Reaching Out of the Darkness

One night three or four years ago, the phone rang in the wee hours of the morning. It was Chris calling to say goodbye. He had his side arm loaded and he was done. It had been a few years since he’d come back from Iraq to no job, no wife, and no home. Though he’d struggled to rebuild what was left, he was angry and confused. And he was still fighting the war in his mind. He felt very alone.

This was not the first time he’d called to say goodbye, but it was the first time since we’d become close that he’d decided it was time to take his own life.

That night I found out what it was like to talk someone down from suicide. It’s an unpleasant experience especially when the person on the other end of the line is the love of your life and you can’t get to him.

I don’t remember a lot of the 45-minute conversation but I can still hear the click of his weapon against the phone. It was as close to losing him as I’ve ever been.  And though he’s spoken of suicide many times since it has only been in passing about how things used to be.

I have stood on both sides of this particular fence, so I'd like to take a second to thank every person who has ever taken the hand of someone who has reached out to them in their lowest moment.

In His Own Words - Part 2

Tell me about your first day there.

Hit the ground running.   We immediately went to work.  We didn’t even get time to unpack.

How do they expect you to just fall in?

You’re trained to.  We did our job. But it’s different on an emergency response side.  We ran ambulances at home so we were prepared from some of it.

But I never saw anything in the states like I saw there.  I saw things I’d be hard pressed to see at a level-three trauma unit.  They don’t have to deal with blast damage.

Were the injuries shocking?

We didn’t have time to let them shock us… like watching Predator today [Chris imitates Jesse Ventura] “I ain’t got time to bleed.”

He smiles, but these discussions weigh heavy on him.  I know the injuries were shocking even if he doesn’t admit they were. He speaks often about just doing his job. 

Did you shut down emotionally?

Yeah, at work it’s an assembly line.  If a mechanic got attached to every car they worked on, you know?  No emotional attachment while working.  You grieve after hours.  And you grieve.

Along with that comes a sick and twisted sense of humor.  That’s how I got my nickname Dr. Evil. You laugh about things, never at the patient but you laugh… if you have time to do so.  A sense of humor is for when you have time.  It has a time and a place.

But you have to have a sense of humor or you’ll end up capping yourself in the field.  I know it’s like some hokey MASH Hawkeye bullsh-t, but it’s true… though everyone has worked under someone who can’t find the funny.

What about working on the enemy?

What about it? [He’s almost defensive here as though I’ve accused him of giving aid and comfort.] It’s harder when they’re conscious.  [Chris imitates Farsi] Shut the f-k up.  Yeah, it irritated me. 

We’re they kept afterward, after you worked on them?

It depended.  If they were just kids. [Chris hesitates and takes a long drag on his cigarette] Not everyone in Iraq are the baddies.  The media would like you to think that, but there are some f-king nice people in Iraq.  This isn’t some f-king John Wayne movie from WWII. See someone Japanese and they’re automatically the enemy. There are good people.

The roughest part was the kids. They used to pay them.

Pay them to what?

Lob grenades at Humvees and sh-t.

No way.

Yeah.

Chris begins to speak without prompts. It is a story he has never told me before. Somehow, I’d come to believe he’d opened up to me completely and shown me everything he had hidden inside.

This one time a group of insurgents decided to come onto the base.  They came across the wire, they thought this is going to be fun.  We’re going to take down the airport.  This is after President Bush stood on the carrier in his flight suit and announced Mission Accomplished.

Sixty of these little c-ks-kers climbed the wall at lunchtime right behind the DFAC [the dining hall for those who aren’t familiar with the thousands of acronyms the military uses].

I got it just then.  Dining hall and lunchtime equaled bad choice for the insurgents.

That hall held around 200.  Two hundred guys with weapons slung.  It honest to god had a parking lot it was so big.  Those [derogatory term] just started shooting.  It was 60 against 200 immediately.  And then it was 60 against everybody because everyone heard shots and acted. Then it was 30 against everybody, then 10.  I’ve taken sh-ts that lasted longer than this invasion. 

The ones who didn’t get blown the f-k up went back over the wall and back to the hooch where they’d planned the whole thing. So we decimated the house, mark 19s.  BaBoom boom boom.  We had Abrams from the parking lot rolling on that sumbitch. 

There were three survivors.  The mastermind and two kids.  An eleven year old girl and a younger boy.

Why were there children there?

The kids lived there.  Daddy was one of bad ones.  He used to have the boy throw grenades into the humvees. [Chris stops here and shakes his head] I don’t feel comfortable talking about this, I just don’t.

Okay, then let’s go back to my original questions. Did you get to sleep regular?

No.

Was there a time when you had to have sleep for the safety of the patients?

No.  I worked 46 hours straight more than once, we all did.  Hell, I’ve eaten over an open abdomen.  I don’t remember what it was but I remember being fed while I was working. 

Um, gross. 

Chris shrugs.  It was just a job and you did what you had to do.

You went over there a medic, but your duties changed big time didn’t they? You were expected to almost be a doctor after while.

Your duties changed no matter what.  You’re a soldier first, medic or whatever second, then after that you’re anything the f-king commander wants or needs you to be.

He hesitates.

I can patch people up gumball style.  I can take things out.

I interrupt. You were a doctor.

No.  I don’t want to call myself that.  I’m not a doctor.  I don’t have that training.

Chris begins talking faster than I can type, and unfortunately I’m not sure why we got on this subject other than the neighbors being noisy and rude.

Today, Labor Day.  If it was on the calendar it was a bad f-king day.  [derogatory term]likes to catch you with your pants down because [derogatory term]thinks all Americans are lazy and like to party.  But [derogatory term] got it broken off in his -ss.

Another drag on the cigarette and a bit of a smile.

We tried to have a good time as best as we could.  But you put miracle whip on a sh-t sandwich and it’s still a sh-t sandwich.

Next time can you tell me about the fun times?

We had fun. We tried.  But there wasn’t much.  Sh-t sandwich. Can you read this to me after you’re done? I don’t want to come off like…

Understand, this is a story being filtered through me, a civilian.  So the details I pull out as important will be different that what jump out at you, but yes, I will read it to you once I’m done.

Thank you.

In His Own Words - Part 1

I’ve always believed people have three faces. Who they think they are, who people think they are, and who they really are. It takes a great deal of trust to let someone strip away the first two faces to find the real core of a person. It also requires a person to let down their defenses and be open to knowing themselves, scars and all.

From the day I met Chris I strove to really know him. He has a depth I was drawn to, but I’ve always been drawn to deep water regardless of the rip current. I think listening and knowing him is the key to helping him regain himself and find freedom from PTSD.

We’ve discussed his experiences in Iraq many times, but I approached him a short while ago about asking him some questions and writing a series of pieces about his time in theater. While I was writing a fictional novel based on PTSD and him, we discussed Iraq thoroughly, but this was different. This was asking for him to open himself up to strangers. I felt it would offer a little insight to those searching for it. I wanted to paint a personal picture about his life in combat, but more I wanted to show what a civilian – me – draws out as important details.

I told him we would do it interview style and stop when he needed to.  I also told him we could end the series whenever he wanted. Chris agreed reluctantly and I am infinitely honored he would trust me to share his story.

This is the first interview. It’s rough, but it’s real.

Did you have that puffy chest I’ve seen on so many of the other guys who haven’t been there yet?

Yeah, I had that.  Of course.  I was going to use my training.

When did it sink in?

As it got closer to me leaving it got realer and realer.  But when the door shut on that plane, that’s when the possibility of this being a one-way trip hit me.  That was a sinking f—king feeling.

I bet it was. So that plane took you to Iraq?

No, no, we went to Kuwait first.  We lived in tent city for a while ramping up to go.  It felt almost like when we were in training.  Decent food, movie tent.  They tried to make it comfortable.  In the sh-t you had to do that for yourself.


They took us to the airport on a big air-conditioned bus with a TV playing a local station.  Soap opera.

Chris imitates the language and makes a dramatic gesture.  I’m glad I don’t watch soaps. He’d probably laugh quite a bit if I did.

They offloaded us onto a C1-30. That was a scary f—king flight. My first combat landing into combat.
He smiles wide and begins to tell me a story I’ve heard several times.

Across from me was a Marine and next to me was Army Airborne. It’s not like in the movies when you see these guys sitting on a C1-30 talking like normal.  No you have to lean in and yell.  The Army guy, I didn’t catch his name, I wasn’t going to see him again anyway, said he’d flown on a C1-30 hundred times but this was the first time he’d landed.  He’d always jumped out. This was all while the Marine across from us was booting into his Kevlar.

Problem with that is one - your Kevlar is round, so it splashes everywhere and two - we were landing in the combat zone and he needed that helmet on his head when we offloaded.

Chris has described to me many times what a combat landing is so I didn’t feel the need to have him describe it again.  My time is short during these discussions so I glossed over some things in an attempt to get further.

My description may not be exact but a combat landing begins with the plane descending aggressively, think stomach in throat quick, where it then begins evasive maneuvers which consist of series of S turns with the tips of the wings pointing almost to the ground with each bank.  The plane groans and screams as it comes in at a 90 degree bank.  Once the plane is on the ground they are offloaded onto another bus, this one is not air-conditioned and does not have a TV.

[I often read these articles to Chris if he’s ready to hear them and he many times clarifies details with additions]

This hot f-king kerosene smell hits you as soon as the door falls which is seconds after that b—tch is on the ground and you better being grabbing your sh-t because she’s going to be back off the ground popping flares before they start lobbing crap.

So when did the puff come out of your chest?

First time rounds came flying over my head.  Soon as we hit the ground we were in the shit.  No easing in.  Get off the plane, get the f—k off the plane - Camp Victory was lighting something up…

Chris imitates the artillery in a way that I can’t get across in this medium. He has very specific ways to describe every big gun, from mark 19s to howitzers, and every other weapon used over there from mortars to small arms.  He imitates them well, which speaks of how ingrained those noises are in his head.

From here I stopped asking questions and Chris talked about how the insurgents created ways to kill his men. Always ‘his’ men.

At first they had the big guns, but eventually all they had were mortars and RPGs. They could carry them around easily and hide, f-king [derogatory term]. There were thermite RPGs and what they do is burn into a tank then send the explosives inside.

[They] would take them apart, remove the thermite, and fill them with anything they could. Washers, nails, rocks… when they shot those things off they would rain destruction down on anything made of meat.

Chris got up at this point and looked in the fridge.  He stood for a few moments pretending he wanted something to eat. 

I can’t do this.  I can’t talk about this anymore.

We had to stop at this point.  I never push Chris past where he’s comfortable talking.  Though I’ve heard these stories many times before, I felt it was important that someone else hear them.  He’ll be distressed for the next few hours, but it’s worth it for him to talk about his time in Iraq.  He needs to get the stories out of his head so they don’t hold so much sway in his life.    


Chris was an Air Force combat medic and he served in Iraq from 2003 to 2004 at Camp Sather and at BIAP. 

Enable Happiness

“Every day, you walk a tightrope suspended between two skyscrapers with no net.  And there I am, on your shoulders.  Somehow you keep your balance.  You walk that wire and adjust every time I lean to one side or the other.

“And when you do lose your balance, we hang onto that wire and we hang on to each other. You never let go and you find a way to get back up there.

“You maintain balance against unbelievable odds.”

We built a front patio and it has become a replacement to our patio at the old apartment.  It is where we talk.  Tonight, Chris and I were talking about a piece I wanted to write about being an enabler.  I’ve been struggling with what I wanted to say for about three weeks.  So I asked him and he offered me the above analogy.  His voice cracked when he described himself as being carried.

“There are two kinds of enablers - enablers who let someone get away with destructive behavior, and those who enable others to live. You enabled me to live, because let’s face facts: if you hadn’t found me, I’d be either of two places – dead or standing on a street corner homeless.”

When Chris and I met, he was in a pretty low place. He drank excessively, stayed home constantly, and slept never. So when I was asked why I allow him to drink or hide or sleep well into the afternoon some days, basically why I would be an enabler, my only answer was, "Walk in my shoes."

He drinks and he smokes. This is his choice. It was also his choice to curtail both. He says because of the environment I created he made that choice. See, I wouldn’t have asked him to stop drinking.  On the flip side, I wouldn’t have lived with him spending every day drunk.

However, I understand on some days, when things get to be too much and he doesn’t want to take one of those pills that knocks him unconscious, he needs a drink.  I am not enabling him to abuse himself, I am giving him a place where he can be safe enough to make the choice himself.

That place, he explained, a place where he is not judged, where he is safe, where he is not defending himself against anything or anyone, is a place where he feels the ability to make clear choices. He dismissed that I might possibly be an enabler.

“What behavior do you allow that is destructive?”

I don’t believe that what I do is ‘allow’ anything. He is a grown man. He has choices and it’s up to him to make them good or bad. One thing however, on the subject of physical abuse, whether or not it’s accidental during a flashback - this I would not allow. But Chris has never once made any sort of move causing me to believe he would take that direction.

He does, however, have bouts of anger. Sometimes, they go too far and he breaks things. I tolerate a certain amount, but in the end we both end up laughing. My focus then is about defusing the situation. Last year, he broke the vacuum cleaner during an argument. In the end I told him he needed to break his own toys and not his playmate’s. We laughed, cried, and made up. The other day, he kicked my printer because it was out of ink. I still get that funny feeling I get when I’m about to laugh over the whole scene. It was and still is comical and it was easily defused even though at the moment I was red hot mad over how ridiculous he was acting.

I tolerate, but I do not enable his anger. In the end, I give him a place where he can make choices.  We’re lucky because we’re at that point.  I know many couples are not.

“You are the most selfless person I have ever met. That’s the key. You don’t think about your own emotions, you think about me. About how if you indulge your anger it will create a situation where I can’t control mine.”

I don’t agree that I’m selfless. I want him to get better because I need him. I need him in my life and I don’t want to be alone. As the solar lights came on lighting our newly built patio he said the clear thought I couldn’t get out of my pen.

“You give me a place where I can live almost normally. You make me happy.”

Short and sweet - enable happiness.

Laughing at Pandas

Listening to Chris laugh with his daughter out in the garage after these past weeks makes me smile. His ability to still find humor is amazing. We talk so often about death and the things that happened in Iraq that his laughter is precious. I draw it in whenever I can and keep it close.

My mind wanders. He once told me they ask for their mothers.

He wanted to know why dying men do that but I didn’t have an answer for him. I don’t know why mothers are so important at the moment of a soldier’s death. Maybe the mind seeks comfort when it knows the body is failing. Mothers kiss scraped knees and solve all the world’s problems with only a word when we’re children. Maybe this is why.

And my attention shifts back to today. They’re out in the garage laughing about pandas and how evolution has been cruel to these giant ill-tempered slow-moving raccoons. It’s good to hear because of the other things I’ve heard. He owns resilience. The military gave it to him.

He once talked about a man who died in his arms in the field. There was nothing he could do. This man begged to be saved. He had a daughter that needed him. But there was nothing. The soldier was too injured, too far gone.

"I felt him die," Chris said. His body went limp, and then his eyes went vacant. No flash, no heavenly light. Just nothing. Alive then dead.

Chris knows details because he was, and still is at heart, a combat medic. The pupils go big when a person dies. They get like black marbles covering almost the entire iris. Though I know it is simply the muscles of the body releasing their last electrical impulses, it must be odd to see. I hope to never witness it.

The man that day died. That little girl never got to see her father again. But there are many daughters and sons whose fathers did come home because of combat medics, because of Chris. They came home different maybe, but they came home.

Maybe this is why he can still laugh. Even though he agonizes over those he lost, maybe the ones he saved give him the strength. However he does it, I am happy to laugh with him because  some months, these days are too few.

PTSD is Not Contagious, Promise

Living with a mental illness makes friends hard to come by, and even harder to keep. People tend to fade in and out of our lives because of the myriad of irritants and awkward moments friendship with us brings. On our end, friendship opens Chris up to loss so he many times bucks against allowing anyone close to him. It is a special person who weathers the storm.

We rarely go out when solid ‘plans’ are involved since things can shift at the drop of a boot or backfire of a car. This past weekend, however, we braved the highway and visited friends for an afternoon of drinking and eating. It was the highlight of July for us.

One of the discussions that came up was the definition of a friend. I’ll leave out the details as everyone might not find the humor. Between laughing and eating, the discussion hashed out one basic requirement of a friend.

When you call, I will come.

Friendship with a PTSD sufferer has a slightly longer list.  When he disassociates, you’ll pause and then go on as though nothing has happened. When we have to cancel plans, you say it’s fine and you will really mean it even though we've cancelled four times before. You’ll look past and understand there will always be the possibility of a flashback or outburst of emotion. You won’t be embarrassed and apologies though offered will remain unnecessary.

Unwanted isolation can be the end result of PTSD when the circle of friends shrinks away. Many services are offered to help make sure family knows and can cope with the residual trauma of war, but everyone needs the tools because sometimes a friend is all these guys have left.

Meet Chris' Symptoms

Several months after Chris and I became friends, he confided in me that the doctors said he had PTSD. At the time, he fell way short of accepting the diagnosis and still clung to the belief that it was not he that had changed, but the world around him.

I took a different approach by setting out to learn every possible thing I could about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Website after website, book after book, I gleaned the internet and stores for any and all information. I read lists upon lists of symptoms, personal stories, and possible treatments.

With Chris still living across the country, the only real experience I had was desperate emails and strange phone calls in the middle of the night. When he finally made his way out to my neck of woods I got my first true taste of PTSD.

And it was an eye-opener.

This is my real-life list of symptoms I’ve personally experienced since Chris came into my life.

Nightmares – Chris has nightmares on a nightly basis. During these nightmares he may talk, get up, sleepwalk, jump out of bed to take cover, check me for wounds, mourn my death, scream, cry, protect me from incoming, or run while laying on his back. I didn’t sleep an entire night for almost a year and a half. During that time, I learned how to comfort him without waking him up. He and I are sleeping more nights but the nightmares are still constant.

Flashbacks – This one was and still is the most frightening aspect of PTSD. During his flashbacks, Chris is in Iraq. I have watched him put on his gear and load his weapon. He has pulled me into his flashback thinking I’ve somehow ended up in theater with him. Nightmares and flashbacks sometimes melt into each other, but a flashback seems marked by his responsiveness to me. During flashbacks, he may be unable to tell me what the year is, where he is, or who I am.

Disassociation – This goes hand in hand with flashbacks, but it’s less noticeable. Basically, Chris will go catatonic. If I don’t notice, he can stay like that for a long while. Outwardly, he’s still and staring off, but inside, he’s in Iraq. I had to learn to watch closely for these periods because they leave Chris feeling as if he’s been back in the war zone for months. Many times he’s ‘woken’ and behaved as if we were having a tearful reunion after a long deployment. I didn’t know Chris before he went to Iraq, so this is not a memory. It is very real to him, including him breaking into a sweat even when it’s cold because he feels the desert heat.

Unreasonable Anger/Waves of Emotions – I say unreasonable because anger is natural. When it’s over nothing or minor things, it’s a symptom. Chris is irritable and easily agitated. He angers over little things. In certain instances he recognizes it as soon as his ‘fog’ clears. When he catches himself, he’s ashamed over his inability to control his emotions. Sadness also rushes over him for no reason, as does fear.

Extreme Sensitivity to Sound – This one is standard. Loud noises startle him unlike anyone I’ve ever known. They can also launch him head first right back into the sand. I have learned any time there is a sudden or loud noise, I have to go to him to help him calm down or he may fall in to a flashback.

Pseudoseizures – This one was never on any list and I was a year in before I witnessed the first of three occasions where Chris suffered what looked like seizures. Upon research I found the name. Pseudoseizures are connected to PTSD, after a little digging, and create what looks like an epileptic seizure. Chris’s first time was after a severe nightmare. He didn’t wake completely before his body curled.  His hands drew up to his chest and his body shook. When it was seemingly done and Chris was fully awake, he was paralyzed from the waist down. It took around twenty minutes for his legs to regain feeling.

Stroke like symptoms – On two separate occasions after a flashback, Chris has spent almost 24 hours unable to speak normally. Through out the day, his ability trickled back. It started with him being able to make noises, but not form words. Then, he could form words but he stuttered and struggled for the right words. Eventually over the course of the day he was able to speak just as he had the day before.

Unexplained body aches – Over the past year Chris has developed body aches. They steadily increased until now Chris is always in pain. Some days it’s enough to keep him in bed. It’s an all over pain that the doctors have not been able to explain. He had blood tests, EEGs, MRIs, but still nothing. We deal, and I keep him moving. We’ve taking up hiking recently in a very secluded nature preserve where the silence and the exercise are having a positive effect. Again, after research and the advice of a friend, I’ve found the fibromyalgia may be linked to stress disorders such as his.

This is my list. There are other symptoms, standard ones, and I’m sure there are others with different symptoms. The key is know your enemy and know it well. Using a site such as Not Alone and her forums allows us to gather and share information making this disorder much easier to live with. So please, if you have information share it, and if you need information ask for it. The forums are easy to find and I promise to try my best to read and respond to everything I can. We all need our own voice but during the darkest days we need to hear the voices of others walking the road with us.