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State Department Member - Baghdad
- Post starter Vilerat
- Start date
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Thank You Vilerat
Your responses are normal. You hear that siren, ud better get down. Months and months in the red zone with only cpl nights in rear area taught me a lot about surviving ... but surviving is the hard part. All these years later, I'm just figuring out that I am totally PTSD'd... many many times I've been interviewed by medical types asking if I have this symptom or that, and always, I lie.
I always tell them things are normal, another way I am repressing all of the terror.
I was never afraid in combat. Never one time. But the thought of revealing all of this terrorizes me.
My wife doesn't know. My family doesn't know. I've barely told my story in a couple of chat sites and the telling brought tears, panic, and shaking almost like a seizure.
I'm glad your wife knows now and encourages help. When I passed through, the shrinks on post were for getting ppl out of the military. I think you would find a different story now. Take advantage of it while it is free and while you're with shrinks who are experiencing the same terror you are.
The swoosh or rockets or the snick of bullets passing your ears is not a normal thing for the human body. the mind processes that as get down before u get killed. When it happens over and over your mind wonders if your body is listening.
Ive received no help. Im way afraid of therapy. I'm afraid of my current activities and wonder whether they might be caused by the ptsd and some other things.
You'll be demonstrating your bravery and courage if you talk this over with knowledgable people. I admire what you are doing both for the country and for yourself.
And thank you for telling me about it.
Your responses are normal. You hear that siren, ud better get down. Months and months in the red zone with only cpl nights in rear area taught me a lot about surviving ... but surviving is the hard part. All these years later, I'm just figuring out that I am totally PTSD'd... many many times I've been interviewed by medical types asking if I have this symptom or that, and always, I lie.
I always tell them things are normal, another way I am repressing all of the terror.
I was never afraid in combat. Never one time. But the thought of revealing all of this terrorizes me.
My wife doesn't know. My family doesn't know. I've barely told my story in a couple of chat sites and the telling brought tears, panic, and shaking almost like a seizure.
I'm glad your wife knows now and encourages help. When I passed through, the shrinks on post were for getting ppl out of the military. I think you would find a different story now. Take advantage of it while it is free and while you're with shrinks who are experiencing the same terror you are.
The swoosh or rockets or the snick of bullets passing your ears is not a normal thing for the human body. the mind processes that as get down before u get killed. When it happens over and over your mind wonders if your body is listening.
Ive received no help. Im way afraid of therapy. I'm afraid of my current activities and wonder whether they might be caused by the ptsd and some other things.
You'll be demonstrating your bravery and courage if you talk this over with knowledgable people. I admire what you are doing both for the country and for yourself.
And thank you for telling me about it.
WarHippy1%
Bronze Member
Trent,
This post is for you. The symptoms you describe that are intolerable to you, I believe, is your mind's way of trying to cope with memories that it doesn't want to acknowledge even happened. It's part of the recovery, the cleansing process. I've cried a river of tears, talking about the things I hid for years. A real man cries when he hurts bad enough, not from physical pain, mostly from pain in his soul, pain that a pill can't touch, pain that a doctor can't see, test for, or administer to. It takes alot of courage to face those ghosts, and alot of time to chase em away. When the act of crying in front of a group of your peers becomes preferable to living the rest of your life with those goblins running around in your mind, then you're ready to recover. It takes a strong man to go to war. It takes a stronger man to recover from the effects of war. Please don't stop with the job halfway done, recover from it.
Almost eight years ago, I was sitting in front of my computer on Memorial Day, and I started thinking about how much that Day Had changed in meaning for me over the years. Remember when Memorial Day simply meant that school was about over and the summer vacation was starting? Those were the good days, weren't they? That is how my humble poem begins, and it describes the changes of Memorial Day's meaning that occurred with me since those innocent years til now, but especially the therapy that brought those changes. Here it is. I hope you like it and I also hope that it brings new hope that you can recover too:
This post is for you. The symptoms you describe that are intolerable to you, I believe, is your mind's way of trying to cope with memories that it doesn't want to acknowledge even happened. It's part of the recovery, the cleansing process. I've cried a river of tears, talking about the things I hid for years. A real man cries when he hurts bad enough, not from physical pain, mostly from pain in his soul, pain that a pill can't touch, pain that a doctor can't see, test for, or administer to. It takes alot of courage to face those ghosts, and alot of time to chase em away. When the act of crying in front of a group of your peers becomes preferable to living the rest of your life with those goblins running around in your mind, then you're ready to recover. It takes a strong man to go to war. It takes a stronger man to recover from the effects of war. Please don't stop with the job halfway done, recover from it.
Almost eight years ago, I was sitting in front of my computer on Memorial Day, and I started thinking about how much that Day Had changed in meaning for me over the years. Remember when Memorial Day simply meant that school was about over and the summer vacation was starting? Those were the good days, weren't they? That is how my humble poem begins, and it describes the changes of Memorial Day's meaning that occurred with me since those innocent years til now, but especially the therapy that brought those changes. Here it is. I hope you like it and I also hope that it brings new hope that you can recover too:
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