Be a Moving Target

His depression is back.  I know I’ve touched on this before, I’m not blind to it.  Waves.  Our life is filled with waves.  Looking back over these past few years writing about my husband’s PTSD, I see patterns, like waves.  Some waves, when we sit on the beach, are lovely to have.  Others, like his insomnia, not so much.  It’s good to be able to trace it back because I can always reason that “this too shall pass” is real.  These times pass and good times are always present.

Unfortunately there have been some worsening symptoms.  He’s always lost time, little bits falling away, but it’s getting worse.  He knows when it happens now and struggles to find the time, the memories.  If I’m not paying attention or I don’t check on him regularly he can lose an afternoon or morning, or worse stand blank eyed and catatonic for hours and end up losing days.  I don’t know what’s going on.  I do know that we talked to his doctor, but unfortunately there are so many symptoms she can’t treat them all at once.  If she tries he’ll end up not seeking treatment at all.  I’ve watched the appointment cards roll in causing him to approach saturation point.  Appointments have to be cancelled.  Choosing what is most important is stressful. I feel like one of those circus performers with the plates on sticks.  I have all these spinning plates all balanced, but I know I can’t keep all of them going, so I have choose which one to drop.  Each is delicate and will shatter.  I second-guess every choice I make.  What if it was the wrong one to cancel?

This week I cancelled a counseling session.  I know he needs to go, but he has so many dental appointments to deal with something that cannot wait and a couple of others for the loss of strength in his arm, which also cannot wait.  I feel like I can’t win. But, I push forward and balance my plates.  Sometimes I feel them slipping, but I persevere. I let one go, sacrificing it, then I move on. Regardless of whether my choices are right or wrong, I have to continue to make them.  It’s important to move.  Forward or back, each is a learning experience and with that I grow in my ability to help him manage this monster.

Keep moving people.  Moving targets are harder to hit. 

Stones In His Heart

For the last few days we’ve been working on getting my youngest son’s ROTC uniform squared away.  At his high school the program is Air Force.  This made my husband, his step-father, very happy.  They’ve always been very close but this has been a major bonding experience. Folding sleeves and blousing pants, my boy is, as Chris would say, “shit hot”.

I love the attitude my freshman is coming home with from his Master Sergeant.  He’s always been a good student, but he’s taking more and more pride in what he does.  I’m happy and I’m happy Chris can grab back this little piece of military since he so desperately misses the life.

We needed some extras to finish off my son’s uniform so yesterday we headed over the Army Navy store for a few bits and bobs.  This morning we discussed the trip because I noticed something odd.  We go to the Army Navy store quite a bit and every time he points out a certain patch.  It’s a unit patch from the guys he patrolled with in Iraq.  At the time he was in the Air Force, but the Army was lacking enough medics to go around.  He volunteered to fill a spot.  These are the guys he was “in the shit” with.  He stood in front of the patches yesterday and touched his unit’s.  Glancing over to me, he flashed a tentative smile and told me that was his guys.

This is a standard thing.  We do it each time we go there.  This morning however he told me he hates that patch.  It brings no good memories.  I’d always wondered why he never picked one up to have.  Now I know.  But now I’m left wondering.  I know quite a few of the stories, stories I’d rather no know.  He’s always said he can’t tell me all of them and I’m okay with that, but the stories I do know are so painful I can’t imagine anything worse.  Apparently though, there are stories he can’t voice because they are worse. 

We’re starting counseling again next week.  It’s been two years since he left the vet center angry and unable to continue fighting his way to healing.  Hopefully someday he’ll be able to look at that patch and have it not be a stone in his heart.  Someday maybe.