. So it may be less fun, but at least I’m f*cking up in new ways, instead of the same old, and hopefully creating less of a mess to clean up later. We’ll see. The jury is still out, on that one.
* I was diagnosed a few more times, after that, seeking help for various “other” things. I rather unilaterally rejected the entire idea. Nope. I’m fine. Totally fine. It took it becoming so obvious even I couldn’t deny it anymore -and being rather f*cking desperate- before I finally gave in that maaaaaaaybe it might could be this thing.