"Just another day, please Lord just another day."
Words that I live by it seems. Every morning I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rub my head, crack my neck, arch my back and then reach under the pillow and grab the S&W MP .40. That part won't change no matter what, but this morning as I look back to see my wife sleeping, cuddled up next to my 3 year old, the nightmare still lingers. It's 6:25 am. I've gotten 4 hours and 25 minutes of sleep tonight, but the nightmare that woke me up damn well won't let me go back to sleep. So much for the regiment of drugs the VA has given me, sleeping pills stopped working about three days ago. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for my medications, again. The dreams have manifested themselves over the years, changing as I slowly adapt to them. The guys in my PTSD group tell me that it is 'normal' for them to change once we learn how to control them or deal with them. No one said they would be f*cked up and involve my family. That's just not acceptable.
The nightmares have gone from the firefight west of the six lane highway to clearing out the bunkers to the highway of death on a regular basis and I’ve accepted most of that as a norm now. Then six months ago in the middle of a firefight as I move from cover to cover I see my wife, five to seven rounds in her chest and neck, holding the hand of my 3 year old and only having his arm from just above the elbow in her hand. Then others similar to that clearing out the bunkers finding my 6 year old dead have his head gone or just his head in graphic detail. And then a week ago, my wife at work, I snap walk into the boys bedroom and shoot both in the head, take them outside hang them from the tree, get the ladder, put the noose around my neck, raise the gun and pull the trigger. That’s when I woke up screaming.
I get dressed, run my rounds around the house checking the doors, the windows, scanning the front yard and back, peering into the woods waiting for motion. Once I determine that it is all clear, I walk to the gun safe and put it back in, content that all is ok as I wait for the 6 year old to get up and get ready for school. I lose my temper when the 6 year old starts playing games instead of getting dressed. I snap, raise my voice and grab his shirt, tell him to quit acting like a dumbass and get dressed. I finish dressing the 3 year old and get everything gathered up as I take him to the daycare provider and the 6 year old to school.
Driving is such a joy. There seems to be nothing but morons to the left and right of me. Complete idiots on the road, no turn signal, no clue as to what is going on around them or so busy talking on their cell phones, or texting that they just don't pay attention to anything. I yell and scream and flip off three people as I drive to the school, roll my window down and tell a woman that she's an idiot for driving in the exit instead of driving the extra 50 meters to the entrance, she babbles on about being a bad example or some shit, I don't care. Drop my son off, tell him I love him and to have a good day. Drive to the daycare provider and drop the youngest one off and then race home so I don't have to deal with anyone.
Anger is my only tool. Anger is all I can focus on. It seems to be the only thing in me that is left and I think that it is winning. I can’t stand the fact that I seem to be losing control of my emotions, losing control of my sanity. I have always had a gun, made me feel more secure knowing that I could grab it in a pinch. Now I can’t stand not having it under my pillow, ready to go in a flash. Part of me is worried that one night I may grab it and fire off a round at one of my kids when they sneak into the room, but on the other hand I can’t imagine being without it. This is what I deal with in a nutshell, just to let it go is all I wish for. Now I just ask to make it one more day.
Words that I live by it seems. Every morning I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rub my head, crack my neck, arch my back and then reach under the pillow and grab the S&W MP .40. That part won't change no matter what, but this morning as I look back to see my wife sleeping, cuddled up next to my 3 year old, the nightmare still lingers. It's 6:25 am. I've gotten 4 hours and 25 minutes of sleep tonight, but the nightmare that woke me up damn well won't let me go back to sleep. So much for the regiment of drugs the VA has given me, sleeping pills stopped working about three days ago. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for my medications, again. The dreams have manifested themselves over the years, changing as I slowly adapt to them. The guys in my PTSD group tell me that it is 'normal' for them to change once we learn how to control them or deal with them. No one said they would be f*cked up and involve my family. That's just not acceptable.
The nightmares have gone from the firefight west of the six lane highway to clearing out the bunkers to the highway of death on a regular basis and I’ve accepted most of that as a norm now. Then six months ago in the middle of a firefight as I move from cover to cover I see my wife, five to seven rounds in her chest and neck, holding the hand of my 3 year old and only having his arm from just above the elbow in her hand. Then others similar to that clearing out the bunkers finding my 6 year old dead have his head gone or just his head in graphic detail. And then a week ago, my wife at work, I snap walk into the boys bedroom and shoot both in the head, take them outside hang them from the tree, get the ladder, put the noose around my neck, raise the gun and pull the trigger. That’s when I woke up screaming.
I get dressed, run my rounds around the house checking the doors, the windows, scanning the front yard and back, peering into the woods waiting for motion. Once I determine that it is all clear, I walk to the gun safe and put it back in, content that all is ok as I wait for the 6 year old to get up and get ready for school. I lose my temper when the 6 year old starts playing games instead of getting dressed. I snap, raise my voice and grab his shirt, tell him to quit acting like a dumbass and get dressed. I finish dressing the 3 year old and get everything gathered up as I take him to the daycare provider and the 6 year old to school.
Driving is such a joy. There seems to be nothing but morons to the left and right of me. Complete idiots on the road, no turn signal, no clue as to what is going on around them or so busy talking on their cell phones, or texting that they just don't pay attention to anything. I yell and scream and flip off three people as I drive to the school, roll my window down and tell a woman that she's an idiot for driving in the exit instead of driving the extra 50 meters to the entrance, she babbles on about being a bad example or some shit, I don't care. Drop my son off, tell him I love him and to have a good day. Drive to the daycare provider and drop the youngest one off and then race home so I don't have to deal with anyone.
Anger is my only tool. Anger is all I can focus on. It seems to be the only thing in me that is left and I think that it is winning. I can’t stand the fact that I seem to be losing control of my emotions, losing control of my sanity. I have always had a gun, made me feel more secure knowing that I could grab it in a pinch. Now I can’t stand not having it under my pillow, ready to go in a flash. Part of me is worried that one night I may grab it and fire off a round at one of my kids when they sneak into the room, but on the other hand I can’t imagine being without it. This is what I deal with in a nutshell, just to let it go is all I wish for. Now I just ask to make it one more day.