STUCK IN THE SAND - PTSD and College

The knives we carry

2012-02-03T21:43:00.002-06:00

Before you start reading: this post contains written thoughts about suicide. The words are graphic, and real, but they are only thoughts-- not actions.

The following was written late this afternoon. I'd just woke up from what was a close to decent nights sleep. There were two messages on my phone, one from the VA- I'm going to start active therapy again- and the other from the person I'm subletting my apartments from. Paperwork for financial aid this year is hosed, which is mostly my fault. Along with not being able to handle classes comes not being able to handle other paperwork, it seems. So my current apartment is now too expensive, and I need to find a new place and move very soon (ie, “I gotta bug out”).

These thoughts have been bouncing around off and on for a while now. That whole “well made plans often go astray” thing is doing a number on me. Today it bitchslapped me for several hours. I did manage to make some coffee, and write what you see below. I took my meds, although a couple of hours late. I eventually got hungry-- not the “Rocky lost the fight, so now has to get hungry to train twice as hard for Rocky II” kind, but the “MickeyD's sounds really fucking good right about now” kind. The walk there was cold, the food tasted like greasy cardboard, and the walk back was cold. But it helped.

Meds now, therapy soon. I'll be ok.

--------------------

I've had a recurring thought, these past few days (weeks): “If I were suddenly not here, would anyone notice? Would anyone care? Would anything change?”

I, like many vets (and many people in general) carry a pocket knife. It's a black Ken Onion folder from Kershaw, a gift from my best friend. It's equipped with a three inch blade that has a serrated section, and it's spring loaded so it opens with an audible pssht-click. Carried in my left pocket, it's technically a concealed weapon. Realistically, it's just a somewhat bad-ass looking, along with extremely well made and useful, pocket knife. It could be a weapon, if not for the fact that I can use it for hand-to-hand combat about as well as I can fly an F-16 to the moon. I also occasionally carry a smaller folder, same basic concept. I always have one or the other close at hand, and they are always kept sharpened.

I figure five or six times with the serrated portion of either blade would open up the blood vessels in either wrist pretty effectively. The pointy end would do a good job of reaching far enough to hit whatever artery it is that feeds blood to the hand and fingers. It would hurt, I imagine. I recently cut a 1/8” slice out of a finger tip trying to pick up a safety razor blade, and that hurt like a motherfucker. Maybe I could take a few aspirin, dull the pain and thin the blood. Then, it's simple. Wrap up in a blanket on my futon, get comfortable, and bleed until I pass out.

No one expects me to be anywhere until tomorrow at 1600 when I'm supposed to be at work, and they'll just mark me as absent if don't answer when they call to see where I am- no one will come to my apartment to check. My next shift would be Monday night, and they might wonder then, but by then it'll all be done. I haven't talked to my Mom since Christmas. If she doesn't hear back from me right away, she just waits until the next holiday and calls again.

I'm behind on my rent, so I have to be out of my apartment by Monday anyway.

I imagine they'll find me then, the police will be called, there will be an investigation. My wallet will provide clues: student ID, and a VA card. They'll find out from the university that I'm a student who can't enroll, with a history of academic problems. They'll see the collection of bottles of anti-depressants on my desk, and the VA will tell them that I've been in and out of therapy for PTSD, anxiety, and depression for going on twelve years. More, if you count the couples therapy from when I was still married. There was also the therapy when I was a kid, in junior high school (the one where I didn't talk, because I didn't know what was wrong).

Neighbors will say they rarely saw me, and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary-- older guy, seemed nice enough, but he kept to himself, pretty much.

Court records will show some debt, a couple of tickets but nothing recent, a divorce, a bankruptcy. It'll all go into a report that will be filed and forgotten. Or, none of it will. What explanation do you need beyond depressed and drugged vet who finally just gave up?

My stuff will be sold or donated, or simply thrown away. My apartment will be cleaned up and re-rented. The new tenant won't be told.

I'll be buried in a state-managed veterans cemetery, most likely the same one where my Dad is buried. One day there will be a small funeral, taps will be played. Will anyone cry? Another day, a crew will bury me. Then there will be only the sounds of the wind across the land, and the occasional car going by.

----

No humans (me included) were harmed during the writing of this post. Comments are (as always) welcome.

Finding peace. Or at least, something less than chaos

2012-02-02T06:33:00.001-06:00

Sometimes, recently, I've felt pretty decent. Optimistic, hopeful, interested. Most often that's this time of night, when the world around me is mostly quiet. The city, here, is asleep by about 0300. Party reputation noted, but after bar time things settle down a bit most nights. There are a few places that are open all night in my neighborhood. Campus police headquarters is a block or so away. The phone company has a building not far away from here, and of course where I work there are people working all night. Physical plant, which makes sure the insides of campus buildings are warm in winter and cold in summer has someone on duty, I'm sure. Finally, the major sports buildings have a person or two. It all adds up to a fair number of people, although certainly smaller than the numbers of people that work around here during the day. There are the computers. Many systems are 24/7/365 now, and while traffic may decrease during the small hours of the morning, the bits are still flowing back and forth. Animals, bugs, bacteria, and the occasional person do move around. No place is ever asleep, really. There's always a pair of eyes here and there.

I like this time of night, because it is quiet. Years ago, when I was in high school and weekends were spent at my Dad's house in the city I'd often be up all night Friday and Saturday nights. Weekends were the times I had freedom to do what I enjoyed, which was sitting at my computer for hours on end, exploring the country by way of telephone wires. Sometimes I'd go for walks alone around my neighborhood, in the middle of the night. Was that safe? I never had a problem from anyone. I suppose now if a parent found out they had a kid wandering the streets at night, they'd suspect drugs or gangs were to blame. My Dad, a pretty quiet guy himself, never seemed to mind. I'd like to think that's because he knew his kid had sense enough to avoid trouble.

When I was 12 or so, after my parents had split up and my Mom was hooking up with her new boyfriend (didn't respect him then, and don't now), I was depressed a lot. I thought long and serious about running away, becoming a street kid. There were still commercials then that aired at 2300, letting you know it was eleven o'clock-- time to wonder where your children were. I had a plan, that I thought about and revised and improved long into high school. I knew I could steal enough money for a bus ticket somewhere, and that if I followed railroad tracks they'd eventually lead somewhere. I still remember the number, which I saw on a commercial and memorized in case I ever needed it- 1-800-RUNAWAY.

Turned out that getting through high school and on to college was a better deal. Once I'd managed to secure being at my Dad's place every weekend, I had a refuge. But I still liked walking the streets at night.

Being a kid and walking the streets of Milwaukee all night was really dangerous, although I never thought of it that way. I saw the graffiti various places and never knew what it was about. Sort of scary now, knowing that the best way to clear my head then was walking on someone's turf in the middle of the night.

Now, I don't walk the streets at night except for the occasional walk to the local convenience store, and even then I often drive. The store down the street gets robbed every couple of years, and it's overdue. There have been assaults in my neighborhood as well. Usually the victim is a young woman walking home, alone. Even in the dark, I'd never be confused for a young woman, but I don't want to be confused with a rich old guy either.

The thing about being a night owl is that the daytime world doesn't usually understand you. Daytime has schedules, requirements, structure. Bosses work during the day, because that's when things get done. They expect you to be awake in the morning and functional all day. Professors expect that too, although I believe professors are more likely to understand that there are night people and day people. There is a 24-hour library here, so somebody understands.

In Saudi Arabia, I lived in a villa with an accessible flat rooftop. Above that was an even taller spot, and I'd often climb up there at night and look out over the desert. There wasn't much to see, but there were red lights blinking on the distant horizon. To me, that said radio towers-- antennas. I eventually bought a pair of binoculars, to look out farther into the desert. I don't remember seeing anything that was that spectacular. It was peaceful, though.

Sometimes, that's all I want. Peace, and quiet. Staring at nothing, watching the faraway lights flicker.

*

This post didn't start out as being about running away, but kids do suffer from depression, PTSD, and altogether bad situations. My childhood wasn't fun, but may kids have it much worse; sometimes life on the street seems better then the life you're running away from. The National Runaway Switchboard is answered by good people who can help. You can reach them at 1-800-RUNAWAY or on the web at http://www.1800runaway.org/ .

And then there's today

2012-01-31T20:39:00.000-06:00

Today has been... unsettling. The daydidn't begin well, as I didn't get to sleep until around 0430. I wokeup at around 1300 or so, my phone replaying Jump Around as a wake upalarm. It usually takes me an hour or so, sometimes more, to wake upand clear the cobwebs. I amtrying to stick to a regular meds schedule, and I'd missed a noondose by being asleep. So I got that taken care of, and got a freshpot of coffee on. That's as far as productivity got during daylighttoday.

Tomorrow,my landlord is coming by to inspect my apartment yet again. I amnormally cluttered because I usually have several things going on atonce-- know that guy with a few old clunkers in the weeds on the backforty? That's me, but with old computers instead of cars. I hateorganizing paperwork, so there's some of that too. With the threat ofidentity theft, I don't throw stuff away if it has any information onit. So there's a couple of trash bags worth of stuff that needs to belooked through to see if there's anything important there, and thenshredded and tossed. My place is better than it was a couple ofweeks ago, but I don't like being inspected. At 0900 tomorrow whenshe said she's coming by, I'll be dead to the world asleep. I'msetting up a web cam before turning in tonight.

Ihaven't been to talk to a dean yet. The voices in my head are tellingme that I'm too messed up for classes right now, that the dean willsay no. Trying like to overcome those voices, but they're loud.

Thisis a little scary to write, worse to think-- I also wondered today“if I were gone, would anyone miss me”? It wouldn't take much forthe police to figure out. They'd look in my wallet, see the VAhealthcare card and the Blue Team card with my doc and nurses namesand phone numbers. They'd see the collection of pill bottles, look upwhat they're for. They'd talk to the VA. The report would readsomething like “Veteran with PTSD and depression, therapy and medsweren't enough. Had been keeping to himself, was having trouble inschool.”

Iwas able to kick myself in the ass hard enough to get out of myapartment, down the street, and into McDonalds. I was hungry, andwhile there are many and more edible choices, Mickey D's food has acertain comfort factor. There are also a couple of corner booths tosit in where it's hard for anyone to come and bother you. Getting upand going somewhere helped, as did eating something, but when I gothome I still didn't feel all that great.

SoI called the VA hospital here to try to set up an appointment. Beforefall semester, last summer, I had been going in for mindfulnesstherapy. As school got closer, I missed several appointments. Lookingback, I was having difficulty even then. So the receptionist notedthat on the phone, and said she'd make sure to get in touch with mytherapy person. I'd called at 1615ish, and the mental health cliniccloses at 1630, so not much was going to happen today anyway. I havework later, so I'll have something to do for part of tonight.

Aboutwork-- it's been a bright spot, perhaps the only major thing goingright lately. I recently was given my yearly review, and it was veryfavorable. I fill my (electronic) paperwork out the way the Air Forcetaught me, including details and explanations. There were always two termsthat went together, the first being “cover your ass” and theother “attention to detail”. I'm in a position where my work(especially when something breaks) is reviewed and seen by full timestaff fairly often. Getting a good review means I must have learnedsomething from my time in uniform. A good review also means that my brain is at least functioning, which gives me hope that my brain can handle school properly as well.

And, I've been able to write a little. The more I write, the more important it becomes for me.

Finally, I'm making more and more use of Twitter. Follow @airmanopus if you'd like to hear more about what I'm up to when I'm not writing here.

End of Fall 2011 - Part II

2012-01-31T19:29:00.000-06:00

It has been a while since my last post. You might need a fresh cup of coffee for this one. (Actually, I just posted Part I, but that was written over a month ago. I've been slow in posting.)

Fall semester-- academic train wreck. During the last week or two of classes, and during finals week I finally began to feel a bit better. I was able to get some of the work done that I’d missed and salvage some points. The fact that I was able to get anything done was a surprise. In the last week before finals I accomplished more than I had in the previous month.

The change was, I think, due to the increased venylafaxine dose. It has helped. The “fog” is still there sometimes, but it’s maybe a little clearer and I am able to concentrate on what I’m doing some of the time.

I was able to get into the VA to meet with my psychiatrist; he’s retiring soon, so I’m being switched to a new psychiatrist. This is actually okay; he takes good notes (as well he should, as he teaches at the medical school here) so my next doc will be able to pick up with me and go forward. He did send me to the lab to have blood drawn, mainly to see if my thyroid is functioning properly-- if it’s not, that might explain why my ass is dragging much of the time. He’s also looking into what other medication options might help.

Over the course of the semester, I let a lot of things slide. One of those was my apartment. “Tornado aftermath” is probably a good description. I discovered the hard way that my lease/sublet provides for my landlord to do walkthrough inspections, and of course with my place looking like hell I heard about it. I’ve managed to whip things back into shape, mostly. Letting things slide is a good indicator that something is wrong, but when you’re depressed and anxious you can’t see the blinking light through the fog.

I took some time off from work, and spent a week visiting my best buddy from Desert Storm days. (I felt encouraged that I made the decision to go, booked a flight, bought bus tickets, etc. The web does make it easy, but there was more than one point there and on the way back where I felt good about being able propel myself across the country and back safely.) The trip was a good idea, as I was able to get out of the routine here and be in a place where things are normal. A house full of family over the holidays is of course an adventure, and there were times where I got overwhelmed. When that happened at the house, I was able to gracefully slide into a quieter room, or outside. When out shopping, etc. with the family, I just slid out the front door of the store or waited in the van.

Vacations are never long enough, but I extended mine by a couple of hours at Chicago-O’Hare. One simply cannot pass through Chicago without consuming a Chicago-style dog. Stopping to eat meant I was cutting it close to get my regional bus back to campus, and I missed my bus anyway looking for the stop. (The Transit Center is across both lanes and through the Hilton, as I discovered.) Well, since I’ve got time... yeah, hand over another Chicago-style dog. Nom nom nom.

---

Now, it’s a new semester, and this is where things get interesting. I need to talk to a dean to hopefully clear the hold that’s been keeping me from enrolling in classes. I’ve been skittish about that because how do you explain that a failed semester is how you learned an important lesson about yourself?

PTSD is a disability. ADA says so. It makes doing everyday things difficult-- things like school, and work, and relationships. I’ve always looked at PTSD as something that I have to overcome. If I can just work hard enough, get enough therapy, get the meds right, I can do this. Eventually it’s just gotta come together, and then I’ll be normal and happy. Right?

I know, some people think PTSD can be “cured”. I disagree. If it can be cured, then there’s something I can do or take or stop doing that will definitely result in PTSD no longer interfering with my daily life. A Men in Black style memory eraser is the only option I know of, and that’s just a movie prop. I can hope for the cure, or I can focus on doing the best I can to deal with my world as it is. So there are days when I won’t make it to class, assignments where I will need extra time, and crowds between classes where I’ll be anxious and just have to press on. I’ll need to be in a pindrop quiet room to take exams.

Most important, I’ll need to ask other people for help. Some of these people are already on board-- the disability resource center, my doc at the VA, most likely my professors and TAs. I’ll need help from classmates and friends and other veterans.

I can’t do this alone.

End of Fall 2011 - Part I

2012-01-31T19:26:00.001-06:00

And so another semester ends.

It’s not quite over, I have a take home final exam to finish, and as many writing assignments as I can write before tomorrow to do. By all measures, this semester was another ugly and messy train wreck. Fall 2011 was supposed to be the semester that I get my head straight and got everything fixed.

Looking at my grades, it wasn’t. Not at all. In reality, getting my head straight is what ultimately happened. It just took until the week before final exams. (Oof.)

During the beginning of the semester, I tried to have at least some social life. I managed to convince several women to join me for coffee (dates! yay!), which resulted in me being out the price of two coffees each time. I’m convinced that women my age, especially those who attended my university or are associated with it, are not at all comfortable dating a student. It could also be that they see me in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and they’re not impressed. Meh. I have enough self esteem issues without people looking down on me for that. So I let go of dating for a while. I’m single.

For most of the second half of the semester, I beat my head against the wall (no, not literally) trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. What had happened, when had the train started to wobble, what I could do differently. I couldn’t make it to class most of the time, because most of the time I was scared. Once I’d fallen behind, I couldn’t bear going. I felt guilty and ashamed. That feeling got worse, to the point where if I didn’t have to go to work, I didn’t leave my apartment.

That’s the way spring semester was, too.

In the classes I did manage to attend, I looked back and noticed a few things. One was that noise really bothers me. Lots of people talking and moving around begins at annoying and ends at my hands shaking. Another thing I discovered was that I’m uncomfortable with gaps-- those times when a handout is distributed, you work on it for a while, and then go over the answers right away. There’s too much noise in the room for me to concentrate when that happens. (It should be noted that in my university classes, the “hand stuff out and work on it” nonsense never happens.)

The *other* thing I noticed that as long as it was just an instructor talking and me taking notes, I was fine. My mind did drift here and there, but my Livescribe pen was recording the audio-- I’d just make a note that I needed to review at that point. That part went pretty well. The notes I was taking were making sense. I also had binders and Livescribe notebooks for each class, meaning I was basically prepared. Hmm. In other words, once I got to class, I was pretty much okay.

I still couldn’t get anything done at home, though-- at home, I was pretty much feeling crappy and depressed. I’d tune out for hours at a time. Some mornings I’d see the sun coming up, and not have a clue what I’d been doing since I got home at 0115.

Tuesday night, I made it late to the final meeting of one of my classes. There was a group project, and the presentations were being done-- the assignment was a funny skit, in Spanish. I hadn’t made the group meetings and really hadn’t done anything towards the assignment-- it scared me. This is the class where I’d stopped trying to answer questions during class, and just concentrated on taking notes. I felt it was important to get there, though. So I went.

After that, I went home, and after a while, pulled out and started working on another of my classes where I had a large number of assignments overdue. I had some initial computer issues, which I got fixed. Then I started working on the assignments, and kept going through several hours into the morning. Breaks to order food, breaks to walk to the neighborhood convenience store for 0430 munchies and soda happened. Other than that, I was sitting at my desk gettin’ it done. World be damned.

Wednesday I had a final exam to take online. I got that done with five seconds to spare. Although I hadn’t studied the material, I knew enough to know where the answers were. I also remembered enough from other related classes to make things easier. I was able to focus on it, at least enough that I think I did a halfway decent job.

All of this, put together, sounds... encouraging. There’s more.

I took a “college success” course this semester, a study skills course where everyone in the class was a student veteran. In cramming as many missing assignments as I could into the last few days, I was also looking at how I learn and some of the adjustments that can be made to rescue a student that’s having difficulty with classes-- that’s what the assignments were about.

Somewhere, I’m not sure if it was before or after the two custard filled Krispy Kremes and liter of Diet Mountain Dew, things about me and college and PTSD got a lot less foggy.

The hardest part-- the most difficult thing to do-- has been to admit one thing. I’m a disabled student veteran. That being said, my existence needs to take that into account at every turn, or this isn’t going to fucking work.

This was written immediately after the end of exams week.

One way NOT to talk to veteran students

2011-12-15T07:55:00.002-06:00

An email came in yesterday from one of my professors, busting my chops for having so much trouble in the class. I won't name names, but here's part of the email:

"Given you haven't been in class for awhile, you have either withdrawn (I haven't gone to check) or intend to get the grade you will attain. You need ___ points to make a __. It would not look good for you to get a low grade in this class."

Later on she adds:

"I'm not sure what happened given you were adamant that you were going to complete the course. Please remember to return the textbook to ___. All the best to you."

Well, professor ___, here is what was going on while I wasn't in class:

I went without sleep for 1-2 days at a time the past few weeks, either because I was wired from anxiety or because when I did sleep, I had fucked up dreams about things that happened to me in the past. When I woke up from those dreams, I looked around my apartment and didn't know quite where I was. It took me a couple of hours to clear the cobwebs, and by that time it was time for class. It didn't make sense to drive for half an hour when there's only twenty minutes of class left, so I stayed home and felt like shit for missing class.

Do you have any idea how happy I would be if I could get to all of my classes on time, then go to the library as part of my daily routine and study for hours at a time? To be in a study group or even have a study partner? To have all of my assignments and reading completely caught up? To be a normal student that doesn't have images of SCUD missiles and horny relatives in my head when I really just want to do my homework?

You don't know me, and you don't know what I've had to do just to get this far. You don't know how much strength my life requires. I don't need your opinion about how well I didn't do this semester. I'm not stupid, and I'm not a slacker.

Thanks so much for your concern about my academic career.

All the best? Fuck you.

-me

--

Yes, that's kinda harsh. I'm tired of dealing with this stuff. I just wanna be normal, and having people talk to me like I'm in grade school doesn't help. A simple "Hey, how are you doing? Need to sit down and talk about things?" at some point during the semester would have helped.

Being.

2011-11-09T18:30:00.002-06:00

As I begin writing this, it's 1745. I was supposed to be in class on the other side of town at 1730, and it's a ~25 minute drive plus a 10-12 minute walk to get there. I'm dressed for lounging around my apartment, so add another few minutes to get dressed to go out in public, get the binders I need and my laptop, and get going.

I'm late, the kind of late where it's easy to just say fuck it and not go to class, which is what I've been doing for the past several Wednesday nights.

Tonight, I'm going to go, even if I get there for the last 30 minutes, and stand outside the classroom waiting until class is over. I need to talk to the professor and let him know I'm alive. I've exchanged emails about my situation with PTSD this semester, but I haven't done much work for the class. That's why I don't want to go to class. I don't want to walk in the door and have everyone look at me like "Hey, who's the new guy? It's way past the deadline for adding classes." (This is most likely a complete fabrication that my mind is making up to keep me from actually going to this class.)

--

I've really been struggling with being these days.

Being a veteran, whatever that means. I haven't been to the local vets group office since early summer, and haven't participated in any of their activities. If I see something from VFW or American Legion, it goes straight to the trash. I'm kinda annoyed at the USO-- I donated $25 around this time last year, and they've sent me at least that much worth of full color, heavy stock, glossy crap asking for more money. In that regard, I'm a grumpy veteran.

I've found that contrary to what everyone says, it's hard to relate to Iraq and Afghanistan vets sometimes. Maybe a lot. We're all supposed to have a common bond, but recent veterans I've met don't want to talk about it. Desert Shield and Desert Storm happened in a different time. It was basically a surprise, the threat of chemical weapons was very real, and the mission was different. Every country who could send troops or supplies or money, did.

The media today goes nuts over 30,000 troops moving around. When Desert Storm started we had close to half a million, and....

Anyway. I digress.

Most of the vets I know here are getting ready to graduate soon. They've long since decided that they've had enough of this college stuff, and they want to get out of here and get a job and get on with life. That used to be me, but I discovered that having the next few years of your life planned out is bullshit, because God knows what might happen. Now, I have no idea what happens after graduation for me. This relieves some stress, but it also may have a factor in what's going on with me feeling disassociated.

If you don't know where you're going, how can you get there?

I'm scared, because so many times when I've had a plan that was working, something happened to mess things up. It doesn't feel right to have a normal plan of action and matriculate through college. So I'm having trouble "seeing" myself as someone that's doing that.

It makes sense, then, that the side of me that's a student is feeling disassociated lately. I am a student, but I'm not being a student. (Kinda zen, eh?)

---

So, back to this class that I'm now almost an hour late (plus travel time) for. I have decided that I'm going to go, and talk to the prof even if it's only for a few minutes. It doesn't matter what we talk about, it matters that I got past a stuck point. That's what this is all about, really. There's all this other bullshit going through my head about what other people think, and in reality none of it fucking matters. It's keeping me here, spinning around in place, and it needs to GTFO.

I am going to turn on some Van Halen, get myself cleaned up, get dressed, grab my stuff, and go to class. I'm not decided on whether I actually go into class when I get there. The door being open would make it easier, but I'll worry about that when I get there.

Small steps. Just getting to the classroom door will be a victory, and I have a cold beer in the fridge to celebrate with when I get home. Speaking of Van Halen....

Who am I?

2011-11-03T02:05:00.000-05:00

My world is shrinking. I'm keeping myself isolated. Lately I look pretty scruffy; I look in the mirror and say to my reflection "Dude, you kinda look like shit." Since there's no argument to that, I turn away from the mirror and move on to something else.

Looking back, I think I lost my way last fall when I started on medication. I certainly don't regret giving up my self imposed ban on meds, but I never took even a moment to think about what would happen when they actually began to work. If I changed a little bit each day because of the effects of the meds, would I notice it? I did feel them kick in a couple of weeks after I started taking them. At the end of winter break, though, I did feel different. Not necessarily in a good or bad way. Just different.

I've been on meds for just about a year now. I'm also taking a higher dose of one of them (venlafaxine), twice what I've been taking, starting this week. I still feel lost, and often miserable, and I wonder sometimes if it's the meds-- maybe they don't work. Maybe they make things worse. Maybe there's something else wrong with me.

Tonight, as I was leaving work, I noticed something. I'm different. I don't know who I am anymore. And that, I believe, is why I'm feeling so lost and detached. A year of meds and therapy has produced a change, but it's been so slow I haven't been able to see it. I've been looking at challenges through the eyes of who I used to be, rather than the eyes of who I am today.

The guy in the mirror that looks like death warmed over, I used to be him.
It's time for me to get to know myself as I am today.

No, I don't sleep. Much.

2011-10-31T04:54:00.003-05:00

I've been watching, or let's say following, the news more and more lately. Some days it seems like the country is tearing itself apart. Demonstrations, riot police, arrests. The economy is in the shitter, and someone keeps flushing. Society is being divided into those who have, and then everyone else. The everyone else, or at least the ones in tents, want to spread the wealth from the few to the many. It's a noble effort, I suppose. It's a bit anxiety inducing, too. I've read enough history about populations that got tired of the way the people in charge were doing things, and decided to do something about it, that I fear something very large and very bad will happen in the (possibly near) future. I expect that it'll be war.

There are plenty of opportunities in the world. If something happens, I don't know who the warring parties will be. My little voice says something will happen.

Good God, I hope I'm wrong.

One of the questions on many PTSD related questionnaires is "Do you feel that somehow your future will be cut short?" And lately, I've been answering "Extremely."

I had this same feeling of dread right before I enlisted, back in 1987. I felt certain there would be a major war in the middle east, and certain that I'd somehow be involved. Yes, I worried about that. It was more a worry of when, rather than a worry of if it would happen. It was that little voice inside my head. One night, standing on the roof of a villa in the outskirts of Riyadh, I heard that voice chuckle lightly, and say "See? Told ya so." Since then I've learned to trust that little voice, those hunches, those feelings. That little voice is my brain looking for the worst possible outcome, and preparing for it.

That's one of the things PTSD does to a person. It makes you always aware, always looking around, always evaluating what's going on and trying to map out a conclusion. In junior high school, when my parents were splitting up and there was the implied threat that I'd be locked up in a psych ward, I thought about running away. I had it all worked out. What I'd need to take, where I'd need to go, where I'd try to ultimately end up.

The same thing happened when I was married, when I fully realized that there was an end in sight. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was going to do to keep myself alive. I actually had to implement some of those ideas. For extra money I sold the books my ex had left to Half Price Books. I was also working, but $7.25/hr doesn't buy much, even when you're working 40 hours/week. For several months, I had $25/week to spend on food. Ramen, mac and cheese, hot dogs, pork and beans, cheapest brands available. I knew how to be thrifty anyway, but I mastered the art during that winter and spring. Had the bank foreclosed when they said they would, I was completely prepared to live out of my car.

I've spent the first few hours today looking at pictures from World War II. The Atlantic has a 20-part series of photos that's fascinating, and it hooked me and wouldn't let go-- while looking at some of those photos, I could picture my city, bombed and flattened. It's bad enough when you remember what actually happened to you. Worse is when your brain makes up shit that might happen to you. I've been thinking about what I'd do, where I'd go, how I'd survive.

What I have not been thinking about is the amount of classwork and studying I need to get done. I'm behind anyway, and this weekend would have been a perfect time to get some of that done. It's not that I don't want to think about it, because I actually want to get caught up. It's that my brain is so engaged with preparing for the worst, which may never actually happen, that there's nothing left to deal with the present.

---

I've been asked, "How do you come back to the present when you're dealing with flashbacks?" For me, it's when I yawn and feel tired, exhausted, used up. That's how I know it's over, for now. That's where I am right now, I'm tired. So I'm going to go to bed, and hope the dreams aren't bad, and try again when I wake up.

Meh.

2011-10-29T17:44:00.002-05:00

There are times lately when I don't feel especially good, but I don't feel especially bad either. Today is sort of like that.

I woke up at noon and have had two mugs of coffee, so I shouldn't be tired (but I am). It's hard to get started at the beginning of the day. I don't remember the last time I jumped out of bed in the morning, gung ho to get the day started. I'm not a morning person to begin with, but it seems that lately it takes me a couple of hours of being awake to be good for anything useful.

I did see my doctor this week, and we made one change to my meds.

I say "we" because he doesn't just change my meds without asking me if I'm ok with the change and explaining what the change is all about. I hear stories about people having pills pushed at them... you don't have to, and shouldn't, take meds if you don't understand what they are supposed to do. I've always asked for and received explanations from my doctors and from the pharmacy. And by all means, if the meds make you feel like crap, talk to your doctor or team nurses and let them know.

Back to my meds. I've been taking 37.5mg of venlafaxine twice a day since late spring. That's being doubled, upped to 75mg twice a day. (I'm also still on trazodone (0-200mg once a day) and bupropion (twice a day)). I'm waiting for refills to arrive before I start taking the additional venlafaxine so I don't run out-- so no report yet on the effect of increased dose.

I'm also taking some steps toward a social life. I have a coffee date early this week, a definite sign of feeling better. Then this:

I live in an apartment building, with the usual column of buttons to push to be let in. I don't answer my buzzer if I'm not expecting anyone. Ever. I can't see who is at the door, why they are here, and what their intentions are once they are inside. My buzzer's been buzzing off and on for a few minutes now. I haven't ordered food, am not expecting packages, and haven't received a call or text from anyone. I'm not opening the door. Stop pushing my buzzer.

It's things like this that can really derail me. Unexpected things, intrusions that break down the thin layer separating me trying to get my thoughts together and the world outside. Who was that? What did they want? Was it someone I'd probably like to know, someone who wants to be friends from another apartment? Someone who I know, but who doesn't know about the call first rule?

Ok, now to try to settle down a bit...

Why I'm wearing a hat with the logo of a defunct company

2011-10-24T04:21:00.001-05:00

Sometimes looking back at the way things were before being diagnosed with PTSD can help put things in perspective in the present. This is me, describing me doing poorly at something I'm good at doing, but in hindsight. This is a long post, so you might want a fresh cup of coffee.

The hat in the picture represents one year of my life. I was a programmer at that company for that year. I started there very soon after the company had gone public, and it was a frenzied place, a start-up type atmosphere. The location where I worked was in what used to be a one floor warehouse. It was an open room with low rise cubicles, and no false ceiling. You could look up and see the original timber supporting the roof, the air vents, etc. About what you'd expect for a small, mildly hip multimedia company. (We'd previously been bought out and made part of Homestore.com).

For a hacker who had just dropped out of college to take the job, it appeared to be heaven. Hell always looks like heaven when you first walk in.

I should point out that I worked with some really awesome people there, and I even enjoyed being there at times. The building is still there, and it has a history-- it had a small part to play in the building of the first atomic bombs, which I always found interesting. There's so much that was wrong about being there, though, and I had no clue at the time what any of it was about.

I got there early in the morning, and often stayed a few hours past quitting time. I was on salary, and didn't get overtime, but I didn't really care. It seemed that I got a lot more done before everyone showed up. It was quieter, people weren't bothering me, I could think more clearly.

When the rest of the company showed up, it was hard to get work done for a number of reasons. One, the programming tools I was working with had been developed in house. They'd been created so that programmers didn't have to write so much code. Me, I like writing code, and at the time I was pretty good at writing programs using Active Server Pages. At the time, ASP was a leading tool for building dynamic websites. The projects I was assigned to didn't use ASP. All of my projects used the in house tools, which once I learned them, I despised.

Another was the noise. I've been to quieter shooting ranges. The company's mission was putting home listings online, and realty companies would send us faxes. Constantly. Then there were the printers, and the copiers. With the high ceiling, and low walled cubicles, there was no sound dampening. I knew at the time that the noise was distracting, but I didn't know what triggers were. Now, I can see (and hear) that the noise triggered me over and over again every day.

I worked in a group of programmers that reported to one guy. Ya know the boss in Office Space, the one with the TPS reports fetish? This guy was his brother. I'd have three or four projects to work on at once, and it was up to me to prioritize them. I'd dig into prioritizing them, PTSD and anxiety would kick in, and with the noise and the "we gotta have this now" atmosphere, I'd have trouble getting anything done. I'd be paralyzed and disassociated all morning.

Then there were the account managers. They were the interface between the technical staff and the customers. These were the people that would see that I was at my desk, email me, wait five minutes, and then call me to see why I hadn't checked and read my email yet. I'd let the phone go to voicemail, as I was in the middle of writing code. Then they'd IM me, and I'd ignore that. So they'd come to my desk and interrupt me to see why I didn't respond to their IM about the voicemail they left about the email they sent. AAACK!

I found a snapshot of one of the websites I worked on, captured by archive.org. At the time it was captured, I was still working on the site. I have no association at all with the customer that wanted the site built, and I imagine they would find it very odd to see a link to there, from here. None of the links will work properly when you get there. But here's the link anyway:

http://web.archive.org/web/20000517202523/http://lasvegashomes.com/

In the end, it was hard for me to accomplish anything during the day. The projects I was working on took longer and missed deadlines, which brought more phone calls and emails and meetings. I felt like a one legged man in a butt kicking contest, because I was in a terrible work environment for a person with PTSD. The noise, the interruptions, the multiple projects at once, the fluid deadlines...

...had I stayed with the company, I'd have been laid off three months after I left anyway. The company's stock price would soon plummet-- the founders of the company were making millions off of insider training and illegal accounting, and contractors were being brought in to crank out cookie cutter websites. I was the rat that knew the ship was sinking, and I dove off first.

I actually turned in my notice the same day as the lead system administrator. Neither of us had discussed leaving with each other. By the end of that day, there was a consultant doing that job.

At the company where I next worked (I left Homestore in August 2000), I wasn't very productive on the programming project I'd been contracted to do. There was some PC hardware stuff that I did get done, but that was about it. I'd been to several VA mental health appointments, and was on Celexa. I didn't do jack at work. That company fired me on the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving 2000. I was able to bullshit them into keeping me for two more weeks "so I could wrap up what I was doing". I was depressed and on medication, and honestly didn't give a shit. I needed the extra pay. And then, I was an unemployed programmer in the middle of the dot com implosion.

It was the last time I made a decent living as a programmer.

---

Yeah, that's a lot of thinking about the past. Especially for someone who is trying to live in the present. There's a lot that matters from back then, mainly that I had the skills. I knew my shit, and other programmers told me so. I had the work ethic, could handle the long hours. I was good, dammit.

But... I was also in an physical environment that kept my PTSD constantly triggered. The workflow was the exact opposite of what I needed. The company was going to turn out to be a sham, a money grab, and no matter how hard I worked or how good I was at my work, nothing was going to change that.

The next company was more stable, but no better for a person with PTSD.

At home, my marriage was crumbling. My then wife was an alcoholic, and although I didn't drink as much as she did, I drank a lot. Beer was measured in pitchers, not glasses. She turned out to be a lesbian who had lied to me about her sexual preference since we'd met. I was suffering from depression, which I knew, but I didn't know about PTSD- to me, that was something associated vaguely with Vietnam, something I knew nothing about. Work was better than being at home, but not by much.

A couple of years later, the courier job I had found fired me too. My car wasn't drivable and my Dad had just passed away. And people-- I was drunk. And getting drunker.

A person can only hang onto the limb above the river for so long. Eventually, you let go. Splash.

---

Now, it's about 0330 in late 2011 and I've been struggling to get to classes and get even a little portion of my classwork done. I have an exam to take this morning, and I'm four chapters behind. But in writing all of this, I think I've begun to wrap my head around the idea that none of what happened was my fault.

I'd left college and gone into working as a programmer with pure intentions, just as I'd gotten married with pure intentions. I believed that those were the best ideas of what to do at the time.

My marriage dying, the company I worked for imploding, the dot com bubble popping, the PTSD I didn't know I had. The sexual abuse when I was a kid. Desert Shield. Desert Storm. Not one of those things was my fault. I had no control over any of those things. They just happened.

--

I have an exam in a few hours. I need to study. I have three choices.

I can study here, in my apartment. I probably won't get shit done, because there are distractions here. Lately, I've gotten pretty good at sitting at my desk thinking and doing nothing while time ticks by. So no, that won't work.

I can walk across campus, alone, to the only library that's open all night. With my laptop. And a thermos of coffee, since the cafe' is closed. Um, no. The coffee I can handle, it's the walk across campus alone with $1500 worth of computer that's a problem.

Or, I can drive to the closest 24hr restaurant, where there is food, coffee, and free wifi.

Folks, we have a winner. Booth for one, near a power outlet, please.

--

Epilogue

The hat. Oh yes, the hat. The last person to wear my Homestore.com hat was a pretty good programmer. It's time to put that hat back on.

Fear of... everything.

2011-10-09T22:32:00.001-05:00

I have had the most difficulty in two disciplines since transferring to my current university- Computer Science, and Mathematics. I am a Computer Science major and Math minor. (Houston, we have a problem.) Why are the classes I love the most the hardest for me to handle? Am I not cut out for this college stuff? When are my dues finally paid? I've been asking myself, "Do I even deserve to be here?"

Do I deserve to be here? At this university, in these fields? Among all these smart people?

The answer to this question requires some background. Go get a fresh cup of coffee. It's a long answer.

When I first started college, Windows and OS/2 were battling it out, and in some circles, OS/2 was actually winning. Files were still stored on 5 1/4" floppies. It took a year of being in school before I'd be able to actually take a programming class. I'd been working on my own, all through high school, but I knew there was more to programming than the small projects I'd worked on.

There were, of course, students that had been in school longer than I had. They wore suits, had resumes, were deciding which company they wanted to work for. The program there was Management Information Systems. You know, white shirt, red tie, dark blue pants, nice shoes.

Over 90% of the graduates of that program found jobs immediately after graduation.

Me, I hacked into one of the university's computers. I was bored to tears there, and between that and the PTSD that I didn't have any idea about yet, I didn't last two years there.

Once I'd reached my first duty station after Air Force tech school, I didn't have a lot of experience, but I basically knew my shit. The NCOs that I had as trainers would work on stuff, and I would watch because I was "still in training." More than halfway through my tour there (not the Desert, yet), we had a shop full of new equipment. Other than the two NCOs that had actually gone to get training, everyone in the shop was equal as far as knowledge of the new system.

The new system was large and complicated, and at the beginning, I babysat for the new hardware. If an alarm went off, I'd get to watch someone else fix the problem. Blargh. It didn't break much though, so I ended up having a lot of free time at work. I spent that free time learning how the system actually worked-- reading the technical manuals, playing with it, seeing what happened when a certain button was pushed.

I knew the system, as well as any of the operators and any of the other technicians in my shop.

The PTSD was there with me then, too. I remember having a hard time concentrating, getting things right, staying within standards. Most of the knowledge I gained on that tour was in the middle of the night when I was working alone in front of the equipment racks.

I'd been back in the states for about a month when Desert Shield happened. I was still in-processing at my new unit. My shop NCOIC looked at my training record from my last shop, and smiled- I was already trained on all of the equipment in the new shop. It took a while, of course, to earn the respect of the other technicians in my shop. That's how it goes when you're an E-3. But I knew enough that I was up to speed pretty quick. (Actually, I was ass out of luck in the Desert halfway around the world, so I admit I didn't have much of a choice.)

It always makes me chuckle that I didn't get M-16 training in that unit until after the war was over and I was back in the states again.

I had mixed feelings about being a civilian again, a year later. I enjoyed what I was working on, and had earned some respect. I was still an E-3, and subject to all of the fun things being an E-3 entails, but as a technician I was pretty solid.

Fast forward again... I'm out, I'm back in school. I've decided after the first two weeks that I don't want to be a Journalism major (doesn't everyone at some point?), and I've switched back to Computer Science. I'd failed the first programming class at the first college I attended, but I'd paid some attention. I did well taking the class again at the new college- well enough that after the first assignment, the prof asked me if I'd seen this stuff before. I was proud of that.

I got involved in the ACM Programming Contest, competing against student programmers from schools in several other states. None of the teams I was on ever made it past the regional level, but we were not at the bottom of the list. After participating, I ended up being the recruiter for the next year's team- which turned out to be two teams plus alternates. We placed 5th and 7th in Division II. Not bad for a small commuter college.

Which brings us to the present.

Here, the Computer Science department actively encourages participation in the ACM Programming Contest. Teams from here have made the world finals consistently for years. Where before, I was happy to get six people to meet once a week to even look at problems for the contest, here you have to earn your way onto a team. The flyer announcing tryouts reads "Good coder? Prove it."

And, here am I. Being here for me is pretty close to Rudy finally getting to play for Notre Dame, k?

I remember spring semester here, where I'd sit at the back of the lecture hall taking notes, and looking at the other students in my class. Kids, I'd say to myself. This was me back in the day. Pair programming is encouraged here; two heads are better than one. On the first assignment, the guy I'd paired up with was miles ahead of me. He'd sat down the night it was assigned and hammered out most of the code. Me, I was still learning the language syntax.

I've been realizing, slowly and gradually, that I am afraid-- afraid that I'm not good enough, fast enough, smart enough to hang with the level of talent that sits next to me in class.

That, I believe, is where part of my anxiety in computer science and math classes comes from. It's part of the reason I find it hard to talk to my professors and classmates. It's the constant fear that I am not good enough. I'm pretty susceptible to depression anyway, so it's not a long road to feeling bad enough that I don't want to go to the library, don't want to work in the labs, only have a couple of friends in my major.

I am afraid of living in the world I fought so hard to reach.

The PTSD is part of this, of course. The hyper alertness, the jumpiness, the lack of concentration, the flashbacks and nightmares, the panic attacks. I'm a disabled student, and with all the fucked up shit I've seen and done, that I carry around with me, I'm trying to perform in a discipline that is based on thinking clearly. The one thing that is hardest for me right now.

Getting here wasn't so easy. I feel banged up sometimes, and then I realize I am banged up.

I wonder what fate has in store for me... how many of my nine lives are actually left.

And yet.... here I still am. Here I still am.

2011-10-09T20:41:00.000-05:00

It’s Sunday night, which always seems to be a night that’s quiet around here. The weekend in my neighborhood begins on Thursday and ends around the time the sun comes up on Sunday morning.

An ideal Sunday morning for me is cool, even chilly-- the kind of morning where you need to put on a soft and fluffy sweatshirt to ward of the chill. The kind of morning where the air is clear, the sky is so blue it hurts your teeth, and as you stand on the patio watching the city slowly wake up, steam rises from your mug of coffee.

This Sunday morning did not happen. I worked last night until 0100 this morning, turned the lights of around 0230 or so. I don’t remember exactly when, but I do know I took all of my medications before going to bed. Sleep ensued, and I woke up around 1100. It took the normal couple of hours for my brain to warm up enough to be functional. Hunger may have been the spark that threw the switch, as I made my way into the kitchen. My kitchen maintained just enough to make a fresh pot of coffee and either fry eggs or boil noodles.

The gurgling sounds and steam made by the coffee maker added to the smell of fresh coffee grounds. I’m one of those coffee drinkers that can’t wait for the pot to finish brewing, so Mr. Coffee has a hissy fit of beeping while I fill my mug, replace the pot, and tell the machine to STFU.

Instead of heading out to the porch, I turn my attention to breakfast. The pan is warmed up enough that the non-stick spray is bubbling a little bit. The eggs hit the hot surface, immediately beginning to sizzle. Now it’s time for the dance- letting those eggs cook just long enough that they’re not soup, but runny enough to soak into my toast. I turn, open the fridge, grab two pieces of bread from the bag they’ve been living in, and drop them on a plate. Time. Slide the spatula under the eggs, flip them over onto the waiting bread. Back to the fridge to get Miracle Whip, suddenly an egg sandwich sounds like a very good idea.

Runny egg sandwich and coffee having been secured, I sit at my desk and open up a web browser to see if the world ended last night or not. Other than trips to the bathroom, I’ve been sitting in that same chair all day. The sun went down and I didn’t notice.

There are many things I could have done today-- pack up my books and laptop and head to the library that’s a block away, or get some exercise and walk to one of the other libraries. I could have gone grocery shopping, cleaned my kitchen, changed the oil in my car, or any number of things that are perfect for doing on a sunny and warm Sunday.

Laundry didn’t get done, because I’m out of quarters. I live less than two blocks from two branches of my credit union, but I didn’t leave the apartment yesterday except for going to work.

Yesterday, Saturday, was the same story, although I did make it to work.

Other than work, I honestly have to think about the last time I let my apartment to go anywhere. I haven't been to class all week. Shit shit shit.

A new look, kinda

2011-10-08T03:18:00.002-05:00

I rearranged things a little bit this morning, as you can see. Hopefully the log is a little easier to read, and easier to navigate. The tag cloud didn't seem to fit into the new template, but please let me know if you want it back. I'll figure something out.

It's getting late, so I'm going to bed before writing something more substantial. A guy's gotta sleep, eh?

(Oh, and if the location of this post is listed as Coffeyville KS. I believe that's somewhere near Johnny Gribs' Hog Farm, as well the center of America. Go read Neil Gaiman's American Gods if you want this paragraph to make any sense.)

Who cares, anyway...

2011-10-04T16:29:00.001-05:00

I'm fighting myself. I've been having trouble keeping myself from being isolated, but lately I haven't been doing so well. I don't have much energy, I don't have much motivation, and honestly I'm feeling a bit numb. As time goes on, I want to interact with other humans less and less, but I also feel lonely. I don't know where my 'place' is. (Being split between two schools doesn't help.)

I've been backing away from my support network of other veterans, too. There are several national veterans organizations, there's a campus student vets organization, there's causes to get involved in. These are places where you're supposed to go to get (and give) support from people like you who understand what you've been through.

Nobody there talks about PTSD. Nobody there calls you to see if you're ok after they haven't seen you for a while. The old vets have buried the memories, or drowned them in alcohol. The younger vets, the ones from Iraq and Afghanistan, they're either not ready to talk about it or they're just starting to drown the memories in alcohol. Desert Shield/Storm is something that happened so long ago now... twenty years ago. I was there for seven months, didn't see the action that people have seen in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm twenty years older than they are too, and with that comes wisdom that they don't want to hear about.

--

There is a blog post, out there, that links to one of my posts here. The author of the blog has kind words to say about what I've written, and for that I'm grateful. A comment attached to the blog post (on his blog) is from a solider who basically says "enough with the pity blogs, go get help for your PTSD and shut up. Plenty of people have seen more than you."

I'm not linking to that blog post, or the comment that was posted. I don't want to start a fight. It bothers me, though, that there are real people in the world that think that way. It bothers me even more that there are military people that think that way.

--

I just want to wake up in the morning feeling good, looking forward to the day ahead. That's all. It's something that seemingly hasn't happened for a long time.

--

Dreams....

2011-09-27T03:03:00.001-05:00

Poke. Poke. Shake. "A1C. Airman. Wake up, bud. Wake up."

Huh? Where's that voice coming from?

"That's it. Breathe. You're ok. You're alive."

Alive? Why would I be otherwise?

Blink. Blink.

WTF? Where am I? WhoTF are you?

"I'm here to get you out of here. You've been hit, hard, by God knows what. You're hurt, but you're going to be ok."

Hurt? WTF happened?

"I don't know, brother. I just found you like this-- in the middle of the road, screaming, sounding like you were about to die. You're not, by the way."

Thanks-- good to know. Now what? Where are we going?

"I'm taking you someplace safe, so you can get some fresh bandages, get looked at, get some coffee, and get back to work."

Coffee? Work?

"Yeah, coffee. And work. You have a lot to get done-- you've been hit, hard, but you're a tough SOB and the only way out of here is through. I'll take you to a safe place, and from there you're freelance. You're the expert. You know what to do from there."

You said I'm hurt-- but I'm not bleeding.

"I also said you're one tough SOB. I don't know what hit you-- but whatever it was, it would have killed a lot of other people. You not only took the hit to the chest, you absorbed it. What kind of armor you got on under that shirt, anyway?"

I dunno, must be something good. Smile. Eyes open, now. Letting sounds in.

Reruns

2011-09-27T03:01:00.001-05:00

It's the early 1980's.

A Catholic grade school library, in a Midwestern city that has been hit hard by the loss of good factory jobs the past couple of years. It'll get worse, but I'm in grade school and don't know what that means just yet. I'm in the library because my teachers and the guidance counselor and everyone else are trying to figure me out. How I can have reading comprehension scores in the stratosphere, and yet never seem to have my homework done? They ask me if anything is bothering me. They say I shouldn't keep my feelings bottled up. They beg, they bribe, they threaten. Nothing seems to ever work.

Among my grade school peers, I'm not the class clown, but I've seemed to fall into that subgroup. The group of kids like me. Working class parents. Latchkey kids. The clowns and the "slower" kids, the ones who require the most attention. We're the ones who end up staying after school, or getting in trouble often. Our homes are not stable, at least compared to the kids with financially and emotionally secure parents. We each have our own set of issues, but we don't know that yet.

The teachers, parents, etc. are looking for a "solution". There's something wrong with me, and they want to "fix" it. They tell me I have a "mental block" that is preventing me from realizing my potential.

They throw their hands in the air, accepting defeat. Of course, outwardly they keep trying, but at a certain point they decide that some kids you just can't reach. Eventually, I'm assigned a child psych counselor at a hospital downtown.

The hospital-- there is a security guard. There is a desk where everyone, visitors and staff, have to check in. My appointment is on the fourth floor. Exiting the elevator, there is a waiting room immediately ahead. To the left, and then another left, is a hallway that has an electronically locked door- a big hospital swinging door, with a big window and a big metal plate. There's another one to the right. There's also an emergency exit, a fire escape. That door, as well as the windows, have bars and multiple locks.

On the walls, a Chagall art poster from Toronto or Madrid or somewhere far away. I quickly decide that whoever this Chagall character is, his paintings suck. There is a latch hook rug on the wall; yellow with red letters that unevenly say "TEAM IV". It feels like a prison, and I hate being here.

I find out that there are kids, like me, that have to stay in this hospital all the time. When I ask, I'm told that if seeing this doctor doesn't work, I may become one of them. I try talking to the doctor the first couple of times. I don't feel better after the appointments, but I try. Mom tells me about how much extra effort and time and money these appointments take. I do my best. I don't like it, though. I hate it.

And I hate the psychologist. I remember his name, and clearly remember his face and how his office looked and felt. He had a Chagall painting, too. Maybe he's the one responsible for all these suckass paintings. He asks questions, I sort of answer. There's a general air of "we're trying to help you", but it's not a positive feeling for me.

One day, I find out- I don't remember how- that my Dad's health insurance is paying for the appointments. (At this point, my parents are in the midst of a divorce.) My Mom, and her new asshole of a boyfriend, bring me to the appointments, sure. But Mom's not spending any of her money. I also find out that the insurance coverage is running out soon. That's the day I start refusing to say another word to Mr. Psychologist. Not. One. Fucking. Word. No hello, no goodbye, no fuck off and die. Silence.

Clamming up was my survival choice. It worked. The appointments stopped.

---

In Saudi Arabia during Desert Shield, I received an LOC (letter of counseling) for not getting to a barber- my hair was too long. I had to walk past a commercial barber to get to my shop, and there was a guy in another shop that had brought a clippers that did haircuts. I had no excuse. To this day, I don't know why I had such an issue getting to someone with clippers.

Call it a "mental block". That was about the time when things started going bad for me. I was shutting down, focusing on surviving instead of thriving.

---

This semester, I've had a great deal of trouble getting my assignments started, much less getting them finished and handed in on time. It's becoming serious, quickly, and I can't seem to get snapped out of this funk I'm in. It feels, in many ways, the same as I felt in grade school-- I wasn't happy, I didn't feel good about most things, and being a smart kid wasn't a high priority on my list of concerns. Disconnected. Alone. That's how I feel now, like that scared kid looking in from outside.

I see people in the library, in the Union, in the coffee shops studying, and I know that I we are all in the same boat. We all have studying and assignments to do. But surrounded as I am by academia, lately I don't feel like I am a part of it-- I feel like that scared kid looking in from outside. Everyone has study partners, everyone is humming along on their assignments, everyone is making progress but me.

I want to be one of them.

I'm supposed to be the strong one. I'm supposed to have an advantage, because of all of the discipline I have acquired during the adversity that's been my life and my military service.

I haven't been grocery shopping in two weeks. I've been doing just enough laundry to have something to wear one day to the next. My apartment looks like a tornado went through, backed up, and went through again. I feel like shit, I think I have a cold, I haven't gotten any real exercise since I don't fucking know when, and I'm so far behind in my classes I wonder if I'll ever get caught up.

Not much is working these days. Some things, but not much.

One more stuck point to overcome

2011-09-21T15:09:00.000-05:00

I've been having more dreams and flashbacks lately. They were there before the semester started, sometimes, but now it's becoming more and more regular (and they're not helping). My days are going something like this:

Go to bed around 0200 or so; I'm used to working nights, and 3-4 days a week I'm at work until 0100. I'm also naturally a night owl.
Alarms are set for 1000-1100. I have several set up on my phone, plus a clock radio that can wake the dead. Some days I oversleep all of them. Those are the nights when the dreams and nightmares are the worst, when I get enough sleep.
Wake up, move around a little, make coffee. When I wake up, it takes me a while to figure out where I am. The worse the nightmares are, the more time it takes to get coherent. I know I'm in my apartment, at home, here-- but that's just automatic. It takes a while, sometimes a couple of hours, before my brain is awake enough to think about what I need to get done today.
Take morning meds. Coffee starts to kick in. Eventually I feel a little more alive, can think about a shower and getting dressed.
Now that I'm waking up, look around my apartment and realize my apartment is a mess and I am hopelessly behind on getting laundry done. Start to feel bad about that.
Look at the clock, and it's somewhere around 1400. So by the time I actually get showered and dressed it's pushing 1500, and I either have to be to work at 1600 or in class (at either 1730 or 1900).
Now I'm actually functioning, but I didn't get any assignments or reading done today. So I go into class now quite knowing what's going on.
After class, I go to work. The cycle starts again.

It's extremely frustrating. I wish for one day when I can just wake up, feel decent, feel motivated, drink some coffee, grab my books and laptop, and just go. Wishing doesn't make the problems go away, though.

Different schools, and different policies on assignments

2011-09-18T16:54:00.000-05:00

(And, getting started and keeping moving.)

Most of my classes this semester are at the same two year technical college I graduated from, in order to transfer to the university I attend. It is both strange and interesting to be back there; it's still the same, but because I'm not there all day like I used to be, I'm a little more detached. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but I am in a different situation than most of my peers in my tech college classes.

My first university semester, I was very quickly overwhelmed-- it was a new place with new rules, PTSD made it hard to adjust, and so I fell behind in my assignments almost right away. In the university classes, there was no such thing as late homework. It's in on time, or you don't get credit. End of story.

In my technical college classes, there's already a set policy in each of them for turning in assignments last (although with a penalty). Instructors seem to assume that at some point you're going to fall behind and need some help catching up. Deadlines can slide, a little bit.

Professors at my university assume that college is your life, and you don't make college your top priority, you don't belong here. Sometimes, yes, they are hardasses.

PTSD and depression can made deadlines hard to meet. If you have a bad day that lasts from Monday to Wednesday, boom- you're behind and you need to get caught up. Which can add more stress, and make the situation worse.

I'm behind in each of my classes, some more than others. The first weeks of this semester, I had a great deal of trouble getting into a groove. September 11 didn't help. At. All. I'm starting to catch up a little now, assignment by assignment. That's how I have to deal with it, one thing at a time. At one point, I had a list of all of the assignments I needed to finish, in priority and due date order. The list filled my laptop's screen, top to bottom. It looked overwhelming.

I rearranged my task list by class- now I was able to see where I was in each class. Better in some, worse in others. Looking at the list one class at a time, I was able to reprioritize what I was doing, and more importantly, actually get started on something. Past couple of days, I've been able to get a lot done.

Today, I overslept a little. Went to bed sometime after 0300, woke up around 1500. Still tired. When I wake up, I'm as productive as a bag of siberian sheep shit for the first couple of hours- until I get some coffee, and slowly get un-groggy. That's probably due to the trazodone, which help keep my nightmares in check and helps me sleep. Some nights, especially when I'm tired, it works almost too well. (I'll trade that for nightmares playing in my head every night. Trazodone doesn't stop all of them, but it damn sure helps.) I'm like that old car that needs extra time to warm up regardless of the temperature.

Some people, having gotten used to being up and moving at 0500 every day, pop out of bed like it's nothing. They swallow some coffee, eat a donut, grab the pack, and off they go. That's not me. But in trying to get myself started this semester, I've become increasingly accepting of that.

Yes, I need to be more productive than I am. I cannot blame PTSD and meds for everything. Ultimately it is me that needs to do the work. It seems that the more I get done, even in very small steps, the less I give a shit about the rest of the world and what they think. It's easy for me to get down in myself if my sleeping pattern is off, or if I look like death warmed over at some points during the day. That has started with me looking at what I need for sleep, taking my meds religiously at the same times every day, taking work, and travel time and class time and downtime all into account.

And... that means I don't have time for much else. It would be fun, and probably healthy, for me to be involved with the student vets org here. It would also be fun to spend some time in the comp sci lab/lounge that's run by students. Those things are an important part of college, but right now I need to focus on grades. Even more important, I need to make the habits that make a student successful permanent for me.

Speaking of which, it's 1700 and I haven't accomplished much besides making coffee and writing this post- so I'm off to get to it.

Adventures in getting to class

2011-09-14T02:33:00.000-05:00

I take the bus to get to some of my classes; to get to the stop I need, I have to pass by Union South. There were cops outside. A lot of cops, at least compared to the number I usually see. Normal is a car sitting outside. Today was several cars, and several officers milling about- waiting for something, I thought. I knew something was up, but the attitude the police were presenting looked pretty peaceful and I didn't give it a great deal of thought. So that's my trip to the bus stop.

While I'm waiting for the bus, I hear people singing. They're getting closer. Try to imagine being outside an elementary school on the last day of school before summer vacation, when all of the screaming kids are running out. That's what it sounded like. And still, it's getting closer. That's when the police start moving, and blocking traffic. That's also when I see and clearly hear the protesters.

They fill the street. They're carrying some kind of hand written banner that I can't read, and some of them have signs that do nothing to say what they're protesting about. They're chanting and singing something about power to the people. (Are they from the free electricity movement?) They keep singing and chanting, and moving, and pretty soon they've passed.

I don't do random loud noise and I don't do crowds very well.

The experience with the protest march didn't affect me so much on the bus, but later during class I was a little shaky, and I couldn't concentrate for shit. I've gotten better at keeping traumatic events out of my way lately, but finding myself in a completely unplanned loud and potentially tense situation opened the door to thinking about some pretty dark stuff.

My class elected at the beginning to not take a break, and get out of class earlier. Me, I took my own break, walked down the hallway a bit, got a drink of water, calmed down a little. Not completely, but enough to make it through the rest of class.

After class, I walked home. It's about two miles, which isn't bad, but it's enough to get some blood moving. I also managed to stop and get some basic groceries, enough so that I have something to make a sammich with if I get hungry. I think the walk helped settle me down, burn some of that anxiety off.

Sorry, no moral to the story. Another day in the life that belongs to me.

What hyperaware looks like, at 0200

2011-09-13T02:18:00.000-05:00

Right now, my windows are open. My apartment is physically pretty secure. I'm on the first floor, but the first floor is actually about six feet above the sidewalk on one side, and about twelve feet above the ground on the other. The other two walls are interior walls, neither of which completely faces a hallway. A person could climb up to either of my windows if they were determined enough, I suppose, and while it's possible, I try to choose to believe it's doubtful.

Usually.

There are two people outside that have been talking for a few minutes. They're both male. I can't hear what they are saying, but I can hear them talking. If I look outside to check them out, they'll see me looking out. If I turn off the lights, I'll be able to easier see them, but they'll notice that the lights just went off.

I heard a female voice a few seconds ago, and now just hear the occasional car going by, or occasionally a helicopter from the nearby medical center sometimes flies over late at night.

In my neighborhood, people walking around at night isn't that unusual. Girlfriends going home, boyfriends going home, whoever headed home after bars or a study group or a long night in a lab. There's a 24 hour convenience store not far away, so people sometimes are headed there or back.

Now is when I need to study. Or sleep. Right now, study more than sleep, because sleep doesn't get me caught up and get all of my assignments and reading done.

I just realized I'm two hours late taking my meds-- I try to stick to a noon and midnight schedule every day. Being a couple of hours late, after falling asleep early and skipping a dose the night before, that shit adds up. It's a delicate, delicate balance.

Success in college. And failure in college.

2011-08-30T01:23:00.003-05:00

This semester I'm taking a college success class for veterans. It's geared towards students that are just starting school, or coming back to school. It's also at the technical college I graduated from a couple of years ago. Since then I've done some pretty heavy duty courses. The problem is, I've failed a few of them.

Even so, why am I taking this course? I'm a senior at a top shelf university, fer cryin' out loud. Shouldn't I know this stuff?

Key words: I've failed a few of them. Now I have to pick myself up and move forward.

I'll explain by telling a story: (I will write more about the course as it gets going.)

I'm in basic training at Lackland AFB. I've been having trouble passing inspections and such, and I'm feeling a little down as a result. Even the simple stuff seems hard. There is a certain nth day of training when I first got to put on those Air Force blues- I got to wear them for that one amazing day before I was recycled back a week. It turned out to be thirteen days, because there were two weekends to deal with. The recycle was for seven training days.

It should be noted that at the start of basic training, I had ideas related to being an honor graduate. I'd been through some college, and figured I had a plan.

"Recycling" turned out to be me switching back to fatigues (incoming recruits hadn't yet been switched to BDUs), shoving everything into my duffle bag, and double timing down to CQ. There was a separate room, the dirtbag room, where I and a few others sat and pondered the dissolution of our dreams of flying, fighting, and winning. Occasionally, a TI would stop by to tell us what dirtbags we were, which didn't do much for our morale. (I later learned that the dirtbag room existed to give the admin folks in the squadron office time to transfer us to a new flight and let our projected training school know we'd be late in arriving.)

Now I've been sent up to my new flight, along with a couple of other airmen. I report to my new TI, completely screwing up my reporting statement as he sits behind his desk and glares. He pulls an AF Form 341 from my pocket (thank God I'd filled out new ones while I was in the dirtbag room), looks me dead in the eye and says "Airman, you just used up your Get Out of Jail Free card. The rest is up to you."

Then, he tears up my 341, tosses it in the trash, and told me to GTFO his office.

I'd already completed most of my training with my old flight. The obstacle course and firing range were done, as well as some of the classroom modules. So, I ended up pulling a lot of dorm guard duty. Not fun or exciting, but it wasn't much stress, either. I kept a pretty low profile in my new flight, making sure things were polished and buffed and ready. Did what I was told, got my shit straight, and passed inspections. Once my new flight caught up to my training level, the rest went pretty smoothly. We got our blues, and our town pass, and we graduated, and we went on to tech school.

---

"WTF does this have to do with PTSD or college?" you ask.

My answer is this:

As much as this blog is about success in college, it is also about failure in college. I cannot change what happened last semester (if you missed it, I got myself dropped from the university for a semester). I can, however, take stock and see where I am. I can do what I know works, and for those things that didn't work, I can do something different.

I failed in almost everything I did last semester because PTSD got to me, and then depression got to me, and then I stopped going to class and doing homework. I stopped leaving my apartment. All of those study skills I thought I knew flew right out the window. Kinda like the last few days in my first flight.

I know what I need to do, and I'm capable of doing it. I can read, I can study, and I can think. But I'm doing something wrong, and I need to go back and review what I know and see what works and what doesn't. I may need to practice some old skills, or learn some new ones. Actually I need to do all of that.

The message here is that if what you are doing does not result in success, then you need to approach what you are doing in a different way. (I did that in my second flight in basic training-- I stopped giving a shit about blue uniforms and started giving a shit about making sure my green uniforms were perfect. Then, when I got to wear the blues, I gave a shit about those, too.)

For me, that has involved mindfulness therapy, a change in medication, getting out of a destructive relationship, and binding myself to a strict schedule (that I am still getting used to following).

It will require that I do a hell of a lot of work this semester-- work that isn't about making up lost ground, but is instead about learning and relearning what success in college really requires.

Don't be afraid of changing direction, even when it's as a consequence. (That's a statement to me as much as it is to you.)

Off to school wit-cha

2011-08-21T11:45:00.000-05:00

If I could tell you one thing before the start of a semester... well, I can't. There are too many things to tell you all at once. But here are some basic things to remember:

1) The military taught you how to be in the military. They didn't teach you how to do well in college.

2) Most of your fellow students won't care that you were in central Afghanistan any more than you will care that they were raised on a farm in central Iowa. It's not that they don't support you or appreciate what you did for your country-- they do-- but right now college is life for them, as it should be for you.

3) No one will follow you around asking if you're doing all right in your classes. It is very easy to fall behind-- all it takes is missing one assignment. If you are having trouble completing an assignment or getting a concept down, ask for help. Talk to your professor and/or your teaching assistant(s).

4) Orientation probably won't tell you everything you need to know. Find people with school name tags and ask them questions.

5) Find some other vets. See if there's a student veterans group you can join. If you see someone walking down the street humping a pack with unit patches still attached, say hi.

Finally, and most important-- this college shit is hard. Accept that at times, you will struggle. Understand that everyone else around you is busting ass too. That's why degrees are earned, not simply given out.

Have a good semester :)

(If you have questions about anything school related, you're invited to ask-- I can only answer based on my experience, but hopefully that will help.)

Homelessness, but maybe not what you think.

2011-08-16T19:44:00.001-05:00

You may want to get a fresh cup of coffee before reading this post. Everything here is true, but in the end it is not about sleeping on the street. It is, however, about doing something else.

It is not yet the start of the fall semester, but it is closer every day. Around here, it is moving week-- most student apartment leases begin on August 16th, but end a day or two before that. If you're moving from one apartment to another, you are essentially homeless for a day or two until you can get into your new apartment/house/room. Soon, it will also be time for the next wave of incoming freshmen, arriving to move into the dorms.

I have been really worried/stressed/triggered the past few weeks, as August 15th has approached. I have been afraid that something had gone wrong, that I'd missed filling out a form. Afraid that I'd find myself homeless because I hadn't renewed my lease properly, that someone would show up at my door ready to move in.

My life, in terms of having a reliable place to call home, has not been the most stable. My parents divorced when I was 13, so my sense of home was broken at that point-- my Dad moved out. My Mom found someone new and started making plans to get married and build a house in the country, and that affected where I'd go to high school. My Dad stayed on the same end of town, and eventually regular weekend visitation was established, but I had two lives. The first was actually in high school in the country, and the second was in the city at my Dad's apartment.

My space at my Dad's apartment was initially a couch to sleep on, and a corner of the bedroom that was used as storage. My computer desk was the closed cover of a sewing machine.

At one point my Dad retired and moved to Florida, meaning I had to spend all of my time at my Mom's house. This didn't work well for me. At her house, and with her new husband, I had no freedom, no phone of my own, no computer. Mom's house was sterile, unwelcoming. I didn't get along at all with her new husband.

My Dad unretired after being in Florida for a while-- his new relationship had not turned out well. He ended up in the hospital, for what were probably psych related issues. And so he moved back, and I was able to spend weekends at my Dad's place again. So that was better. actually had my own room, a desk, and a waterbed. Aww yeah.

I finished high school and went off to college. Home was Dad's place, not Mom's. I lasted three semesters at my first attempt at college, and found myself with a choice-- Mom's place, Dad's place, or my car. I chose Dad's place, but the only space available there was a small room in the basement, a storage room converted to a workshop.

I'd decided to enlist as soon as I knew college wasn't working out, but it was January and my entrance date wasn't until June. I didn't have a job, so I didn't have money. I didn't get along at all with my Dad's new wife, so I didn't spend much time at home. I had a car, though, so I spent my time on the local cruising strip-- it wasn't the same as being homeless, but it was close. Most of us that cruised the strip were in similar situations. Sleeping in the car in the parking lot of a grocery store was often a better choice than going "home".

I tried to move my spot in basic training up so I could leave earlier-- I'd visit my recruiter fairly often, who would tell me she had a whole list of people that wanted to leave sooner than they'd signed up for. There were actually a lot of people around my age that were having similar problems, although I wouldn't fully realize that until years later.

---

When my enlistment was up, it was up. I was overweight, and so I'd received a bad review. I was also "on the program", which took away my ability to reenlist. I think everyone, to some extent, once they've decided they're getting out want to do so as quickly as possible and get life going. I resisted the urge to lay a patch going through the gate for the last time, and flipping the guard off on the way past. I suspect we all want to do that, too.

---

Once I was a civilian again, my wife and I ended up moving to her parents house. There weren't many other options.

Eventually we bought a double-wide trailer, which was placed on one end of her parents land. What happened while I lived there isn't as important as what happened when I stopped living there. Her parents decided to sell their house and land, and our (my) trailer along with it.

For a while, we lived in the rec room behind my inlaws' house-- an outside building that had been converted into the family room. The realtor would bring people in unannounced when showing the home, even when we were not there, or worse, when we were asleep or busy working on homework. Anytime there was a showing, it meant that we'd been moving soon on very short notice.

When we did finally have to move, my inlaws gave us a bed in a corner of a guest house bedroom that was already full of boxes. We had no privacy, no choice-- when I suggested an apartment, the inlaws wouldn't allow it.

That situation was eventually resolved by me leaving school, and us moving back to my hometown. I was able to get a job, and my Dad owned a second duplex, so we moved in to the empty lower unit.

---

That changed after about a year; my Dad's sight and general health were getting slowly worse, and a nursing home for him was becoming a possibility. His wife, for whatever reason, was scared that the duplex would be lost anyway if my Dad went into managed care, so she put in on the market to sell.

So here we go again-- realtors, people walking through my house, nodding in disapproval. We hadn't been able to bring a lot of our furniture when we moved, and I heard more than one potential buyer whisper to the realtor, "how do people live like this"?

Faced with moving yet again, we bought a small house and moved.

---

We moved into the house in June. At Thanksgiving I was unemployed, which lasted over a year before I found a job delivering packages. I also found another job delivering pizza.

Two years later, my Dad passed away in spring.

That fall, I found out my wife preferred girls to boys. Upon finding that out, I suggested she leave for good. (I have no problems with anyone being lesbian, gay, or whatever. I have a problem the person I'm married to doesn't tell me, and blames marriage issues on me. But that's another story.)

The next day, she was loading a UHaul, and then she was gone. I was left with a house payment on a mortgage that was already three months behind, so the bank began foreclosure.

At the time, it seemed that the bank and the Sheriff would arrive at any moment- I didn't know that it would take another year or two for that to actually happen. I did know I had to get out of the situation I was in... squatting in a house I no longer owned.

---

The next spring, I moved out of the house, into an apartment in the city where I live now. It was small, only a studio, but with a new job and careful budgeting I was able to afford it. It was the first apartment I'd ever found on my own. After five years there, I moved to the campus apartment I live in now.

---

In light of all of that, perhaps it's not at all surprising that I've been out of whack these past couple of weeks. I've missed two VA appointments, been late to or missed shifts at work, and have generally been not functioning well.

Is it rational to fear that I'll lose my apartment this week? No, it isn't. It's PTSD together will all of the bad experiences I've had, getting all jumbled up and making me afraid and anxious.
This is something I need to work on.

Tomorrow, I'll call the VA and let them know that I'm all right, and I'll reschedule the missed appointments. I'll try to think about today, instead of yesterday. And I'll go on.

---

This post was pretty long, thanks to those of you that made it to the end. The moral of the story is that PTSD isn't just what happened during the war, or the abuse, or the trauma-- it's everything else, too. Surviving on a battlefield, surviving in spite of our attackers, surviving in general makes us stronger. After the bad things, we can survive anything.

"Just surviving" doesn't mean that we make the right choices as a result. In all of the situations I talked about, I could have done something different. At the time, though, it seemed like the choice I made was the one most likely to keep me going.

That's not living. That's surviving.

PTSD therapy, be it counseling or group work or medication (or all of the above) teaches you how to make decisions that are not just based on what you did to survive in the past. The goal is to be able to interpret situations and make decisions that turn out well for you, better than just base survival.

If you're looking for a reason to start therapy, now you have one. Life can and will get better, but there will be rough spots like this.

And, as always, some days are better than others.

First date: getting to know me, in the present.

2011-07-31T23:20:00.002-05:00

It seems customary that getting to know someone means hearing something about their life before it crossed paths with yours. Where are you from, what's your family like, questions like that. These questions can be extended to "...and if we ever get married, what am I getting myself into?" Even on a first date, you're wondering if this is the one you're going to spend the rest of your life with...

I went to a wedding recently, and the bride made it a point to say she knew the groom was the one she'd marry at the end of their first date. Love at first sight, as it's called.

It also seems customary that there are pictures, a film, or a slideshow that offers a glimpse of the early life of both the bride and the groom. Family vacations, sports, swimming lessons... snapshots that say something about them both before they knew each other, and often while they were dating.

My family album is almost empty. I never really knew my Dad's side of my family all that well. My Mom's side includes the relative that abused me when I was a kid. Most of the time I was married, happiness was either not there at all or was a false happy. In the end, I don't have many pictures to share-- either because I really don't have them, or because they represent memories I do not want to revisit.

My last relationship (now over), I was honest about my life up until now-- the good, the bad, the ugly. I thought that by sharing all of that, I might explain why I do some of the things I do, or react a certain way to certain things. I thought that finding someone who could understand all of that would be a good thing for me.

I've been spending the majority of my time around college students for a while now. Most college (age) students haven't been to war, nor have they been through being married and divorced. Very few have declared bankruptcy. Some have been working through therapy and medications for a while-- some start while they're in college, and some won't do either until later in life, if at all.

When I talk to people in my age group, it's all about marriage and divorce and kids and career. A house, a minivan, Home Depot. A steady job, benefits. Often, upon hearing that I'm in college, people say "I wish I could do that" or "I should have done that". Others are not quite sure how to relate-- college for them is something that was far in the past, or something that never happened. College life is an even hazier memory. They've grown up, past that stuff.

For a long time, I've believed that all of the events in my past, both good and bad, added together have made me what I am today. I've begun to look at the idea differently lately. The person I am today isn't that old-- it was in 2003 that my father passed away, and later that year, my marriage (for all intents and purposes-- it wasn't final until 2005) ended. Recovering from that year, and starting basically from scratch, has made me who I am today.

There are the events from farther back-- my childhood abuse, my parents divorce, Desert Shield and Desert Storm-- that I've had to examine and try to come to terms with. Those events are becoming like old photographs that fade when exposed to sunlight.

The medications and therapy have a lot to do with that. The good effects are starting to add up.

I still need to talk (and write) about the Desert, and I still have the PTSD symptoms. They still affect my life on a day to day basis, and I still struggle with them every day. I'm learning that my response to them can be different. As a consequence, I am also learning that my life today doesn't depend on those things from the past.

So, on a first date, and on any future date, I'll stick to telling you about the present. Portions of my life will be a closed book to you. There will be some things about my life before you that do not belong in the present. It's not that I have anything to hide from you. Rather, there are many things that have happened, that I'm dealing (or have dealt) with, and these things do not matter to a future between you and I.

If only...

2011-07-25T09:51:00.000-05:00

If I could get my kitchen clean,
If I could get all of my laundry done and squared away,
If I could organize all of my paperwork,
If I could sleep on a consistent schedule,
If I could get to the library and work on my incomplete course,
If I could keep from jumping to the ceiling when the door buzzer buzzes,
If I could handle crowds easier,
If I could concentrate better...

...if only.

You Can't Get There From Here

2011-07-22T02:37:00.000-05:00

Picture yourself standing at the edge of a canyon. Where you want to be is standing on the opposite edge of that canyon, but here you are on the wrong side. When you look down, it's so far down that you cannot see the bottom. You imagine that from the bottom, you cannot see the top.

"You can't get there from here," says a voice, quietly.

So you ask yourself, what if I had a jetpack? Then it would be easy. And you set off in search of a jetpack. Or some rope. or a pole vault. Or any number of things that have the potential to get you to the other side of that canyon. You discover, hopefully quickly, that none of the quick easy solutions actually fucking work.

There is one way to get to the other side of the canyon, but you cannot go straight there. You first have to figure out how to get to the bottom of the canyon-- that act alone will take most of your energy. You may get scraped, bruised, stung and poked along the way. Eventually, though, as long as you keep going downwards, you'll get to the bottom.

Now you're at the bottom. As low as you can be. Life has gone from being merely frustrating to just being the suck. You actually have three choices. One and two, following the canyon to the right or to the left, may produce interesting results. At the end of the detour(s) you're still at the bottom of the canyon looking up. It's a long way up, it's a steep climb, you have no climbing gear. So, my friend, you're stuck.

"Maybe I can just survive here for a while, maybe forever," you say to yourself.

Then you start digging in. The basics: food, clothing, and shelter. You're wearing clothes, so that's covered for now. Shelter, maybe you get lucky and find a cave or an overhang to hide under when it rains. Food... well, there's fish in the river and there have to be critters around that I can catch and cook. Eventually you reach a balance where you're eating enough critters and plants that you're still alive.

Every day, you look at the wall of the canyon, the one where the top is where you want to be.
At first, you look at it every day. Then, as time goes on, you stop paying attention to the canyon wall and you just accept it. The wall looks back you all day, every day, not caring if you notice it or not.

One day, you think about that voice you heard, before you came down into the canyon.

"You can't get there from here."

Hmm. From where I was, I couldn't get directly there-- the canyon was too wide. But that was then, and this is here. So... can I get there from here?

And so it goes...

The dating dance (and PTSD, of course)

2011-07-16T02:48:00.000-05:00

I can be.... what's the word.... coarse, maybe? I've been through enough that I've become pretty self reliant. I can be perfectly happy sitting here working on some small project- fixing something that's broke, taking something apart, trying out some software package I just found out about. It has taken a lot of work, actually, to reach the point where I can be comfortable being by myself.

Getting to know someone else (aka dating) isn't like that frequency counter that I have on my desk that needs replacement batteries. Pursuing a potential new significant other requires a certain amount of give and take, a certain dance. A person cannot just pick up dating and work on it for a while, and then put it down a couple of hours later. People are complicated and hard to figure out.

That's where the "being coarse" comes in. I'm not always good at playing the back and forth game that dating seems to require. If I ask someone out, and they say they're busy, they might want me to chase them a little. Suggest a different day, or a different plan, or sweeten the deal. My experience has been that when someone plays that game, they're likely to play more games, so my response is kthxbye. (And then I get back to work on my frequency counter project.)

It's not that I don't care, and it's certainly not that I don't want to go on a date ever-- and I can see where that response can be interpreted as kinda coarse. ("Well, he certainly took no for an answer without a problem, so he can't really be interested....").

Of course, it could be that they really are busy, didn't expect me to do some macho pursuit thing, and kthxbye is a perfectly acceptable answer. We'll go on to go out next week or something when life's less hectic. Maybe.

It can be hard to tell if it's them playing a game, or if it's PTSD playing a game with me.

Certain bad situations, you don't stop to ask about the other person's feelings. There's a job to get done, and whether or not you like me or I like you doesn't mean shit. We do what we can to get along and work together to accomplish the mission.

The PTSD bubbles up when you've lost enough friends and girlfriends to last a lifetime that you're not half finished living. You start feeling that if you take an interest in someone, you're taking a risk. You're vulnerable. And you get really good at not letting that risk get out of hand. So when that person you've asked out says no, you take it at face value and don't give it any more emotion than you have already.

So just say yes, already. I make some damn good BBQ.

Dealing with having to leave for a semester

2011-07-08T03:24:00.000-05:00

To catch you up on what's been happening with school-- I'm taking classes at the local technical college this fall instead of the university I've been attending. I don't have a choice, really. My university dropped me as an enrolled student for a semester, and if I didn't take classes somewhere I'd no longer be eligible for student employment. So back to the two-year school I go, for one semester. Then I have to reapply for admission to the university.

The military term for this situation is "washing out", as in "I failed a block twice in Electronic Warfare school, so I washed out. Now I'm headed to Mortuary Affairs school." It carries a very negative connotation. Washing out isn't something you normally want to do, because it often puts you in a less desirable place.

This is one of those ideas that you take with you when you hang up the uniform and go to college. You also pick up the new idea that since you were in the military, you've gained the discipline and strength to handle something like college. In transition assistance and after, every time you read about Veterans going to school you hear success stories. So and so graduates with honors, so and so starts his own business or non-profit organization. Happily ever after.

No one writes about the Vets that simply got frustrated the first semester and left. Or the ones with PTSD or TBIs that get all the help they can and still struggle all the way through school. Well, except me, but I'm one of those people that's been struggling.

It used to be that you could find a job to keep you fed, clothed, and housed without some sort of degree. A high school diploma was enough for some jobs. My Dad worked in a truck frame factory for most of his life, and retired with a decent pension and health insurance. He didn't go to college. He did, however, start working there in the 1960's. That's 50ish years ago.

The important part here is that walking away from a university, technical college, or trade school grants you a temporary reprieve, but doesn't solve the problem of school being hard to manage. You still need an education of some sort.

The other important part is that if you're dealing with PTSD, even if you're on medication and in therapy, there are going to be times when there's just too much going on in your head. When that happens, your grades suffer and you may end up in my position, taking classes at another school for a semester.

There's really only one class I have to take in fall, and that's Spanish III. The rest of my schedule I'm filling in with a creative writing class, a study skills for Veterans class, and some sort of IT class if I can get into one.

Does this set me back a semester in my plan to graduate? Certainly. There is, however, a silver lining to this cloud. Another Spanish class is a requirement to graduate, so I have to take that. I'm taking a writing class because I've decided I like writing. I've also received good feedback on my writing, so taking a slight detour to learn a little more is a good thing. The study skills course is restricted to Veterans, and deals not only with study skills but adapting to life in school. I could use some help with that. Finally, the last class may turn out to be something completely different. Who knows.

Being dropped for a semester is not the end of the world. Having trouble with school is not the end of the world either.

I'll get through this. So will you.

More on PTSD and Holidays - July 4th

2011-07-01T17:42:00.001-05:00

Summer around here means lots of stuff to do, especially on three day weekends. July 4th is Independence Day. BBQ, beer, brats, potato salad, family and friends... and fireworks. Stuff that shoots up into the air and goes BOOM, and stuff that stays on the ground that sounds close enough to gunfire to be a real problem for someone with PTSD.

Personally, I don't have much issue with organized fireworks, like a city or town does every year. I do okay with those. It's the other stuff that's a problem. The firecrackers, bottle rockets, etc. that make loud noises or fly into the outside walls without warning. I simply do not do well with those kinds of unexpected noises. I'm usually jumpy as it is, and they don't help.

Which makes things interesting if I'm at a BBQ or other such gathering, because there's always that one yahoo that got his hands on a truckload of illegal fireworks. The yahoo may be at my gathering, or one a few houses or a couple of blocks down. Doesn't matter. It is his mission to make as much explosive noise as possible all weekend.

I don't usually go to those BBQs any more, unless it's with really good friends. It doesn't help me fit in that I'm one of the only adults not drinking, that there's noisy kids running around I'm uncomfortable, and I'm just kinda anxious in new places anyway. So I stay home, or I head out to the woods to camp somewhere quiet that doesn't allow fireworks and enforces the rule. In the past, I'd have a great time at gatherings on holidays-- I could deal with just about anything then because I'd successfully self-medicated with alcohol. O'Douls doesn't have the same effect.

July 4th can put a Veteran in a tight spot-- most people that know you probably know you're a Vet, know you're patriotic, and know the 4th is important to you. It's hard to say "yanno, I really don't want to do the fireworks this year" when the whole family is going. If you're the Veteran, you have every right to not be around fireworks if you don't feel comfortable. Family and friends should respect that, but we as Vets bear some responsibility to explain why we'd rather stay home. Communication in both directions helps.

(That's how I hope it works, anyway.)

-----

This weekend I also signed up to go on a local camping trip. There's a county park on the other side of town that's great for camping, and cheap because I don't have to drive very far. I'm in a couple of groups on meetup.com, and this outing was organized by one that I'm a member of. From the group I'm in, about 6 people are signed up-- a number I can easily deal with.

The outing also includes, as I found out, two other groups. In the past, those groups have had 40+ people sign up. So I've bailed out. Camping for me is about solitude and quiet and recharging.

-----

Both of the above are cases where I'm avoiding a potentially uncomfortable situation, and with the camping outing, I'm backing out of an activity I enjoy. I've learned to pick my battles. Yes, I'd like my PTSD symptoms to decrease to the point where I'd have no problems at all with a holiday like this one.

I am, in fact, feeling a lot better lately-- but I'm taking things slow, and making sure I'm standing on solid ground where I am before I try to do too much.

Have a safe, happy, 4th of July weekend.

Best for Vets: Colleges 2011 Student Survey

2011-06-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

This is a chance to help your fellow (and future) student Vets-- the survey is a joint project between Military Times EDGE Magazine and Student Veterans of America which aims to identify the colleges and universities that are doing the most (or least) for Veterans who are in school.

Many lists and articles I've seen about choosing a college are written for seniors in high school, not adults who have years of military service. Surveys like this one are a chance to make your voice heard on what makes your college good (or bad) for future Vets heading to school.

So go fill it out, already. Here's the link to the survey.

Best for Vets: Colleges 2011 Student Survey

Last night, and today.

2011-06-18T21:59:00.000-05:00

Around here, summer is pretty relaxed. At work, the pace slows down a lot unless something goes wrong. Most of the students are gone over the summer, but enough of us remain here to keep places like downtown interesting. It's possible to find a quiet place to have a drink within walking distance of campus in summer.

I actually went out last night with friends from work. Dinner downtown, back to someone's apartment for some general drinking and such, then downtown again.

Dinner was ok. It was at a restaurant I'd been to before, and I somehow managed to sit at one end of the table, giving me a bit more room. The food was really good, and having a beer with dinner was nice too.

After dinner we went back to someone's apartment for drinking games- I had a beer, but only watched the game. I'd already had a beer with dinner, and it was getting to be time to take meds. I took it easy, and still had a good time.

First bar is one of those that's always crowded (upstairs and downstairs), the music's too loud, and people talk too loud- not my favorite kind of place. Years ago, when I was drinking fairly heavily and before this PTSD stuff kicked up, I'd have loved it there. Not so now. It felt dangerous, and I caught myself shaking more than once. The bar had a two drink minimum, and I didn't feel like paying $10 for two glasses of Diet Coke, so I went drinkless. I also decided that I'd stick it out, or at least try. After a while we all got tired of the crowd, and headed out to another bar.

This one was at a restaurant; the dining room was closed, but the bar was open. Only a few people there, counting the bartenders and bouncers. Dark wood, low lights, mellow music... much more my type of place. I felt pretty comfortable there, and after a shot of good Irish whiskey and starting on a beer, I was ok. The last beer took a while to finish.

Closing time eventually came around (actually not quite, but we were all getting tired), and I had the pleasure of walking back home through the crowds waiting to get into other bars. Later at night seems to be when people are more likely to get into stupid fights, one of which I had to make my way around. From there, my walk home was uneventful. I was hungry again by that point, so I ordered a slice of pizza and soda for delivery, ate that, and went to bed.

-----

Sometimes I regret going to sleep. After I fell asleep early this morning was one of those times.

Nightmares come and go for me... I believe that the trazodone really helps, but I ended up taking meds late. It seems there needs to be at least a couple of hours after taking them, but before sleeping, for them to do any good. I don't know how long the dream lasted. I only remember snippets, individual frames. It was a long story. And it was in color.

I have certain places in these nightmares-- streets, buildings, an airport, a factory of some sort, that seem to show up fairly often. They were all there this time. Certain people make repeat appearances too. My reaction to seeing those people is usually the same, I want them to be as far away from me as possible.

I woke up early today, although I wasn't quite awake. I remember stumbling around the kitchen for a while, and eventually going back to bed. The nightmare went on as soon as I fell asleep.

---

Today, I didn't leave my apartment.

PTSD - and being dropped from the university. Ack!

2011-06-11T16:44:00.001-05:00

This week I met with a committee consisting of a dean and two faculty members, to appeal the university's decision to drop me as a student. I wasn't able to get my GPA above the required level this semester, which is what got me into this situation. Being dropped as a student is close to worst thing that can happen to a student, because it means you can't take classes at that school for a specified time. (The worst, I think, is academic misconduct-- cheating, plagiarism, etc.) You also have to apply for readmission if you want to return.

Here's how it went down.

I was allowed to submit a written appeal a few days before the meeting. There were two sessions of appeals on different days, so there were also separate deadlines for submitting the written appeal. I got mine in five minutes before the last deadline. It wasn't perfectly polished, but if I had missed that deadline, even by a minute, I'd be dropped for a year. So I clicked that submit button with five minutes to spare. Shortly after that, I received an email back from a dean saying they'd received my submission, and I needed to call to set up an appointment on the meeting day. The dean advised doing so immediately, and I took the dean's advice.

The actual appeal had three parts: first, the committee reviewing my appeal had time to read my written appeal and discuss my reasons for wanting to stay, and my justification for being allowed to stay and take classes in fall. Next, I met all three members of the committee, where the process was explained. The committee members asked a number of questions about my written appeal, about my goals in college, and where I was headed in life.

They also surprised me, by thanking me for my service to my country. To me, this meant two things-- it always feels good to hear, but it's always a little awkward. Second, each of the three committee members knew I was a Veteran. That proved to be a good thing.

I was then able to state my case, and present any additional information. I had letters from my social worker and from my psychiatrist at the VA. They both jumped through hoops to get the letters written so I could present them at the appeal. (They didn't pass the task on to an administrative person-- they typed and printed the letters on VA letterhead themselves.) All three of the committee members reviewed both letters, and I was again able to ask questions and add any additional comments.

When that was finished, I sat in a separate room while the committee decided my fate. It took about fifteen minutes, and the dean gave me the news: the committee upheld me being dropped.

However, the drop is only for one semester, after which I'll be able to reapply for admission in spring 2012. The dean is also going to stay in touch with me over the summer while I finish my incomplete class, and while I take classes this fall at the local technical college. I'm not guaranteed readmission, but having a dean on my side certainly will help.

Throughout the entire appeal process, I was honest about how the semester went. On the written appeal and at the meeting, I talked about the trouble sleeping, the anxiety of being in class, the flashbacks, the nightmares, and everything else that happened. I listed my medications, and talked about mindfulness. I talked about the anniversary of Desert Storm being a catalyst for my PTSD this semester, and they made it a point to try to understand.

The committee also pointed out that I'm in one of the toughest majors (Computer Science) at this university. They took that into account, too.

In my psychiatrist's letter, he did mention that I may have rough patches in the future. When asked about that by the committee, I agreed- who knows what will be a trigger next month, or next year?-- and that was a factor in the decision to uphold me being dropped. This may be the point where you say the doc said what? Before you do, hold on for a second.

It's true. I'm still working on getting myself stabilized. The mindfulness and the new medication do need some time to reach full effect. All three members of the committee made it clear that I wasn't being punished-- being dropped gives me some space, and some time to get better at dealing with everything. When I come back in spring, I'll have had time to recover to the point where I can meet the challenges of my remaining classes. The university wants me to do well and to succeed-- they made it clear that I have their full support and they want me back as a student.

I also have a dangling-out-there foreign language requirement to satisfy; it'll be hard anyway, but it'll be easier if I take it at the local tech college. The members of the committee suggested that getting that class out of the way would make it easier for me when I do come back. And I agree, that's a good point.

So, back to technical college I go, for one semester. Very doable.

The only advice I have to offer is the same advice I've given myself. The world isn't ending, life isn't over. Take things one step at a time. You can't get there from here sometimes; you need to take a step between here and there first. I have the support of the university, my providers at the VA, and my own drive and ambition. One step at a time got me here. Keep taking steps, one at a time.

Don't ever give up. Ever.

The Waiting Room

2011-06-09T12:46:00.000-05:00

I've been to the Mental Health Clinic at the VA a lot lately- I'm there once a week for mindfulness therapy, today I was there to pick up paperwork, and I'll be back again this afternoon for something else (more about that later). Veterans in the waiting room, including me, probably) often look the same. No one smiles. Some of us close our eyes and try to be calm. Some of us don't want to see each other, so we close our eyes or hide our faces I'm our hands. If our hands shake, we try to hide that too. We just need to see our doctor or social worker and try to get or learn something that will help us put life straight again.

No one in the waiting room wants to be there, especially the first time. Being in Mental Health can make a person feel a little hopeless- what happens now? What will people think of me, having to be here? What is therapy going to involve? How about medication? Am I going to be one of those cracked up Vets I see in the movies?

Am I going to ever be able to hold down a job again, get to work on time, and not piss off yet another supervisor?

Where the hell is the nearest bar?

The Veteran next to you probably is thinking the same thoughts. I know I am.

Numbing. Avoidance. Stuck points.

2011-06-05T18:24:00.000-05:00

It's 85 degrees and sunny here today. The sunlight is nice. One of my non-mental health prescriptions is ergocalciferol, which most people know as vitamin D2. Being prescribed D2 is my provider's way of saying I really need to get outside more. Today I'm inside for now, but my apartment faces west and I have sunlight streaming in. I'll call that progress.

As spring semester went on, I isolated myself more and more from the rest of the world. I was going to some classes, getting to work, and I was even in a relationship-- but I was pretty much cut off, and felt that way. Now the semester is over, I'm single again, and all I really have to do that involves other people is work. This is a good thing, because I've been able to get some rest and pay attention to all of the things I either put off or ignored during the semester. I have the opportunity to recharge a bit. It's bad because, well, I'm very alone.

I remember reading somewhere (I'd cite the source if I could remember where I read it) that a person's mental health is often defined by how they feel when they're alone.

Putting aside the appeal I'm working on to stay in school, my life right now is me staying inside my apartment. I need to go grocery shopping, but I've instead been living on delivered food. I skipped both a leadership summit and a volunteer opportunity recently because I just didn't feel up to participating in either. The only times I've really been out of my apartment are the days that I have VA appointments.

I am having great difficulty with time. I've been staying up pretty late (0200 or later), and sleeping in-- today I got up around 1600. It's now 1800, and I can't really tell you what I did between getting up and now that took two hours. I drank some water and read some stuff online, but I'd have to think pretty hard to tell you about what I read.

I have a couple of deadlines and meetings this week; my appeal, and a pilot I'm participating in at work. My body doesn't agree that today is Sunday, so I've had to check the date and day of week several times since waking up to make sure I'm not missing something.

I have a single goal today-- I'm going to go grocery shopping and stock up on food. In the past, I've been able to grocery shopping late at night, because the stores were open 24 hours. Now, they're only open until 2300. My lack of a sense of time has meant that I've planned on getting groceries, but all of a sudden it's 2230 and I don't have time any more.

I'm using numbing and avoidance, because I don't want to deal with people and carts and noise and bright lights. I'm a little afraid that someone's going to bang into my cart, and I'm going to push back-- confrontations are the last thing I need to get myself into.

It's a stuck point-- I'm afraid of how I'm going to feel when I have to drive to the grocery store, deal with finding a place to park, and have to navigate around other people.

It's things like this that keep me in my apartment, ordering pizza for dinner yet again.

Medication changes

2011-06-04T13:18:00.000-05:00

I'm faced with being required to take a year off from my current university, because I was already on strict probation and didn't get my GPA up far enough (it actually went down this past semester).

There is an appeal process. As one would expect, one of the questions I have to answer is what has changed that will make my next semester successful.

I met with both my social worker and my psychiatrist this past week. My social worker and I are working on mindfulness. The eventual goal is that when faced with a situation like a classroom I'm afraid of, I can intercept that feeling and calm myself down instead of letting learned emotional responses take over. It's been a struggle getting started, trying to fit meditation into my daily life, but I'm working hard on it.

My psychiatrist, who also teaches medical school classes, suggested a medication change from sertraline to venlafaxine, also known as Effexor. It's said to have much the same effect as sertraline, but also improve concentration (especially for students). Sounds good to me- I'm willing to trust a doctor who is also a professor- so I went for it. I suppose I could make some comment about being on yet another drug-- if you look around in online forums, you'll see plenty of Veterans accuse the VA of pushing pills. I went for the switch because honestly, I couldn't concentrate on shit this past semester and I need to do something different.

So, I'm transitioning from the sertraline to the venlafaxine over the next few days, which hopefully won't be at all interesting. Trying to keep track of how much I'm taking of each is the hard part. Hopefully, the combination of the new drug and the mindfulness work will produce good benefits. After this past semester, I need all the help I can get.

Struggling. Mindfulness.

2011-05-28T22:23:00.000-05:00

There's so much that I want to be different, to make things work right, to just have things be stable. It's hard to change, though, since I've had so much practice-- something happens, and I just unconsciously react to it, and do the same thing I've always done. If things get too overwhelming, if there's too much input, then I automatically do what experience has programmed me to do.

The desks creak, the floor is tile on cement, the room is crowded in a basement. That was two of my classes this past semester, the two that I essentially stopped attending after the first few weeks of the semester. To be perfectly honest, I was so uncomfortable in those rooms that I was afraid to go to class. It wasn't something I thought about, not at all. I'd sleep through my alarm, take too long to get ready, and then there would be no way I'd get to class on time. So I'd stay home.

I'm rationalizing, my brain is coming up with answers that probably make sense. My reaction to being anxious about being in class is to do things that make being numb easier.

This is what I've been dealing with in therapy lately. Training my brain to see that feeling, notice it's there, and let it go instead of following those well established things that I do on automatic. It's called mindfulness therapy. Ideally, I should be taking about ten minutes a day to meditate and practice. Just like going to class, I haven't done that much either.

It is normal for me to get anxious from a sound or image or dream, and need some time to settle back down. When I feel tired, that's now I know that the triggered state has settled down. If things are going well, after the tired feeling I'll be able to mostly function again. It's become very difficult for me to get back to that mostly functioning state. While I know that taking ten minutes to meditate is important for me feeling and doing better, there's so much fallout from the past few months that I feel buried. My apartment is a mess, I'm barely keeping up with laundry, and I'm living on delivered food. Other than going to work and the VA, I don't go anywhere or talk to anybody. Hours go by without my realizing it. This stuff's gotta stop, this is no way to live. Mindfulness better work.

Break? What break?

2011-05-13T19:42:00.001-05:00

Spring around here can go from freezing your tail off to sweating in the sun in about the same time it takes to notice that it's mid May. Eventually, though, the trees and plants and such realize that it's not winter anymore. When they finally get with the program, it looks pretty good.

This is graduation weekend for some people, and those people are making the transition from college to after college. Me, I'm still here. This weekend for me is time to try to get a little rest, try to let my mind settle down, and do laundry. (Meditation is great, but it doesn't get the clothes washed.) I also have to consider what's going to happen with what's left of the semester.

Two classes, I've talked to the professors and they're going to give me an incomplete for those classes-- meaning I get an 'I' on my grade report, and I have until the next regular semester begins to get the work done for the class. As long as I do the work correctly and on time, I'll get the grade I earn over the summer. One class, I took the final exam and didn't do well. I'm going to talk to that professor next week. The remaining class, the professor is leaving my university for somewhere else. That means I need to talk to the Associate Chair of the Math Department, and explain my situation.

I'm still feeling overwhelmed. There are a lot of things, some basic and some not, that did not get done besides my homework this semester. I need to do some GI-style cleaning at home, catch up with some paperwork and clutter, and just get my day to day life in order. Basically, take a very deep breath, exhale very slowly, and then decide which put off things need to get done first.

Then, my semester continues.

Summer here is pretty quiet; while there are a fair number of summer classes offered, there aren't nearly as many people around. It's also somewhat laid back, especially for people that aren't taking (or teaching) classes. Even people doing heavy research work over the summer find time to bike around the lake, cook brats outside, or lay in the grass and look at clouds.

Once I have all of this incomplete grading stuff settled, this is the environment I'll have to work in. I'm actually looking forward to it-- I've taken summer classes before and done well. I am going to approach getting caught up the same way as I did summer school. I will be that guy in the library soaking up air conditioning, back in the corner with the books open every day.

So summer, yes. Vacation, no.

Incompletes

2011-05-05T16:38:00.000-05:00

I talked to another of my professors today, which leaves one more to talk to-- this professor has agreed to give me an incomplete and time this summer to finish my work in that class. Instead of homework to turn in, he offered me three exams which will determine my grade. He did ask for additional documentation from my doctor, so I'll call the VA in the morning and talk to either my doc or someone else on my assigned team. Then that'll be done. I've never had any problems asking for and receiving letters for school from any of my VA providers. (As one of them explained, any provider you see in the mental health clinic has been in college. They understand why you need the letter.)

About incompletes in general: at my school, an I means you have until the next regular semester starts to complete your work for a course. It's up to you to ask each professor, and to provide additional documentation if they ask. Your school may be different, so check your undergraduate catalog (you know, that book you got at orientation and haven't read yet).

If you're in my situation, and finals are next week, and you have no idea how you're going to pass this semester-- talk to your professors, your adviser, your dean, somebody. Those people usually know what PTSD and mental health issues mean, and they'll probably be willing to work with you.

Not the way I wanted to end the semester...

2011-04-29T20:18:00.000-05:00

Next week is the last week of classes, and after that is final exam week. I should be preparing for finals, but I'm really not. I've missed so many classes this semester that I'm seriously behind, and so I'm asking my professors for an Incomplete in each class.

There a few interconnected reasons for being at this point. Two of the classes I've been to the least have been in basement classrooms where desks are inches apart. If you're ten minutes early, you really are late because it's hard to find a chair that's comfortable (against a wall, near the door, at the back of the rom, etc.). Early on I started thinking that "hey, I'm gonna be late... crap... I don't want to go and be hemmed in by lots of people, that doesn't feel very safe" and that snowballed into me missing those two classes on a regular basis.

I started this semester much like I did spring semester last year-- I had so many things going on over the break that I didn't get much opportunity to relax and recharge.

The first couple of weeks of this semester were okay, but sometime in February the wheels wobbled and came off. I quickly reached a state where I didn't want to leave my apartment. The crowds of other students scared me, when they hadn't before. Things I'd normally do, like go to the library or the Vets org office to study, stopped happening. I was getting more and more isolated from the world outside my apartment.

In February, I went to talk to the disability resource center folks, and they were able to provide me with a letter explaining that I have a disability that affects my classes. Further, it says that documentation is on file that I have this PTSD thing. I've given a copy of that letter to two (out of my four) professors. I'm most intimidated by the two professors whose classes I haven't been in all semester, and most worried about how fast I might be able to catch up with the work I missed. I'm thinking I'll be working on completing classes until the end of June, but nothing is official yet.

Little things become big things very quickly. Try to make changes, get help, or whatever you need right away-- and follow up right away. Do as I say, don't do as I did.

Of course, when you're dealing with the little things, you don't realize it at first. You don't know you're getting anxious and depressed and triggered until you are, and then it's harder to get help.

My rule, which I'm not yet able to follow every time, says that if things aren't feeling quite right, something's going on. I always ask myself in the morning how I'm feeling. A good indicator of my out of whackishness (yes, it's a word) is when I answer "y'know, kinda crappy" for several days.

Good luck with finals, all.

Today. Struggling. Ack. Is it tomorrow yet?

2011-04-29T00:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, let's start with the actual start of the day-- after arriving home shortly after 0100, I stayed awake until about 0500. I'd have stayed up, but the night before I'd been up all night, so I decided I'd set some alarms and get up in time for my VA appointment this morning. I debated whether to take my meds before going to bed, as I'd missed taking them at my normal time (around 2200).

When I woke up and saw it was after 1600 (my appointment was at 0900), I figured it might have been a mistake to take my meds eight hours late. Tonight I'm just taking them and it's almost 0000, but that's better than 0500.

I also had a really disturbing dream. It wasn't about a single event that has happened, rather it was about me being trapped. I won't get into any more detail than that-- I don't want to trigger you or me-- but it was very real and very intense. I woke up very confused, and very pissed when I saw the time on my clock. I also missed both classes and my study time today, plus whatever relaxation techniques and mindfulness meditation I might have done. And, I missed the campus veterans group meeting, the last of the semester. So I missed out on a lot of things. I haven't left my apartment today/tonight, either. Those dreams cost me a lot today.

Right now, I'd like to go out for a long walk (ending with a Guinness and a shot of Irish whiskey), but it's 0000 and 39 degrees out. The threat of being on the streets this late and the very chilly air makes a walk seem a lot less of a good idea. Maybe tomorrow.

In other news...

I am looking at incompletes in all of my classes this semester. I've simply missed too much class and too much homework to get caught up and be ready for finals in two weeks. I'll write more about that later, right now I'm still lining things up with professors. Stay tuned.

I have some other personal issues going on as well that involve dealing with others that are suffering from this stuff. I know some of you arrive here looking for information to help friends who need help, so I'll write about that once I have it all organized into something readable.

...and the weather forecast...

65 and sunny tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow will be better. It'll at least be warmer and brighter.

The stuff that's in my pockets / Every day carry

2011-04-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

Several years ago after a VFW meeting, a non-Veteran who happened to be at the post was trying to get a bag of peanuts open-- you know, the $.99 bags that are behind the bar, or in vending machines. After a few seconds of fighting with the bag, they asked "Hey, anyone got a knife?"

The next sound heard was the click of many blades locking into place. Everyone, including the bartender, was carrying some sort of knife. That peanut bag didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of remaining unopened.

I didn't think much of it at the time. I've always carried some kind of pocket knife-- my Dad did, and he taught me how to handle one safely. He started me off with a plastic replica of a Boy Scout knife. When I'd learned to handle that, he bought me the real thing. In grade school, junior high, and high school, I always had a knife in my pocket. I never cut anyone, never stabbed anyone, or anything like that. These days, they send in a SWAT team if a kid has a knife. It was also normal at my high school for students to drive to school with rifles and ammunition in their vehicle if they were going hunting after school. Something else that doesn't happen anymore. It's much the same when you come home; you're in a different environment, but you still feel lost if you don't have a knife in your pocket.

I met someone recently who hasn't had much experience being around Veterans. She was surprised to find out that I carried a knife, and was genuinely worried about being around someone with PTSD who likes knives. I made it a point to show her what it was, explain what I used it for, and why I carried it. She had, like many people, seen the news reports about some Vet with PTSD losing it and hurting someone else (or themselves). Once I'd explained what it was for, and why I carried it, over time she became more comfortable with the idea. Even so, I don't pull out my primary knife unless it's necessary to do so.

Yes, I did just say primary knife. I actually carry three knives:

1) Kershaw Ken Onion Black Out folding knife w/Speedsafe
2) Victorinox Swiss Army Classic pocket knife
3) Leatherman Micra multi-tool

(I also carry a micro Maglite, a pill fob for my meds, a Sears Craftsman 4-way pocket screwdriver, a P-38, and a 3-inch braided paracord bracelet, in addition to a wallet and an iPhone.)

There's actually a name and an acronym for this; having a set inventory of useful things that you always have with you is known as "every day carry, or EDC". I've heard EDC described as a mind set, an attitude that when you leave the house, you should have at least a bare minimum of tools to deal with anything that might happen until you get home. It's a defensive posture, certainly. (Bring on that bag of peanuts. I've got it covered.) I think it's also related to hyper-vigilance... always on the lookout for something unexpected to happen.

This is where what you carry in your pockets can intersect with the PTSD you're feeling inside your head. For me, I gain some peace of mind-- I can handle whatever a day throws at me with the tools I have. It feels natural to carry this stuff. Carrying EDC gear balances out the fear of something happening where I don't have any tools available. There are upper and lower bounds on that balance, though.

I keep the assisted-opening Kershaw (3" blade) in my pocket unless I really need it, and pull out the Victorinox (1.5" blade) for small jobs like opening bags of peanuts. People don't seem to mind the Swiss Army knife. It's red, it's small, it's recognizable, and chances are Dad or Grandpa probably carried something similar. The Kershaw gets more of a reaction, especially since it opens quickly with an audible click. Bear in mind, I'm around college students all day, many of whom don't remember life before Columbine. Carrying a knife to school has always been forbidden for them. They don't expect to see a black knife with a black blade that clicks open come out of another student's pocket in the union at lunchtime. Actually, most people don't expect that.

Here are some things to keep in mind if you're like me, and feel lost if you don't have a knife or multi-tool handy:

1) If you're even remotely thinking about suicide, please consider giving your blade(s) up until you're more stable. Have a trusted friend keep your knives safe for you. Carry a notebook and a pen instead, and write your feelings down. Carry a Bible. Carry whatever will provide comfort to you, rather than the means to harm yourself.

2) If you're not sure if you should carry something, don't carry it. Check your city/county/state laws about what's legal and what's not. Length, action, and concealment are all legal factors that vary from place to place. Think safety.

3) People can misinterpret your intentions very easily, and very quickly. Consider where you are and who you are with before bringing out a knife-- many places consider them as weapons no matter what. Schools, government buildings, and VA facilities don't allow knives. You may be at further risk of legal problems if you're carrying a concealed knife (which can include a knife that's simply in your jeans pocket).

Finally, I like carrying my EDC gear. It's taken me some time to decide what I want to carry, and even longer to research, shop, and buy each piece. I'm trying to find healthy ways to manage my life, within the constraints that PTSD can create. Yes, hyper vigilance is part of the stuff in my pockets, but it has limits-- there's only so much I can fit on my key chain and in my pockets. Being able to balance things here is proof that I can balance things in other places as well.

And, I never have to worry about starving because I can't get a bag of peanuts open.

Train wrecks

2011-04-20T22:06:00.000-05:00

Today, I feel ok. I was up all night reading material from one of my classes, trying to get caught up. Some time before dawn, there was breakfast and coffee, and then there was sleep. I didn't make either of my classes today. Maybe I came out ahead, maybe I didn't. Not sure yet. I suppose I'd be willing to say my life is making some sense, but I'm so far behind I wonder if I can catch up. And I'm tired, so tired. I've always had the will to keep going, no matter what-- the mission comes first. But lately I'm just tired a lot. It might be that the meds have brought down my hypersensitivity enough that I'm not really tired, but life feels slower than it used to when I had adrenaline flowing all of the time.

There's a lot that doesn't feel quite right.

---

I often wonder if I belong here, at this university.

This semester has become another train wreck. The cars aren't derailed yet, but the train is going around a curve way too fast and the brakes are iffy. I'm trying to find a perspective, a point where I can look at things and be able to say I'm either at peace with them, or need to work on them. I think. Do I really belong here? Have I earned it? It's been a struggle the whole way. I've never felt like I had everything under control in school, I've always been fighting deadlines, and I've often had to accept less than perfect at the end of a semester.

I wonder if I'm smart enough or hardworking enough, or if I deserve to be here. When I'm able to study, I can do the work. Being in a research university environment, there's always someone smarter and more educated than you-- it goes with the territory. When I can't get out of my apartment, or I feel triggered in a classroom or library (or even walking down the street), the people around me are all going to class. They are all studying, they are all getting their assignments done, and they are all getting to class 90% of the time. And that's when I feel like I don't belong here, when I'm having all of these issues and everyone else is moving forward.

Feeling like I'm falling behind a little, I get anxious. Getting anxious, I get hyperaware, and from there I get more anxious, and the treat level builds up to the point that I'm afraid to go to class. It's like I'm the engineer running the train, and suddenly I'm standing at the controls not moving while the train is flying down the track. Forward motion doesn't stop because I stop pressing the controls.

I can see the controls inside the train, I can see the train itself, and I can see the world flying by far too fast. But I can't feel it. I'm trying to find my balance, get my sea legs, but what I'm seeing and feeling and hearing doesn't jibe with where I feel like I am.

It's almost 20:00. Where did today go?

2011-04-16T20:13:00.000-05:00

I really don't know. Ok so maybe I do know, but there were things I wanted to accomplish today that I haven't even thought about, and it's already approaching the later part of the evening. So much to do, so little time... and so many things to worry about. I'm feeling overwhelmed, detached from the world... like I've stepped off the train in the middle of nowhere, without a station in sight. One could imagine a tumbleweed rolling past right about now, maybe a coyote in the distance.

One thing that I think is keeping my brain going overtime is, what's next? When I graduate from college, I'll need to look for a job, wear a suit, remember how to answer interview questions. I'll have to tell someone how great I am for the position, while at the same time I may have to ask for accommodations for the PTSD stuff I carry around. Graduating won't make it go away.

My experiences with Corporate America haven't been the greatest. I'm chronologically challenged, meaning I'm late to places often, and although I'm getting better with it I still have problems concentrating. There are times when I simply need to step outside for a minute. I'm afraid to actually graduate and work for a company-- I want to be somewhere that I'm comfortable, but my current view of companies doesn't match what I'm after. So I'm a little confused about where I'm headed, and I think that's part of why I'm having problems with where I am.

A single day of my life is overwhelming enough on its own; I have classes, notes, homework, work, dishes, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, VA appointments. I'm busy, and I'm fine with that, but thinking about the future (and/or the past) makes the whole balancing act topple over. Thinking about where I'm going to be in a couple of years, wondering if I'll be able to cope with PTSD and work, remembering my last job at which I was triggered all the time-- it's just too much.

There are those times when you're so overwhelmed that all you can do is sit there, stare off into space where you're really not seeing anything. Sounds happen, but you really don't hear them. It's a forced peace, and as much as you try, it doesn't last as long as you need it to last. Maybe that's where the last day, the last week, the last two months have gone. Maybe I've just been so overwhelmed with everything that I've been in that state, and just didn't realize it.

I have so much to do. Behind this far behind sucks. Small steps don't feel like progress at all.

A VA appointment, writing, and a little bit about sleep

2011-04-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

This morning I had my first appointment with a new psychiatrist; I was transferred from the satellite VA clinic back to the main VA hospital. It's really a good thing, because now I can take a campus bus route instead of having to drive (my car is one of those that requires a safety briefing before driving, and it's a pain to explain all of that stuff to the valet).

The computer system that maintains health records at the VA also schedules questions that a provider is supposed to ask. When you have an appointment, your provider sees a notice pop up that you need to answer a particular set of questions. After a few visits, I've gotten to know most of the questions that will be asked. It can seem like more red tape- didn't I just fill one of these out last week?- but over time I've caught myself thinking about my answers before or on the way to my appointment. I hope that I'm providing more honest/accurate answers as a result.

Today's appointment was fairly routine. We went over my previous case notes, talked about my medications, talked about my current issues with missing classes and trying to catch up. I was very impressed when he asked (unsolicited) if I needed any paperwork signed to help me with figuring out classes. He also teaches at the medical school at my university (which is located next to, and connected to, the VA hospital).

I also got a new card with his contact information. I keep those cards in my wallet, along with a list of my medications. That way if I'm ever in a situation where I can't say "Hey, call the VA for me!", hopefully the police officer or EMT or whoever finds me will see those cards and do the right thing.

I actually prefer being at the main VA hospital over the clinic. It's easier to get to, and there are other amenities that the satellite clinic doesn't have (such as a canteen that sells some good Veteran related swag). Sometimes I'll see someone I know there. Less often I'll see someone wearing something that's Desert Storm related, and a conversation usually starts up.

All of that being said, I'm currently missing a class. I don't feel "bad", but I'm in my apartment alone writing this entry. I'm a little confused on where writing fits into everything-- I've received nothing but good feedback on my writing here. Still, it feels strange to think about my ramblings here as "my writing" because I'm not really a "writer", I'm a guy that scribbles in a blog. Maybe it's my outlet, the same way some people do yoga or paint or whatever. It may be that today, writing a new entry is more within my current comfort zone than going to class. In that sense, I'm using writing as a way to avoid something stressful. Things can be double edged swords sometimes.

---

I also went to bed early (for me) last night, shortly before midnight. I woke up on my own around 0830, even before my alarm was set. Being up during daylight felt a little better. I was able to open the blinds and let some sunshine in for a while, which was nice. I'm going to try modifying my sleep schedule so I'm not up as late at night, and therefore up earlier (I still work two night shifts a week, so those nights I'll be up late). I still need eight hours of sleep-- the trazodone sees to that-- but maybe the morning hours will be more productive study time. The sleep / meds / caffeine / therapy / classes / studying / etc equation is one that requires constant adjustment, it seems.

Sometimes, I just have to write it all out

2011-04-12T00:12:00.001-05:00

I should be studying. I'm not. I'm at work, where it's quiet right now and I have
time to study, but I'm writing. I have a midterm tomorrow morning, and I really
really need to be studying. Instead I'm writing. I've been looking for the
answers for a long time now. There have been some really messed up things that
have happened to me, and others that I was a part of. Maybe there is a difference
between them. If there is I can't see it. It's just a big collection of some big
things, some little things, and a lot of consequences. I'm scared. I thought I'd
be over all of this by now. I'm not.

I don't so much see flashbacks anymore, as I feel feelings. The vision gets
cloudy and blurry over time, your mind loses a few bits here and there, and then
it tries to fill in the missing bits. So your war stories, they change as time
goes by. And, at night, when the apartment is quiet and the street outside is
empty, your mind tries to make sense of it all. It's called dreaming, sometimes
it's nightmares. If I wake up feeling completely out of sorts, where I can't
tell my ass from up or down, where I wonder "Hey, how did I get here all of a
sudden?", I call that a nightmare. They're not all horrific. Sometimes they're
just effin' strange, more strange than a dream should be. If it's my brain trying
to process events that happened while I was awake, I start to wonder what the
hell I'm thinking about all day.

It's a battle now. Maybe it always was, but it really feels like a battle now,
between me and the past. I've gone farther than I ever have, and I'm out on the
frontier now. I dropped the map and compass and GPS a long time ago. Now it's
moving forward, sometimes slowly and sometimes not at all. I refuse to go
backward. I'm trying to reprogram how my brain responds to threats and unwanted
memories. Medication, meditation, therapy. Trying to balance sleep and school
and work and meds and relationships and friends. I fight these things every day.
Some days I win. Some days I don't.

Some days, it's all just really frustrating. Okay, every day.

I had an uncle who served in Vietnam. One summer he was goofing off at a
tailgate party. The next year I was sitting in the bone marrow unit of a cancer
ward next to his bed. He never talked about Vietnam, and neither did my family.
I don't know where he served, or what he did, or what happened. I knew he'd been
in the Army at some point, and didn't find out he'd even been to Vietnam until I
saw him wearing a POW/MIA t-shirt at the tailgate party. Honors and respect were
given when he passed on; he'd been a member of the VFW, which I hadn't known about either. They took care of the honors.

I lost a friend, a Marine, not long after I'd ETS'd and moved to another state to resume college. If there's such a thing as a look that Vets have, he had it. OD green field jacket, long hair, smoked, probably drank a little too much now
and then. He laughed a lot, had a wife and young daughter, and a house to call
home. We were in the same major, and he worked in the campus computing center
while I worked in the CS labs. We were good friends. He didn't talk about
Vietnam either. He did have a stroke; he was around my age now, so it was pretty
young to have a stroke. I spent a lot of time with him in the intensive care
unit when he was in the hospital. He eventually did go home; he had a beard that
was growing longer by the day, because his arms didn't work well enough for him
to shave. He passed on not too long after that. I got an email from his wife that he'd passed on, and her thanks, but she didn't give any funeral information.

As a VFW chaplain, I was once called to replace an active duty Army chaplain; a
soldier who had been killed in Iraq was being moved to another location in
the cemetery. This time, she was buried in a special part of the cemetery, one
that was only available to Veterans. I still remember that day; the Soldiers, the Vets,the Patriot Guard Riders, and the family. I haven't been able to visit her grave site. I've wanted to, but I haven't. I'm not sure why. Maybe I can't, but someday I will.

I (thankfully) didn't lose any of my comrades in Desert Shield/Desert Storm. I
know where some of them are, know where to call to find them. I haven't talked
to them about the Desert, so I don't know if any of them are having any issues
that compare to mine. Maybe some of them are. Maybe not.

I don't know where I'm going with all of this. I'm just writing, getting it out,
facing it and dealing with it. I think. Conclusions can be hard to find. I need some water, need to take a break from writing now. Take my meds. I'll be the only one
here at midnight, and I'll have an hour of real peace. Listen to some quiet music, finish up the work stuff, and try to relax a little. It's hard to do at work, really- the phone can ring, which will make me jump, and it will take me a while to get back to being somewhat relaxed. Maybe I won't get relaxed before it's time to go home. I'll try, though. I always have "I'll try."

Asking for deadline extensions, getting caught up in classes

2011-04-08T00:56:00.000-05:00

I've asked the disability resource center here for additional help this semester-- I've missed entire weeks of classes, missed assignments, and missed exams. My person there gave me a letter to give to each of my professors explaining that I have a disability affecting my academics this semester, and offering some ideas to give me a chance to get caught up.

Tonight, I was supposed to take a midterm in one of my classes. What actually happened was that I talked to my professor and said that I wasn't prepared to take the exam, followed by explaining that I have PTSD that's been messing my life up this semester.

I've been avoiding talking to my professors until now because it's hard for me to ask for help. It's that social stigma that exists with mental health issues, compounded with PTSD making me avoid the situation entirely. I just want to be a successful student, I don't want to be treated special (meaning "I don't want to draw any more attention than is necessary, lest it be negative").

The result of talking to my professor is that I am taking the midterm on Tuesday morning, which will give me some time to study and get caught up on the material. The three homework assignments I've missed, I won't get any points for (but the prof will take my situation into account at the end of the semester). I have the rest of the semester to finish one of the projects I missed. And finally, my prof is going to scan her lecture notes from the weeks I missed so I can use them to catch up. I'll still lose some points, but I'll be on the same page as the rest of the class again and I can work forward from there.

Now, I have to repeat this with my other three professors. Joy. But the first one is taken care of. Small steps.

It's not easy, this asking for help stuff. It's hard to recognize that you need help in the first place, because the same brain you have to use to get help is the one that's giving you flashbacks and nightmares. So you're stuck, you're failing at school and possibly life, feeling like a snowball rolling downhill, and when the snowball stops you find yourself out of school delivering pizzas and asking what the hell went wrong. That's what happened with my first attempt at college.

I have never had a problem getting help at my university when I've asked for it. The asking is the hard part. So when is the right (as in, easiest) time to ask for help? The trivial answer is now, but my experience lately says that it might take time go get to a point where you're past the worst of what's in your head. You might not be able to get through the PTSD symptoms, and get brain and feet together to go find help. My answer is get help as soon as you can. If that means that it takes a week (or two, or four) to ask for help, then that's OK. That's the right time, when you're ready-- but don't wait forever.

If things aren't getting better, talk to your friendly neighborhood VA, call 1-800-273-TALK and press 1. Sometimes a person needs a plan before they can set things right.

One more thing: don't ever give up.

I remember too much already

2011-04-01T11:54:00.001-05:00

Happy Friday, and Happy April Fool's Day. I don't have any jokes or pranks for you. For me, today is as serious as any other day; pranks and surprises and such really freak me out, so I make it a point not to pull any.

Things aren't going so well. On one had, I'm still in the game, still trying to remain positive and keep going. On the other hand, I'm spending most of my time in my apartment, only venturing out for some classes and work. I'm honestly afraid to go to class. Sudden noises like the door buzzer or the phone ringing make me jump out of my chair. I have trouble imagining that I can walk with the crowds going to class. It's not that I don't want to go to class, or do well-- I'm just afraid. I'm way more easily startled and triggered lately.

The anniversary of Desert Storm came and went without much fanfare, as it usually does. I had hoped that once those dates had passed, I'd be able to deal with it better. At this point in 1991, I was just getting back to work at my unit. We'd all been given a couple of weeks off, to rest and relax. I can't tell you what I did with the time, but around early April it was over and then it was back to work cleaning sand out of places it didn't belong.

I didn't know what PTSD was, then. Of course I'd seen movies like Rambo (the first one), but I never equated that with being a Veteran who has images in his/her head that are hard to deal with. No one asked if we were okay when we got back. We were heroes, for a few days. We got to ride in our trucks around town, and people waved and yelled and waved flags as we went by. I remember that a lot of people in my unit, including me, grew less excited about the parade as it went on. We had work to do. Our equipment wasn't going to clean and fix itself. (We also knew and expected that we'd be going back fairly soon. We were close to doing so more than once.)

I 'd been offered the opportunity to stay in country. I declined, wanting to get home-- I'd been on a 15 month remote tour and had just gotten home when I went to Saudi Arabia. Since then I have often wondered, sitting on my porch watching the stars, what would have happened had I stayed. I know history wouldn't have changed much, if at all.

It's easy, once I start thinking about it, to find myself back in the Desert. There are many details I've forgotten, but there are so many that I remember.

Maybe that's why it's been so hard this semester. There's so much going on in my head. I don't feel like I'm really here much of the time. I'm somewhere else. Here doesn't seem real. I feel like it can be taken away any time. Time is supposed to be on a line... if you were to draw it on paper, the past goes infinitely to the left, and the future goes infinitely to the right. Now is a single point on the line. And "now" can be divided into sections that infinitely small.

I don't see time that way, where one point on the time line is a certain distance away from another point. Coming home from Desert Storm may well have been yesterday, or the day before, instead of twenty years ago. Some of the memories are that fresh. Writing this, I've had a few more memories come up to the surface-- small things, mostly, but a few large ones as well. Maybe more than a few.

It's hard to find people that understand, when many of the people around you weren't born when all of that shit went down.

Small steps, keep going, keep trying

2011-03-29T11:52:00.001-05:00

The difference between now and the past is that in the past, I couldn't see out of the well. I was at the bottom, and when I looked up, there was no light. There was no ladder, no set of instructions, and not much to grab onto, to pull myself up with. (Although today, I’ve climbed out of the well and I am walking around on the surface.)

When everything is going wrong, it is easy to feel like that-- like you're at the bottom of a well, and there's no sunlight streaming down. Hopeless is a good word, but it doesn't quite apply. I'm not without hope. Not completely. If I could just get back on a human sleep schedule, just get started, just get going, I think once I was moving I would be ok. I'm through the worst of it now, feeling a little stronger, wanting things to be normal, but I have trouble seeing myself there, back in that well.
--

An ideal day looks something like this: wake up, breakfast/coffee, shower, go to class, lunch, go to class, supper/home stuff, go to work/go to library. Of course, I have other things to do-- pay bills, do laundry, go grocery shopping, try to have a social life-- but mainly, an average day is supposed to involve class, studying, and getting to and from. My days lately have included so much else-- trying this, trying that, doing this or that. “Keeping track” of things-- Iraq, Afghanistan, now Libya. Politics and protests going on nearly every day. Noting how much I feel like crap. Feeling like crap-- and getting nothing done. This can’t go on like this.

Maybe it’s because I’m a little older-- it used to be that you’d watch the evening news, maybe read the paper, maybe catch hourly news on the radio. And that was that. You didn’t have thousands of sources for news and stories and articles. Maybe you’d subscribe to a monthly magazine that was about your hobbies or interests, or you’d get Newsweek or something like that. While you might discuss things with your coworkers or fellow students, once you had read or heard the day’s news, you went on and did the rest of your life.

There are people who say that college students are generally apathetic, that as a group we don’t care about what’s going on in the world. Veterans often look at college students, and say things like “They don’t care about anything that’s going on in the world!” Some may not, true, but the reality is that other than a quick check of the news once or twice a day, we’re just too damn busy to keep track of all that’s going on in the world. We have to focus on college to be successful.

Except for me, lately. I’ve been keeping track of far too much, finding more and more things that I’d like to try/do, and in general hoovering too much damn information. It’s easy to do. The web is like a fire hose of information. I’ve been taking it all in, far too often and far too much at a time. The combination of so much going on in the world, and so many ways to access it has, I think, overwhelmed me again. It’s too easy to use staying informed as a way to avoid the hard stuff. Google Reader never challenges anyone, it just gives you more to read.

It’s not that I don’t care about what’s going on in Afghanistan, Libya, Iraq, Japan, or anywhere else (including my own state, where things are crazy right now). I want to say I’m an informed citizen, but being informed is getting in the way of my regular life. I feel as though if I could just be better in tune with everything, I could have a bigger impact, make a difference... but reading 20-30 articles a day on what’s happening does not help. It doesn't make a difference. It’s all just a distraction.

--

When I was going through the divorce and all of the associated financial issues that came with it, I arrived at a simple rule for setting priorities: Food, clothing, shelter. Those three things had to be squared away before anything else, and I used that as a foundation to build on. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the rest of the world. I just needed to focus on a smaller piece of it, the immediate area where I was struggling.

I had to focus on me. What I needed, what I wanted, and the balance between. Survival.

--

PTSD is something I’ll always have to live with, deal with, and overcome. I don’t believe that a person is ever “cured”-- the past will always be there, and reactions to the past will always happen to some extent. Maybe I’ll change my mind about that someday. Maybe not.

Where I am now, my past experience doesn’t always apply. The things I did to survive situations in the past simply are not appropriate to the situations I’m in now. Life seems strange, out of order, out of sync. I’m not stuck at the bottom of a well any more, but walking in the sunshine is still unfamiliar.

--

I took a step today. I got up at a normal time, enough time to get up and ready and get to class. It’s the class that I fear the most, that I’m the most behind in, and I have to talk to the professor soon. I’m skittish, because I don’t know how that’s going to go. But small steps. I’m awake before noon. That’s something. It’s small, but I can build on it.

Maybe I’ll actually leave my apartment today.

“...When I got home I stayed alone, and checked behind each door..."
--Charlie Daniels, Still in Saigon

Taking the glasses off...

2011-03-27T00:50:00.000-05:00

Things for me are better now than they ever have been. Yet I can't seem to get my sleep, studying, and going to class schedule even remotely under control. I'm drifting farther and farther into the past, instead of stepping on the pedal and driving like a bat outta hell into the future. (Okay, I need to let the past go, but can I at least keep my classic rock stations on Pandora?)

Time to take inventory. I'm neck deep in my major, immersed in what I want to do. I'm in the right place at the right time. I belong here. Whatever fate has in store, me being in college and studying all this cool shit is where I'm supposed to be. The past? It's still there, wherever time goes once it has passed. There are so many things that happened there that have no bearing or relation to the way things are now-- more than once, I said to myself, "you can't get there from here". There were always more immediate problems to solve to take another actual step.

Little steps add up to big steps, if you take enough of them.

Wherever the past is, I'm not there now. I did a lot of work, took a lot of chances, did some stupid shit, made some mistakes. Above all I learned from each of those experiences. A little here, a little there. Make this thing a little better, get rid of that thing.

I can't claim that it's been smooth, that I've always taken the right turn or done the right thing. Over time, I did enough of the right things and took the right roads. I must have, because I ended up here. There may have been another path to get here, but I wonder if the other path would have been as hard (or as rewarding).

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that the past is just... gone. That when time goes by, it is gone forever. The past exists as memories only, neurons and brain cells, and those can be cleared out. People can forget, so memories are expendable. Electricity doesn't flow when you turn the switch off. Memories don't stay memories if they are not given any energy, and it takes a lot of energy to maintain them.

Whatever the past is, whatever form it takes, I'm not there. The connections are cut. I don't owe anyone from my past anything, and those who were in my past, the part I don't like to remember, those people are in God's hands now. Along the way, I took defensive measures to make sure those people would never be able to hurt me again. I learned, and worked, and got stronger and smarter.

They wouldn't recognize me, all of the people who didn't give me a chance, all of the people that hurt me, abused me, neglected me, didn't help me, or just in general were less than good to me (or for me). If we passed in an airport, we'd walk past each other, not knowing that we'd even passed.

It's not that the past doesn't matter-- the lessons, the mistakes, they all add up to make me who I am, so the sum of the past is the present. I look at what I'm doing now, in my classes and at work, and it's far beyond anything I've done before. It's also way more fun. I've reached a new level, and I'm trying to reach higher levels still. This place, the present, is a pretty good place, but it's like I don't recognize myself. I'm looking at the present, through past colored glasses.

Those past colored glasses need to come off.

The dream, the awake, the next

2011-03-16T18:22:00.000-05:00

The dream

When it starts, I'm headed out to a small town somewhere (in Wisconsin, I think), to a VA hospital or clinic or something. The drive there, nothing happens that I remember, but when I get there I see someone in an office that I should recognize, because he waves and I wave back through the window. From there I arrive at a checkin counter. Busy place, lots of people moving around, and more people waiting in chairs. I get paperwork, sign stuff, and from there I'm headed to a motel nearby.

I get checked in, and it appears I have a roommate in a wheelchair. We talk, bullshit, etc. There's no one else in the room; but somehow from there it ends up that we're at another checkin counter, getting bags of meds that look a lot like Dippin' Dots. but more colorful. I'm confused on what I'm supposed to take and when. I think I get an answer, maybe not.

My roommate, another Veteran, and I go for a walk, looking around the town. There's something not quite right; there's a bus with a grill sticking out the side, selling hamburgers and bratwurst. Also there's normal town stuff, the kind of stuff you see near an interstate exit. We pass two little kids sitting outside a drive-in, and I remark that it was probably once an A&W. The kids look at us funny. My roommate's no longer in a wheelchair.

Things get blurry, and then we're on a road out in some forest; it looks like a logging area, sort of. More stuff happens that I don't remember, I'm walking on a really muddy road, and my roommate and the other Vet aren't there, but they're close. I find something like a Bobcat, maybe it's a pickup truck (although there's no roof), and I put the pedal down and pull down on the wheel. Rooster tails of mud, yee haw, doughnuts in the mud. I worry, just for a minute, that I'm seriously effing up some
farmers field or somebody's acre of future lumber.

I stop driving in circles and somehow I'm with the other guys again; they got busted for my rooster tails, but they're not going to jail or anything. We head back into town, my roommate visibly limping, and stop at a convenience store. I buy something, but I don't know what. We get back to the motel, and the motel room and the waiting room from the hospital have merged-- the waiting room is now
in my motel room.

The town has a surreal feel, like it's economically depressed. It's not normal. Doesn't feel especially right.

At the motel/waiting room, there are other Vets there now, no beds or normal motel stuff in the room, but it's still a motel room. The lady at the desk says we've missed our appointments, the ones we were there for, and she has to reschedule it. I ask again about the bag of meds (200+ pills), and I get an answer but I still don't understand. We're going to be there a second night, although I don't remember the first night passing. There's discussion of beer, going out maybe?

Then I wake up, and it's 1550, and I have to be to work at 1600.

The awake

Oh crap. Grab clothes, get dressed, hands shaking, going in circles. Grab this, grab that, toss in backpack. Clean up. It's 1600. Call work, let them know I'm on the way. Kick stuff for no apparent reason, other than it's there. Feel like I'm choking when I put my shirt on, my jacket on, and when I pull my backpack on. Grab my normal pocket stuff, do the pocket dance. Crap, need my meds,
too. Grab them, take the ones I was supposed to take an hour ago. Ok. Push myself out the door.

Can't make my fingers work to get the track I want to play, but finally it gets there.

Charlie Daniels. Still in Saigon. (Best. Song. Ever. Reminds me I'm not the only one.)

The next

Get to work, grab work stuff, grab two Excedrin, get a bottle of soda. Take several calls. Too many. Finally get everything set.

Two hours later, finally calmed down a little, headache mostly gone. Nightmare over. I think.

Breaking down the walls

2011-03-06T20:51:00.001-06:00

There I was... knee deep in the sand, out of ammo, radio dead, middle of the night, and I could hear the enemy just over the pile of dirt I was hiding behind. I had to MacGyver up the radio, finally got it working with one of my socks, a paperclip, and the chain from my dog tags. I had to sneak through an enemy camp to get to the spot where I'd be picked up...

...of course, none of that is true. I was a technician. Yes, I was deployed, but there was a Mr. Coffee within arms reach...

War stories can seem crazy, out of touch with reality. Embellished, let's say. When we do tell stories, sometimes we think we have to add a little bit so you'll listen to us. The scene in Jarhead where a bunch of Marines empty their ammo into the air at the end of Desert Storm is a good example- when the war ended for me, I went to work and started packing up all of the equipment I'd spent months setting up and unpacking.

Some of us are trying to deal with the war by putting it into its place in our lives. We try to remember the good, the funny, the things we learned, the people. We want the rest of America to feel proud of us. We want our friends and family to be proud of us, too. If someone questions the memories we have, it feels like a violation of the boundaries we've set for ourselves. "This is how I remember the war. For me, this is the truth. How dare you question that?"

Some of the things that happened in the Desert are just hard to grasp; after months of killing time, suddenly things moved so far, so fast, that we didn't have time to stop and think about them. Then it was over. Suddenly we were back in the States.

Yet, the operations continued, and eventually we went back in. And things got worse before they got better, and that left a big hole in how things were after we got home in 1991.

I think that if you're dealing with a Vet and his or her stories, it's up to you to choose what you believe and what you don't. If it eases a Vet's mind to make that one night in the Desert a little more than what it really was, maybe that's okay. Sometimes, a Vet just needs to talk for a while in order to sort things out, and inaccuracies that pop up aren't so bad. That's better than holding it all in.

Sometimes I think Vets try to make more of certain events as a way to avoid those things; we rewrite history in a way that is easier to deal with and talk about. We're trying to be in control of those memories. It takes a lot of energy to do that, and ultimately it fails. It seems like a good idea at the time.

It is a very big deal for a Vet to tell someone that they have PTSD. It's admitting that you have something wrong with you, and expecting the worst possible reaction. The evening news doesn't usually talk about the guy who overcame PTSD and got a degree, they talk about the guy who pulled out a rifle and shot up the grocery store. It's not fun when you're associated with people who shoot up grocery stores. We worry that someday it could be us on the news. And we worry that no one could ever possibly love us while we have these issues.

Given time and effort, things do get better. I've had that experience in my current relationship... there have been some real rough spots, but communication is the key to working things out. Both sides have to learn to trust each other, and it's often difficult. Try to ask small questions about the Desert. If your Vet doesn't want to talk about it then, that's okay. When the stories come out, let them come out. Listening to our stories helps. We need to know that we can rely on you, that you won't get scared, that you won't leave us because of our PTSD or other injuries.

Side note: Vet Centers are a good place to start with relationship issues. They're free, and available to family and friends who are dealing with Vets, in addition to the Vets themselves. They offer counseling and workshops that might help.

(Note to ____: Hope this helps.)

Oh look, it's the sun... woohoo!

2011-03-04T15:38:00.000-06:00

I'm gradually starting to come out of the fog that was February. It was a pretty unproductive month, I missed a lot of classes and some homework, and basically fell behind in all of my classes. I feel better since I've started trying to regulate my sleep pattern, although it's not a habit quite yet. I'm trying to self-enforce a rule of bedtime by 0230, so I can be up around 0930. The eventual goal is waking up and studying a bit before class every day, or getting things done around my apartment that need doing. A set sleep pattern also helps the meds work; if I sleep until 1100 in the morning, I've essentially missed my morning dose of bupropion, and often my first class as well. (I've noticed that sticking to a schedule every day with meds seems to help as well. Still working on that, too.)

I've also had trouble getting to the library; the one that's closest to my apartment is usually close to full at night, and I've found it difficult to study there. I have, however, found another library that's much less populated at night (although it's only open until 2000). If one option doesn't work, try another one. Some places are comfortable and some are not.

I (finally) went to talk to the disability resource center this week; I was very happy to find out that if you have a disability (such as PTSD) that keeps you from getting out of your apartment and off to class, there are accommodations that can be made. Deadlines can be extended on assignments, notes can be made available, a plan can be established for keeping up even while missing class. This all has to be negotiated with each professor, but having a letter from the disability resource center at least shows your request is legitimate.

It doesn't take much to fall behind, just a single assignment missed can throw you off. That anxiety spreads to other classes, and then you're walking around in the fog. It's difficult to ask for help when you're spiraling downward; you tell yourself that you can handle this, you just need to get caught up a little, but that never happens. Pretty soon you're afraid to go to class, much less sit down with all of your professors and ask for more time on assignments. Then you're afraid to leave your apartment. PTSD makes you avoid, numb, shut down. Next thing you know it's a month later and you're screwed if you don't do something.

(I've had this problem before, even before I knew I had PTSD, and it's taken a lot of work to get to a place where I can recognize what's going on. It still takes some distance for the train to stop, but it doesn't automatically derail.)

I managed to get to *most* of my classes this week; I have one class that I haven't been to for quite a while, and that's the one that causes me the most anxiety. I'm going to talk to that professor next week, and explain what's happening. I might even explain why my hands are shaking while I'm doing the explaining. Or not. This weekend, I'm headed to one of the libraries that's open late. I have assignments to finish.

It helps that the weather here has been a little better, too. I don't seem to handle the dead of winter very well.

Getting back on track, with a little help

2011-02-24T23:28:00.000-06:00

One of the hardest parts about PTSD is not always realizing that little things are building up. One day you slide, just a little. You'll make up for it tomorrow. Then comes the day when you don't, and the pattern develops and repeats. One day you wake up and realize you're probably in academic deep shit.

That makes you more anxious. Then you start doing things like staying home and not going to class. Not going to the library to study. Not doing homework. Things get very hopeless, very quickly. Pretty soon, you're (for all intents and purposes) not functioning.

That's when it's hardest to ask someone for help. Once you get wrapped up in the cycle of depression and anxiety and flashbacks and nightmares... you're afraid to do anything, much less go to a professor's office and tell them you're falling apart. I think this is another case of "you can't get there from here".

You can't just jump from being all messed up to being fine again.

I had a midterm exam tonight, which I was completely freaked out about. The past few days, it kept getting closer on my calendar. Tonight was actually a make-up exam, set up for students who couldn't (or didn't want to) take the exam last night. (I was working and doing another assignment at work last night.) So I looked at the homework, even the stuff I didn't do, and found out which sections were covered on the exam, and realized that it wasn't a lot of material. I also realized that all of the material was a duplicate of a class I took last semester. That's when I started to think I might be able to pull this off. I looked at the book, and my study guide from last semester's class, and pretty much knew all of the material.

I got lucky. If this had happened in another class, I'd have completely bombed that midterm.

---

I also talked to my contact at the campus disability resource center today and explained what's been going on this semester. It turns out that when a student is dealing with visions and nightmares and being afraid of leaving his/her apartment, that's considered a part of your disability. My paperwork was updated today to include a letter explaining what my disability is, and how it affects classes; it also suggests extending deadlines for assignments. (Me: Really? Seriously?) Faculty aren't required to grant you such extensions, but having a letter helps when you go to their office to ask.

It took a while for me to go ask for help; I knew I needed to go, but I couldn't make myself go.

It's taken a lot of trying, but I'm feeling a bit better- having a midterm out of the way is certainly a burden that's been lifted. I've tried to stabilize my sleeping pattern (bedtime 0230ish, up at 0930ish). I've tried to stabilize taking my medications, taking bupropion at the same times every day, and taking my sertraline and trazodone earlier in the evening (so I'm not as groggy when I wake up).

Welcome to my life.

Been there. Done that. What about here?

2011-02-15T17:23:00.000-06:00

Why am I stuck in this pattern, not taking care of myself and my surroundings as I should, not getting to class, becoming less and less engaged in life?ˆ

Life is good. I'm where I've always wanted to be, doing what I've always wanted to do. I should be happy. I should be productive. Should, should, should... yet I'm having trouble being here.

I have survived in situations where there was little hope. I have kept on living through places where I knew exactly how I'd end it, if it came to that. I have been hopeless, damn near homeless, broke, cold, and hungry. I've never starved, because I always seem to find a way to scrape together a day. Dollar menu at Burger King. Cheap ass mac and cheese. Hot dogs. Along with that, cold showers, candles for light, and no heat. And no one arriving at my door to save me.

I am here, physically, because I did what I had to do to survive for one more day. I just did that lots of times, and eventually-- by busting my ass and losing sleep-- I was able to take some baby steps forward.

Now I'm here, and I'm scared shitless.

I have four classes this semester. Two of them I am able to get to on a more or less regular basis. The other two, I'm scared to go to. The classrooms are crowded and somewhat noisy, which may be part of the problem. One class involves group work that I haven't yet gotten involved in, and that may contribute to the problem. I don't know for sure why I'm so anxious and scared of these classes, I just know that I am.

I'm also becoming more and more socially withdrawn. I've backed off from being involved in the student orgs I was active with the past two semesters. I feel like they're interesting, but not in terms of emotional support, which is what I really need.

This place, this university, this environment. It's perfect. It's everything. It's what I've worked for, just being here.

I'm not rich but the rent and bills are paid. I can order delivery or go out occasionally. I can buy things, some necessary and some not. I have enough supplies and books, and a new computer. Financially, I'm stable.

My classes, even the ones I'm so anxious about attending, are fascinating-- they're several notches above anything I've studied before. They didn't do stuff like this at the community college I attended, or the satellite (smaller) universities I attended.

I have a theory.

All of my life has been about getting from where I was, to someplace better. Incremental improvements, doing the best I could with what I had at the time. Survival for its own sake. Staying alive until I could escape, hopefully to somewhere better. I've had a lot of times when I ran into brick walls, and realized I couldn't get there from here-- so I had to find a different route, do more things before I could take that next step.

Where I am now, I don't want to run from. This is where I've been trying to get to all these years.

I'm scared. I'm where I want to be, but I'm scared.

I'm scared because it's all new. My life has never been about living in the moment, enjoying where I am, for very long. The days and times where I could just look around and say I was comfortable and happy and didn't need anything else... they're few, and far between.

I honestly don't know what it's like to have everything in order, or how to behave in that (this) kind of environment.

Chaos, danger, clutter, hanging on by a thread-- that stuff I'm good at.

Stuck points - part 2

2011-02-10T17:13:00.000-06:00

"Self," I says to myself, more than once, "you and I need to make a comeback. Get back in the game. Break this cycle, make the changes, tweak some things here and there, make it all right. Get back to normal.

And, so, while I've been trying for a very long time to "get back to normal", and while I've been moving forward a step at a time I have also been standing still.

This semester is not going well. I'm ok with my class material, meaning I generally understand what's going on, but I'm missing a lot of classes and not getting my assignments done. My apartment is a mess, my sleep schedule is fubar, I eat too much, and I don't have much social life. Even with all of the medication I'm on, I feel depressed. Without the pills, I'm sure I'd be in much worse shape. Whatever. Here I am.

Life is a journey, not a destination. Put one foot in front of the other. Take baby steps. Keep moving. You'll eventually get there. One day the clouds will clear, the sun will shine, the birds will sing and you will be happy. You will be free of all of this, and life will be wonderful and happy. You have to hang on, just a little longer. Take one day at a time.

If I can just make it through today, I can do better tomorrow. 365 days a year, over and over. Keep climbing that mountain. Reach for the top.

When you reach the summit, the very top of a mountain, and after you admire the view for a while... then what? What next? Where do you go from here?

Stand on the top of that mountain, and think about it. The only way to go is back down the mountain.

So much for all those supportive analogies about mountains.

I've been more or less anonymous for the 2+ years I've been writing this blog. I've done what I've always done, keep my pain and fear and anxiety in its own space even as I've written that doing so was the wrong thing to do.

I am not discounting the journey I've been on this far. Life is hard work, and I've had good and bad says, some better than others. Certain parts of my life stand out-- the four years I spent wearing a uniform, the 2+ years I spend overseas, the seven months I spent in the Desert, the hours I spent wearing a gas mask, and the minutes I spent running for a bunker as soon as I heard the click of the PA system.

I've been married, separated, divorced, foreclosed on. I've declared bankruptcy, the ultimate reset button. I've had days (and weeks) when I lived on ramen noodles and generic soda. I've also moved on, moved out, moved up, earned an associates degree, and transferred to a university where I'm surrounded by smart, motivated people. My coursework is logic, mathematics, analysis, algorithms, cryptography. Every day I learn a little bit more about how the world really functions, and every day I am amazed.

I don't want to make a comeback. A comeback means that you get another chance to do what you used to do, a chance to prove that even though it was in the past, you can still kick ass at the game. My past was anxious, confused, and depressing. There were good moments, yes, but overall, life for me meant being in places I didn't want to be. Getting through the day and wishing I were somewhere else. Why would I want to make a comeback to that?

I'm not back, and I have not arrived. I am simply here, where I want to be, doing the things I want to do. There is much work to be done-- I have to tweak things until I find the balance between sleeping, eating, classes, assignments, medications, life. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just be here, now. Proud of who I am and what I've done to get here. Making the most of being here.

Still gotta start getting to class, and getting my homework done. No change starts without an attitude adjustment.

Rough mornings, new therapy, rabbits. And the Grateful Dead.

2011-02-08T02:47:00.000-06:00

This entry rambles around for a bit, so you might want a fresh cup of coffee.

How a person wakes up tells a lot about the rest of the day-- wake up feeling good, the day is likely to go well. Decent breakfast, coffee, off to tackle whatever part of the world you're responsible for tackling. Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Yeah, right. My day (and my week) didn't start out quite so sunshiny and bright.

My first class on Mondays is at noon (hush, you in the back). Yesterday I worked a shift at both of my jobs, so I was on my feet from 0930 to 1530, and at my other job (which thankfully includes chairs) until 0100. On one hand, the money is nice; I'll have my credit card paid off again, and I can save a little bit for the rainy (here, snowy) day. Someone please remind me never to pull a double shift like that again.

Today I had my alarms (clock radio and cell phone) set for about 1030. While I have a hazy memory of hearing them and getting up to turn them off, I do remember falling asleep again. Before the first alarm, I was in the middle of a dream that was quickly turning into a nightmare--it starts with being back somewhere (the location varies, as does the environment). As the nightmare picks up steam, I encounter someone from my past, and suddenly we're friendly again. What happens next is pretty fuzzy, but the end is always the same. I decide that being in that place with that person isn't where I want to return to, and the dream ends with all the grace of a train derailment. Last night (this morning)'s dream was unusually disturbing at the end... that's often the reason I don't want to sleep enough. If I don't get into REM sleep, I don't dream.

It's possible that I've been taking my meds at odd times, which may have contributed to the problem. I think I took my sertraline and trazodone at around midnight, so that was probably late enough to jack up the chemical balance in my brain a bit. Anyway...

...I woke up a few minutes before my second class of the day. I hate walking into full classes late, I'm stressed enough when I get there on time. So my day was essentially spent getting ready to go to work again at 1600.

I am feeling very detached from my classes. They're a couple of blocks away, yet they seem like they're in a another time zone. Everything seems like it's in another time zone, reality and nightmares alike. While I fit in as as well as an older student can, and I'm happy with some things, my life isn't centered where I want it to be (on classes).

---

Enter ACT. Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. I've considered mindfulness before and done some work with breathing exercises, but this is new territory-- it seems to be the next step after Cognitive Based Therapy. I have only had one appointment that deals with ACT, and only read one article that describes what ACT is without going into details. So it is both a new beginning, and yet another step in this long strange trip I've been on for quite a while now. (I can't say a lot about ACT yet, because it's so new to me. I'll post more as I learn more.)

Yes, starting yet another therapy program.

One thing I've learned from all of this-- depression, anxiety, PTSD-- is that often, you can't get there from here. You have to complete one step before you attempt the next step. Baby steps. Getting through one phase give you the skills and knowledge to start working on the next phase. It's frustrating, especially at first, because you just want to get better and life to be normal. At the end of the current therapy, you want to walk outside and have the sun shining and cute fuzzy rabbits hopping around.

But you get the therapy and the medication and things aren't perfect yet. I suspect this is where people get frustrated with the VA-- you did what people told you to do, you went and "got help", so where are the damn fuzzy rabbits and sunshine?

I don't know either. But dammit, I'm determined. And, looking back, each step I've taken has been an overall positive step. There have been setbacks and speed bumps, but they have served as indicators that I needed additional help. If you'd told me when I first returned to school that I'd be doing the stuff I'm doing now, I wouldn't have believed you.

Actually, the Grateful Dead did a better job explaining it...

Talking to veterans

2011-02-03T17:57:00.000-06:00

A question came up recently: how should you act when "dealing with" a Vet with PTSD?

I cannot speak for everyone. We've all had unique experiences, and while we all share some things, each person handles those things in their own way. My advice is how I'd prefer people to act.

Don't tell me that war is an ugly business. I already know about that part. Wars have always been a part of humanity. America has been at war since before America was a country. No matter how many bumper stickers you put on your car, wars won't go away just because you think war is ugly.

Please don't sneak up on me. You don't have to announce your presence in the room, but shuffle one foot or cough or something so I know you're there. I'll probably turn around to see who you are, and normal human interaction can then take place. (I may still jump or startle when you make noise on the way in, but that's better than looking up and suddenly seeing you.)

Because of all of the medication I'm on, and because I just don't drink much anymore, I'll often ask for coffee or O'Doul's when offered a beer. I also tend to be quiet for a while at public gatherings (ie, in a bar) until I get used to the environment. There are people in the world that are offended by that; "what, my beer is too good for you?" or "come on, be social!". If you know me well enough to know that I have PTSD, you probably know that this is normal behavior for me. If you don't, please don't take offense if I'm not the loudest person in the group or if I'm staying sober.

No matter how hard I try to hide it, my hands will shake. Sometimes it's very noticeable, sometimes not. Other times, I'm shaky all over. I'm okay. If I can't stop it, you can't either. If you don't know me, please don't say anything. I'm not having a seizure or anything like that. It'll pass. (When making new friends or working with new people, I'll usually mention the shaking on my own.)

While I know in some cultures (and some families) being physically close to the person you're talking to is normal, it's not normal for me. I like my space. If I take a step back, it's a subtle reminder. If you continue to invade my space, the next reminder will be far less subtle. Along with that, don't assume I want a hug (mainly in family situations). It's good to know that you're happy to see me, but again, I value my personal physical space.

When you watch the news, you hear about the bad things. Vets that commit suicide. Homeless veterans. Vets that just "lose it" and end up in jail. Vets who drink too much, smoke too much, and get into drugs (and any of that is too much). You'll see people say online that you should run like hell rather than get emotionally involved with a veteran who has PTSD. Who knows when he or she might crack, go crazy, hurt someone? Unfortunately, these things do happen-- but we don't all do those things. Many of us are just hard working people trying to do the best we can.

If you take nothing else away from this post, take this: Veterans are Americans just like you. Some of us are rich, and some of us are homeless. Some of us are stable, and some of us are less stable. Still others aren't stable at all. Extend to us the same courtesy, politeness, and respect that you would expect to receive from us.

Foraging for groceries, the hard way

2011-01-31T01:26:00.000-06:00

Last night I looked into my empty fridge and nearly empty cupboards, quickly reaching the conclusion that I needed to go grocery shopping. The forecast 15+ inches of snow that may arrive this week influenced my decision. My favorite pizza place probably won't deliver in a foot of snow.

I imagine that the threat of that much snow has me a ~~little~~ lot anxious. There are preparations, sir, and procedures to follow.

Normally, I prefer to go grocery shopping after about 2300. The store is quieter, there are less people banging carts around, blindly blocking entire aisles, and playing road warrior to get where they're going before I do. I've always liked going foraging for groceries late at night, but lately stores here have stopped being open 24 hours. Most of them close at 2300 now, except for the Super Wal-Mart on the other side of town. (I'm not a huge fan of Wal-Mart, and even less so late at night.)

Last night, I got in the car to go get food at around 1915 and arrived at the nearest supermarket about ten minutes later. There are actual grocery stores where I live-- small, usually locally owned, and usually more expensive. It's harder to find a parking place at the small stores, too. So off to the local megafood place.

When I arrived I found an empty parking space right away, but there was someone in the next space stowing groceries in their trunk. Which was fine, but that person was blocking the space I wanted to park in. The person stood there for another minute or two, most likely wondering where the orange blinking light was from (Hint: it's a signal meaning someone wants to turn into the space next to you), and then finally noticing the rattle rattle thunder clatter boom boom boom of my 15 year old car that has a bad muffler. "Oh, do you want to park here?"

You can see where this shopping trip is headed, right?

Okay, so finally parked and headed into the store, grab a cart, head inside to the produce section. Decided I wanted some apples, so reached for one of those plastic produce bags. As I was about to grab one, dude comes up from behind me, bumps into me, and grabs a bag. Perhaps he's got somewhere important to be on a Sunday night after grocery shopping, or maybe he's just a douchebag. So okay, I get my apples, bag 'em up, and try to head down the aisle to get something else, and there's Mr. Bag, cart parked so it's blocking the aisle, on his cell phone.

It took a lot of effort not to yell "MAKE A HOLE!" as loud as I possibly could. Maybe I should have.

Next up-- the beer section, where I grabbed a six pack of real beer (livin' the High Life), and a 12 pack of O'Douls. Random guy: "Hittin' the hard stuff, eh?" Scared the crap outta me. I replied as calmly as I could, "Yeah, I can't drink much, I'm on three different psychiatric drugs." He backed away, slowly. Note that's two different people that approached me from behind in the space of about ten minutes. At this point my hands are shaking, a little.

No one else snuck up on me, but it was the same some playing-- every time I turned a corner, I was almost run down by someone who just had to get to the next aisle before me. The aisle always had someone parked blocking the entire aisle. Sometimes there was someone in front of me blocking the aisle, and someone behind me blocking the aisle. Okay, not cool. Now my hands are shaking a lot. My ring is hitting the snap on the cuff of my jacket, making a tink-tink-tink sound.

Please, good citizens, don't sneak up on people. Do what I do when I'm approaching someone from behind-- drag a foot on the ground or floor, and make your foot go scrrritch (or squeak) so I know you're behind me.

And it got worse from there. It wasn't that being in a grocery store reminded me of anything in particular, but it felt crowded and noisy and threatening-- sort of like a cork floating down the river, getting banged on rocks that appear from both sides. Maybe there were less and less people there after a while, or maybe I looked unstable and shaky enough that people just started quietly sliding out of the way. Both are possible.

I was a little lucky, and found a checkout lane with no waiting. My hands were shaking so much at this point that I came close to dropping several things, some made of glass and some not. I got carded for the beer, which was ok-- that store cards anyone that looks younger than 35, so I must be doing something right. I made it through checking out and such ok, but if anyone had been between me and the door, I'd have run them over with my cart without hesitation.

This is why I like grocery shopping after 2300 or so. Less people, less noise, less congestion. I know that the idea is to learn to deal with those kinds of situations better, so you can lead a "normal" life-- getting groceries is certainly a "normal" activity. But I won't go grocery shopping that early again. Call it avoidance if you will, but I see no point in forcing myself into what I know will be a bad situation. It's not that I was feeling all that great before going shopping, but it took a good two hours after I got home to bring myself down to a level I'd call stable. I have enough stress in my life without having to cowboy up for "normal" situations.

I don't like feeling or sounding angry and bitter. Not at all.

Swimming upstream

2011-01-30T14:33:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I know, I'm writing a lot the past few days. Some weeks are like that. I'm two weeks into the semester, and feeling a bit out of sorts. I haven't spent much time at all studying. I like all of my classes, and find them interesting, but once I'm out of class I don't seem to be able to open the books. Once I get home, I don't even look at the books.

Which isn't right-- yet I'm still avoiding studying.

I suspect it's two major things going on. First, every day now is another 20th anniversary of a day of Desert Storm. I can't tell you exactly where I was standing, if I was on day shift or night shift, or what I was doing at any given moment twenty years ago. I do know I always had my gas mask strapped to my hip.

Second, there were a lot of things that I did, or that happened, after I came back that I haven't come to terms with. Why did I stay married so long, and why didn't I see what was going on? Why did I act the way I did during and after the divorce? Why did I let things get that bad? More important-- how do these things fit into my life now? Do they matter? Can I forgive myself? What if someone found out about them? (Let's just say I wasn't always an angel for a couple of years there, k?)

The things I learned growing up, and the things that happened as an adult, taught me certain things that turned out to be not so good. It is true that I did the best I could at the time, knowing only what I knew, but still bad situations repeated themselves. It was making myself numb enough that I didn't feel anything, no emotion or pain, so I could get through the bad situations because I had to-- I'd shut my brain down so I couldn't talk myself out of getting into those places.

Now, it's today. I'm trying to make a pretty big leap-- the kid who barely graduated high school and dropped out of my first attempt at college is now taking upper level courses at a major research university. I have to spend energy convincing myself that I really belong here. Everyone else seems to be doing better than I am.

These be dangerous words.

I carry around a lot of guilt and a lot of shame. So many times, success has been met with failure. Having to recover from a crash, survive, rebuild-- I know these things because I've been doing them for most of my life. I don't want to air my entire life out for the world, I want all of those memories and events to disappear. I want them gone so I can just be me, clear conscience in hand. It's like swimming upstream. The more success I have, the more I'm reminded of the times when I did something wrong, did something foolish or stupid. I've carried that guilt and shame around for so long that I feel naked without it.

So maybe that's why, when I'm faced with doing everyday things like laundry or housework, or reading and homework, I feel anxious. Having all of that stuff under control is something I've never had on a consistent basis. It's hard to live a normal life when I'm so good at leading a chaotic one.

Another day, another appointment

2011-01-28T17:13:00.000-06:00

The VA Hospital here is a quiet place late on Friday afternoon. Or at least, as quiet as it ever gets during daylight hours. As I discovered when I called to let the mental health clinic know I'd be a few minutes late, the computer system that holds appointments was down. (I haven't heard "the system is down" in quite a while, anywhere. Usually it's "the xyz server is down"). If today was a few years ago, I'd be highly agitated, upset, and overall pissed off. Today wasn't such a big deal, though-- my new social worker was at the check in desk waiting for me.

The appointment went well; he'd already reviewed my records, knew what medications I'm on and what therapy I'd already had. We went over the self assessment I'd filled out when I arrived (get used to filling those out), and discussed PTSD a bit, along with some of the trust issues I have regarding relationships with other people. We also talked about mindfulness, learning how to deal with things in the present instead of letting your brain do things on automatic. I've heard about mindfulness before, and even tried working with it a little. My opinion: I had to get farther along the path to find a place where being mindful is realistic. I think that when you're ass deep in a bucket of your life falling apart, you need to work on getting the basics covered (food, clothing, shelter), getting your life settled down a bit (in my case, divorce, bankruptcy, and moving to a different city), and then moving forward from there. It makes sense for me now, where it didn't make sense earlier (ie, before I got into cognitive based therapy, medication, and then a lot of me working on things on my own).

Standard disclaimer: I'm not a doctor, social worker, or counselor of any sort. Everyone's different. Your mileage may vary.

I haven't read much about mindfulness. I've heard a little bit about it. I learned a little more today, and I'm sure that in the near future, I'll have more to say about it.

There's something else I noticed about my appointment today; well, two things. When we were talking about what kinds of therapy I'd be working on (mindfulness, as well as more cognitive based therapy), my social worker made it a point to mention that these are overall productive forms of therapy. I heard the same thing about all of the medications I'm on from my psychiatrist. My social worker (and my psychiatrist, when first discussing medication) also asked me if this therapy sounded like a good idea to me.

I've heard vets both online and off talk about medications or various kinds of therapy being pushed on them-- that's never happened to me. Whatever provider I'm seeing has always explained what they have in mind (and why), and given me the option to go ahead (or not). You can always ask why, or for additional information, or just say "no, I don't feel comfortable with that." I suppose it seems that you're being steamrolled; when you walk in and tell your story, the folks at the VA are pretty quick to suggest something, be it medication or therapy or both. As someone once explained, the VA has a lot of experience dealing with vets having problems. They're getting better at it all the time. It's not a perfect system (ie, the computer system was down), but you and I are not the first vet they've ever seen.

They know what works.

Fear of a crowded classroom

2011-01-25T20:45:00.000-06:00

So far, the semester's going okay-- then again, it's only the first week.

I'm having difficulty getting to one of my classes, the one I have at 1100 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The room was full the first day of classes, and I had grab a chair/desk from the next room so I'd have a place to sit down. It's a fairly small classroom. I'm honestly afraid to go to that class because the room is so completely full; and I haven't gone since the first day of classes.

No one there is likely to hurt me. Nothing bad is likely to happen. I tell myself that, but the idea of going to that class feels incredibly uncomfortable.

To some extent, I've been learning to tolerate those types of feelings. I generally don't force myself into places where I feel uncomfortable. I know that what I need to do is examine why I feel uncomfortable there, express the emotions, and challenge those feelings. It's me avoiding that class that has me concerned... I need to find a way to make peace with the feelings enough that I can go to that class twice a week.

I feel like I'm avoiding the issue. The right thing to do is grab the binder of stuff I had from my 12-week cognitive therapy program, and go through the steps to challenge my fear of going to that class. I've known I needed to do that since I missed class this morning, but it's getting to be late evening and I haven't done anything about it yet.

It's frustrating... I know I've come so far and made so much progress, and I want to be able to do the basics (getting to class, but other things too) without the PTSD getting in the way. Fighting my way over, under, and around obstacles gets tiring sometimes.

I'm going to get done what I can tonight-- I finally have all of my books, so I can get caught up with the first chapters that I haven't read yet. It is the same battle I fought last semester, wanting to hole up in my apartment. I feel like I'm not really living when I'm just sitting at home not getting anything accomplished, yet I'm very nervous about going somewhere to study.

First week of class is done.

2011-01-21T14:51:00.000-06:00

I made it through the first week. That's a start.

Some observations from this week:

All of my classes are either full, or very close to full. I'm okay with that, as long as I can sit in a safe place; back row is preferable, back corner is perfect. If I can't get there, sitting on the wall opposite the door is tolerable. (I've tried the rule where you get more out of a class if you sit in the front row, but that just doesn't work for me.)
I'm far more comfortable in a class if I get there a few minutes early. Being early gives me a minute to get my coat off, switch glasses, find the right binder, and look at where the last lecture ended (in other words, get my mind working on the subject at hand).
It took a little while to find some of my classes, figure out where the easiest entrance/exit was, and (critically important) find the nearest bathroom to all of my classes.
One of my classes in particular involves a lot of handouts-- for this class, I take notes in my Livescribe notebook, and on the handouts I reference the notebook page where the actual notes are. Part of my studying routine for that class is transferring the notes to the actual handouts (meaning I see it twice, once in lecture and once on my own).
I can look around in any class, and see one or two people never pick up a pen and look terminally bored while I fill page after page of notes. I'm also the only one in the room using a Livescribe pen. My first semester here, I paid a lot of attention to my classmates. Now, I don't pay them much attention at all. (This is probably due to my success last semester, which convinced me that I belong here, and the effects of the meds I've been taking.)
I am enjoying being in class. It's all math, logic, and abstraction, and material from the classes I had last semester is showing up again this semester. That continuity is very reassuring. I'm as trained as anyone else in each of my classes. I can do this.

Overall, I'm feeling better about school this semester. Things here are familiar now, and last semester's grades feel good. I'm still on academic probation, and I can still do better getting things done and keeping up with homework. There will, I'm sure, be many stressful moments this semester. Life isn't perfect, but I will say it's a bit better.

PTSD therapy in a virtual world

2011-01-20T20:35:00.002-06:00

(Please see update at the end of this post.)

You may have heard about virtual reality being used to help people with PTSD. Until now, I hadn't had any exposure to the idea, but then I saw this article talking about the T2 Virtual PTSD Experience. It's an island in Second Life that's set up to allow you to get information on PTSD in a very interactive setting. In order to get there, you need to sign up for a free account on Second Life, download the software, and login. Once you're logged in, you get a short interactive tour to learn how to move around in Second Life, and a chance to set up your avatar.

More detailed instructions are here (t2health.org). There's a video there that describes how the experience is set up, and what to expect when you get there (watching it convinced me to try visiting.)

I think one of the most helpful things about the Experience is that you're anonymous-- you can set up whatever username you want, dress the way you want, and unless you engage in conversation, it's a solo experience. You will probably see other avatars walking around, so you're not technically alone, but you aren't required to interact with anyone. I found it to be a good experience, although there were a few times in the mall that I was startled by images and noise-- but that's how the real world can be.

There is also a conference center, and even a bar in the mall. The Experience may be a good place for vets to meet up without all of the stuff the real world adds on. Hmm.

Anyway, go check it out.

Article on defense.gov: http://www.defense.gov/news/newsarticle.aspx?id=62501

Everything you need to know to get started: http://www.t2health.org/vwproj/index.htm

Second Life: http://www.secondlife.com

Update: since writing this post, I've had two comments posted regarding Fearless Nation (http://fearless-nation.org/), including one from Colleen M. Crary, the founder of the organization-- definitely go check them out by clicking on the comments link below.

The use of virtual reality to cope with PTSD is still really new to me. My first experience with the concept was a few days ago when I initially wrote this post, and I'd never come across Fearless Nation's website (or presence in Second Life). If anyone has any additional virtual reality and PTSD resources that are publicly available, please let me know and I'll be very happy to pass the word.

Back for yet another semester

2011-01-17T23:58:00.000-06:00

It's the day before the semester starts, yet again.

It's also the day when 20 years ago, I was putting on chem warfare gear in the middle of the Desert. It seems so long ago, and yet I can hear the SCUD alerts. I still remember which way to run to get to the underground bunker. Time isn't a time line for me. There's not much difference between yesterday and today. That's what PTSD ultimately does to you-- it causes you to lose where you are in time.

At this point, the last two semesters are in the past, where I cannot do anything about them. One bad semester, followed by one pretty good semester. I'm at least pointed in the right direction.

I've been a little isolated from campus over the break, even though I work on campus. It's quiet around here when most of the students go home for winter break. Those who left are back now, maybe sleeping and maybe not. I enjoy the quiet during breaks. There's a low hum on campus, since buildings are still partially occupied. Most of the staff, and some of the faculty, are here over breaks.

I pretty much know the drill now. I know which buildings all of my classes are in. Two of them are in buildings that I've passed through, but never had a class in, so finding them will be part of the adventure tomorrow. It's still hard to believe that this will be my third semester here, and that it starts for me at 1100 tomorrow. I'm excited, and anxious, and a little scared.

Starting this semester, all of my meds are pretty much kicked in. I take one pill (bupropion) in the morning, and again at 1500. Then I take 1 1/2 sertraline, and usually four trazodone before bed. I occasionally get headaches, and for those I take Extra Strength Excedrin (which is pretty good stuff). I think that the combination of pills will make this semester even better. Fall semester was validation that I could do well here (especially considering all of the rather desperate moments I had during that semester).

I've also been here long enough now that I know a fair number of people, many of whom I consider friends. Outside of the veterans group here, I don't advertise that I'm a veteran-- most people here seek to blend in, and I've found that to be a good strategy. Most of the people I know at work know I'm a vet, but it's generally not an issue. I've worked with other younger students, and haven't had any problems either. I fit in with twenty-somethings better than I fit in with my own age.

Still, though, I get anxious. With all the meds, sometimes my hands shake to the point where if anyone's paying attention they have to notice. I try to hide it when my hands are in earthquake mode. I suspect that all of the meds somewhat enhance the effects of caffeine, aka my coping drug of choice. I'm still gonna drink my coffee though. Maybe not as much. I have gotten better at removing myself from situations where I'm triggered; I suppose at some point it would be good to not have to avoid crowds and noisy places, but at this point heading down the hall and outside for a minute or two does the job.

It is possible to get through college with PTSD. I have an associates degree and an improving GPA to prove it. Tonight, I'm reminding myself that while it's not easy, ever, I'm getting a little better at this college stuff. It's taken therapy, medication, disability support, and just plain determination.

Right now, though, I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.

New beginnings

2011-01-10T20:15:00.000-06:00

I'm in class early this semester-- taking a week long class for work, that reviews some old things and teaches me a few new things. It's actually fun. Lots of hands on instead of death by PowerPoint. I'll be in class from 9-5ish every day, with an exam on Friday where I have to get a certain score in order to get the certification that's offered with the course. It's a lot of information in a short time, but it's all stuff I'm interested in, so I'm enjoying it.

Next week it starts for real again. This time last year, I still hadn't been to transfer orientation and so still hadn't signed up for any classes. I had no real idea what I was getting myself into, and so I wasn't very prepared. This semester, I'm on medication(s), and going to have psych support all semester, and in general I'm used to being here now. There's no more wondering where things are. Yet, it does start again for real.

I'm still on academic probation this semester, so I'm still walking the same thin line. I have no choice-- I have to get my GPA up this semester, or I'm out. That's a lot of pressure. I'm trying not to look at it that way. In my last semester, I just slogged forward, never gave up trying, and things came out okay. I'm not sure how dangerously I was living, though. In two of my classes, passing grades may have been met by a point or two. My classes don't get any easier.

I initially signed up for 15 credits for spring, but I've already dropped that down to 12 (yes, even before classes start). Continuing on probation means I need to keep my workload manageable. I need lots of free time to study, sleep, and occasionally relax a little. It's all math and logic and comp sci, and I'm looking forward to the semester.

Another semester of experience under my belt. A few more lessons learned. Forward.

Medication and therapy adjustments

2011-01-06T14:44:00.000-06:00

I met with my psychiatrist again this week, who added another medication to my list: bupropion (aka Wellbutrin). I've made some progress with the sertraline and trazodone, but I'm still having depression and PTSD issues. I feel a bit better since I found out I did pretty well last semester, but in general I'm still feeling a bit down and a bit anxious. There's an inventory that the VA has you fill out that asks the same questions every time you go to an appointment-- the score of that inventory is a measure of how you're feeling overall. My scores have remained fairly high (lower is better) and so bupropion was prescribed as an addition to my other meds, rather than starting something completely new.

In my wallet, I keep a card with my psychiatrist's number, my clinic's number, and a list of the meds (and doses) I'm taking-- and a note that says I'm a veteran with PTSD. While I don't expect to end up in a situation where someone has to look in my wallet to figure out what to do with me, you never know what might happen. I've already updated my card with the new information. (I've considered having it all stamped on dog tags.)

My doc also put in a referral for one-on-one therapy with another psychiatrist. I requested the additional therapy, and since the cognitive PTSD therapy worked very well for me, my doc agreed that more psychotherapy would be a good idea. That means I'll be reassigned to a team at the main VA hospital, and a new psychiatrist and primary care provider. As my current doc explained, patients are now being assigned to a team rather than a clinic or just being thrown into an appointment pool. As a patient, I'll have one team of providers. My providers will also be able to share information about me, so I won't have to explain my entire life every time I see a doc or a nurse.

Side note: Everything from the meds and doses, to appointments, to getting back into therapy, has been a cooperative effort between me, my doc, and the clinic (and hospital) staff. No one has ever said "You have to...". If you've never been in therapy or on meds, it probably seems like the whole plan is laid out for you-- I think that's because the providers at the VA are used to dealing with vets, and they have some courses of action in mind that work for most vets. Every decision has always been subject to my approval, though. It's okay to ask questions.

Fall semester 2010. Success.

2011-01-06T14:15:00.000-06:00

I've received my grades for fall semester 2010. I was honestly afraid to look, because failing even one class would mean I'd lose my financial aid and be required to take a year off from my current school. It turns out that I didn't need to worry.

I pulled out a 2.6 gpa for the semester, which includes passing the two classes I'd failed the semester before. The scorecard: C,C,B,AB. (I did bail on my one credit class that was credit/no credit. That was a matter of cutting my losses, and concentrating on the graded classes.) I'm still on academic probation for another semester, so I still need to do a little better. But it's easier when you're part way up the mountain, rather than at the bottom looking up.

There were some desperate times this past semester. I missed more classes than I should have, and I missed turning in some assignments. There were nights I couldn't sleep, days when I slept too much, and times when I was doing anything but work on classes. On the other hand, there were some awesome times-- I managed to ace a couple of assignments. My professors and teaching assistants were helpful all semester long in getting test taking accommodations arranged. My doc and the staff at the VA hospital and clinic really stepped up for me. And the Livescribe Smartpen I had on loan from the disability resource center saved my ass on more than one occasion.

I wish I could write down a formula that would define exactly what it takes to have a decent semester, especially after having a terrible semester. It's hard to bounce back. The medication (sertraline and trazodone) certainly helped. Being able to take tests in quiet rooms was amazingly helpful. I can't say enough about the Livescribe Smartpen for taking and recalling notes.

I made a lot of tradeoffs-- this assignment is more important than that one, studying for that exam is more important than going to this class. There were nights I had to bail on work because I had an exam the next day. Or I'd order in food because I didn't have time to go grocery shopping. It's a constant balancing act. Give a little here, take a little there. Make more coffee.

Most important though, is that through the entire semester, and through the last minute of the last of my final exams, I never ever gave up.

Christmas is over for another year. Whew.

2010-12-28T15:29:00.000-06:00

I'm back home from a trip to see an old friend and his wife (and family). Christmas is over, and I managed to survive it again this year. So, a few observations.

Shopping sucks. Too many people trying to get too many places, and far too much noise going on from too many directions. How does a person not feel anxious with all of that going on? The mall has to be the worst, because there's really nowhere quiet to hide. You can't find a part of a store where someone won't bounce up to you and ask if they can help you. ("Yes, you can help me. GTFO.") The most respite from the noise and people that I found was stepping outside-- and even then, there was a Salvation Army bell ringer. I discovered that he stopped ringing his bell if no one was near the door, so I went for a walk a few feet down the sidewalk.

Video games suck too. I was able to deal with Call of Duty-Black Ops being played all week; my combat experience wasn't ground pounding, so in general, first person shooters don't bother me too much. It was the kids games with the repeatingly repetitive noises and sounds that grated on my nerves. It seems that any game involving Mario requires a sequence of seven or eight notes that are played again and again, no matter what happens in the game. Drove. Me. Crazy.

It is a challenge to get ten or eleven family members, some of whom are kids, to get ready and get in the car and go anywhere. It's like trying to herd cats. Those who are married get on each others nerves, and so they're fighting, the kids want this or don't want that, the people who are in from out of town just have to suck it up. I made it a point to ride shotgun, which kept me from being crowded in to the back of a van and gave me a good view of the road ahead. I found that tracking where we were (my phone does GPS) brought a little bit of sanity to the situation. (Or, maybe it just gave me something to do to keep my mind occupied.)

The folks I was visiting had a cat, and the presence of a furry creature had me looking into a service dog, but I'm not certain it would be a good fit. I still manage to get to work and the grocery store, so I don't think of myself as being "disabled" in the same sense as recent combat vets might be. (The NY Times has a April 2010 article about service dogs if you're interested.) Would I love to have a constant furry footed companion? Of course. I'm a dog person. But, I live alone in an apartment where I'm not home all that much. So a cat may be an acceptable compromise.

Finally, I haven't looked at most of my final grades this semester. I'm not sure I'm ready to see them.

Dealing with PTSD and the holidays, again.

2010-12-20T15:54:00.000-06:00

Christmas is approaching yet again.. the holidays. *sigh*

This is a hard time of year to deal with. Every other commercial on TV is about the gifts you should be getting and the gifts you should be giving. (If I see another ad for a shaver, diamonds, or a Lexus, I'm just gonna scream.) There are also so many "home for the holidays" commercials, where someone arrives home and walks in the door, and the whole family is there, and everything's all warm and cozy and wonderful. Then there's Christmas shopping, which involves Christmas traffic, Christmas crowds, and just a general mass of people "trying to get everything done" in time. Chaotic is a good word for what Christmas feels like. War is another.

Please don't misunderstand-- Christmas isn't combat. But when you're in the midst of the crowds that like to push and shove, and the noise, and the lights, and the traffic, and overheating while you're waiting in line, it's hard to not feel triggered. Add to that the house crowded with family, kids running around, the TV, the Christmas music, it's hard not to feel completely overwhelmed. You're supposed be in a festive mood, people say. Don't be a grinch. Why aren't you having fun? Here, come talk to so and so.

If you're really lucky, you run into someone you recognize as a veteran, and you grab your coats and head out to the garage to swap stories while Christmas goes on without you.

In the Desert, the arrival of Christmas meant that war was coming soon. The UN had already set the deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait, and we knew the war was going to happen. In my shop, we didn't go too crazy with Christmas. It was just another day in the Desert, because thinking about Christmas involved thinking about all we missed from home, and that didn't help a whole lot. (Although we did enjoy the cookies and peanut brittle that arrived almost daily.)

So, how do you cope with all of this Christmas cheer? First, go read "PTSD and Holidays" at patiencepress.com. There are other articles there that you will find helpful as well. Patience's suggestions are the best I've come across.

Second, here's my plan for the holidays. I will be traveling this year, and spending Christmas with a buddy from Desert Storm and his family. So I'll get to experience the joy of flying three days before Christmas. I'm looking forward to the trip. I actually like flying, although it's not quite as comfortable as it used to be. I'm also driving to the next city over, because I wasn't able to get a flight out from my local airport, and the weather today is supposed to be icky. Hopefully by the time I'm ready to head out, things will have cleared up.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to handle the family atmosphere. My plan is to talk to my friend and his wife, let them know how I'm feeling, and let them know that I might not be feeling festive-- and that it's not their fault. I've discovered that letting people around you know what's going on helps. If you're feeling bad about the holidays and people don't know about the PTSD or the anniversary or just feeling uncomfortable, they're liable to think you're just being an ~~asshole~~ scrooge. I don't think you or I have to explain everything to everyone, but at least let someone know that you're not feeling well and what will make things better for you. Or that you just need space.

I'm also doing a couple of small, unseen things-- making sure I have meds with me. Keeping my psychiatrist's business card in my wallet, with my meds written down, next to my VA card. (The hope is that if I ever find myself in a situation where I can't help myself, the cop or EMT who finds me will check my wallet and see that they're dealing with a veteran and act accordingly.) I also have my psychiatrist's number, and 1-800-273-TALK in the contacts list on my phone. Just in case.

I'm not planning to drink much, if at all, over the holidays. Alcohol doesn't play well with my meds, and since I'm going to be in an unfamiliar environment, I don't want to take chances. I've learned that it's perfectly acceptable to participate in a toast with a cup of coffee or can of soda. (Near beer is also a good option. Most people see a bottle of O'Doul's in my hand and never give it a second glance.)

Finally, I'm going to try to relax a little, and just let the past few months process and sort themselves out. I've had so much going on, I just feel a bit tired.

That's the plan, anyway. Happy Holidays, all. Stay safe and warm.

Another VA appointment

2010-12-14T16:27:00.000-06:00

I'm scheduled for monthly appointments with my psychiatrist, and today marked a month-- so I went in for an appointment today. There's a lot to the saying "once you're in the system, things get easier". I was able to make another appointment for next month before I left, and check on the refills I have left for my medications.

In general, things are so-so. I've been up all night more than once lately, not studying or accomplishing anything, but just not sleeping. It's not that I can't sleep, it's that I don't want to go to bed. I've been dreaming a little more lately-- not every night, and not like you see in the movies, where the veteran wakes up screaming or in a cold sweat (or both). I generally sleep through the story, and then when I wake up in the morning, I remember just enough to feel really out of sorts. My dreams are disturbing. I've also noticed my hands shaking a lot lately; this morning taking a test, my hands were shaking so much I couldn't read the papers I was holding. And finally, I've been really reluctant to leave my apartment lately.

I told my doc about all of these things, and contrary to the idea that the VA does nothing but push meds, she decided to keep me where I am with meds and doses. (A quote from my doc: "I don't want to just give you lots of different kinds of medications. Let's give the current ones some time to work.") My dose of sertraline was recently upped to 150mg, and it's supposed to take a couple of weeks to kick in. The dreams (hell, let's just call them nightmares, they're weird enough) are supposed to be smacked down by the trazodone; the fact that I've had more dreams very recently might be due to the added stress of final exams, so we decided to wait until after finals and see how I'm doing then.

I'll always say this, but it bears repeating-- don't let other people ranting about how screwed up the VA is decide if you should go to a VA hospital or clinic. My experience with the VA has been overwhelmingly positive. Yes, there have been SNAFUs, but they've always been fixed on the spot. Go to the VA for help. They do good work. They'll take good care of you if you let them.

A crazy amount of snow

2010-12-12T15:14:00.000-06:00

Yesterday and last night, a large and powerful winter storm passed through here, soon to be followed by wind and some serious cold air. I stayed up most of the night, struggling to focus on reading I needed to do for one my my classes. I eventually got it done, with a lot of checking weather sites looking at the storm, and with a lot of remembering the Desert. But it was slow going.

In the Midwest, when a major blizzard is forecast to come through there are certain things you do out of habit before it arrives. Check the gas tank, make sure you have food and drink (I walked to the store in the rain yesterday to get more coffee), make sure the laptop and phone are charged in case power goes out. And, you watch the weather to see how much more snow you're going to get and how cold it's going to be after it stops snowing.

One of the habits I've picked up over my life, and especially from my time in the Desert, is always needing to know what's going on around me. A blizzard blowing through is a very good time to know what's going on, but not when it costs a night of not sleeping followed by a morning wasted sleeping-- all of this the weekend before final exams. Similarly, the month before the war you've been helping set up is going to start, you become an information junkie. Anything that will help you stay alive, you want to learn.

More than once, in the early hours of this morning, I caught myself looking at a low pressure system moving in from Iowa in the same way I looked northward at Iraq's dug in army and threat of chemical weapons.

It is difficult to be in the here and now, when so much happened in the there and then.

December 2010 marks the second anniversary of me blogging about PTSD and college, therapy and medication, social interactions, and life as a student veteran. It'll be a while before I graduate, and the struggle to cope continues, so I'm sure I'll have more to say. Thanks for reading.

On campus resources for veterans

2010-12-11T12:32:00.000-06:00

Last night was the last meeting of the semester for my student veterans organization. We had speakers in addition to normal club business, and some excellent information was passed on-- here's a summary of the most important info, finding help from on campus agencies.

One speaker was from the student health clinic on campus, and she talked about the counseling services as well as the medical services provided by the clinic. I've actually used the counseling services, and found them to be very helpful-- what makes an on campus clinic different than the VA hospital/clinic or Vet Center is that campus counselors are familiar with issues faced by students. I know a lot of veterans, me included, start out with the impression that these counselors don't know about the issues faced by veterans. That's true, to some degree; but they can still be very helpful in dealing with day to day issues. A campus counseling service or clinic can also be a way to "test the waters"; if you're having trouble with school (or life in general), you can try talking to a professional without having to jump into the VA's system right away. If it turns out you need more assistance than the campus clinic can provide, you'll at least have some idea what you're getting into.

The other speaker was from the campus disability resource center. There is a real tendency, I think, for student veterans to not talk about having problems dealing with school. We hear so often that because of our military service and what we've learned, we can ace classes-- and that's not always true. Yes, we've learned discipline and motivation, but classes can be difficult and we can have trouble adjusting. It's hard to look in the mirror one day and see a "disabled student" looking back at you. (I wrote about this last semester, when I first talked to the disability resource center.) That's why I made it a point during the meeting to talk about my very positive experience getting help with testing and note taking accommodations. My theory is that even though no one wants to talk about it, hearing that someone else has been through the process and turned out ok will remove the barriers to getting help.

It's okay to walk into an office, and just say "This isn't working, I need help." If you're not sleeping right, not eating right, having trouble getting homework done, feeling angry or frustrated or detached, you probably need some assistance. That doesn't take anything away from your military service, or your career as a student.

Classes, meds, and memories

2010-12-07T15:22:00.000-06:00

A situation report... this post rambles a little, but it's me trying to line up the thoughts in my head. The past couple of weeks have been a struggle.

I've been missing class a lot since Thanksgiving, staying inside my apartment, generally withdrawing from life. It's not a total, complete withdrawal, but it's dangerously close. I made it to both of my classes today... last night I decided that hell or high water, I was going to get to class today. Getting there was a little rough. While I felt okay when I woke up, as class time got closer I felt worse. I had to coach myself through getting dressed and out the door.

I got to my first class late, which wasn't a terribly big deal. I was able to get my stuff out and catch up with enough notes to get a handle on the lecture even though I'd missed a few minutes. At one point in the lecture, the prof stopped to look for answers from the class, and that always bothers me. If I'm taking notes, I can at least try to focus on what's going on and get it burned into my brain. If no one's talking, I have no notes to take, and that's a really anxious situation. I'd been to bed late, and I'm sure I dozed off during those silent minutes. At the end of the class, though, I felt a little better for having made it to class.

My second class is one building over; I'm generally pretty anxious by the time I get up the hill and into the building. I have discovered that entering the building through a side door, and cutting through a hallway of offices gives me a couple of minutes to settle down before I enter lecture hall. I've written about this class before; it's in a huge lecture hall, it's noisy, it's anxiety causing, it's triggering. The prof in this class gives in-class assignments, so I have to scramble to put away my Livescribe notebook and switch over to normal paper. The desks in this lecture hall are about as big as a mouse pad, which makes things more interesting. And, I think I dozed a little in this class, too. Today's lecture was death by PowerPoint.
---
Last week, I ran out of sertraline; my daily dose had been upped from 100mg to 150mg, so I'd been using up the 50mg pills faster. My psychiatrist was supposed to have put in a new prescription for me, so I called the clinic to ask WTF. Turns out my new prescription order hadn't been sent to to the pharmacy, which is why I hadn't received a package from the VA. I was able to talk to my psychiatrist, get that straightened out, and pick up the new prescription at the VA Hospital about an hour later. I didn't miss a dose, so no harm done. However, it's a good thing that I called to see where my meds were. If something's not right, it'll get fixed, but as patients we need to make sure we speak up.

For those of you who are keeping score, I'm on 150mg of sertraline, and either 150 or 200mg of trazodone every night before bedtime. Nom nom nom.

This time of year is hard for me-- so many things have happened as years have wound down. One of the things I really don't like about the coming of winter is the darkness of shorter days, and the arrival of cold air. It's not that I hate winter per se, but what the arrival of winter reminds me of. During my last year being married, the electricity in my house was turned off by the power company. It's the law here that they have to turn it back on when the temperature is below freezing for a certain amount of time, so eventually it was turned back on-- but that really doesn't matter when it's 33 degrees out and you're sleeping in your clothes under every blanket you own. (Cold showers in 33 degree air are fun, too.)

I try to keep the heat down in my apartment now, because electricity does cost money and I want to keep my money. But I don't like being cold. I'm leaning towards jacking up the thermostat a little to keep it warmer in here. Warm and cozy is good. Cold and flashbacks is bad.
---
Finally, I've become addicted to Delta Bravo Sierra. Go. Read. Laugh.

Finding track of time

2010-12-02T16:05:00.000-06:00

Time.

A flashback of a different sort, this one on purpose-- lately, especially after starting with the meds, I've had trouble managing my time. There is an entire industry dedicated to helping people (including students) manage their time, and entire sections of bookstores are devoted to guides and calendars and such. I'm sure many of the ideas proposed there really do work, but none of them seem to address time management when you can't tell today from yesterday.

Time. I still jump when I hear a PA system click on, because in the Desert hearing that click meant a SCUD had been launched and we were the target.

At the start of fall semester 2009, I left my 40-hour-a-week job and went back to school full time. Before that, I was in school half time (or a little more) and I worked my regular job, plus a part time job. There were weeks I worked 50+ hours in addition to being in school. I managed to get everything done, somehow. I used Google calendar, synced to my phone, and I kept a daily task list on paper. I also kept a separate paper calendar for my second job. I literally went from one place to another to another, home to work to school to home to work to work to home.... it was a grind, and there wasn't much room for error, but I managed it for several years. (I had the PTSD then, and had some serious issues along the way, but I didn't stop long enough to really deal with them. I had far too much to do, to try to actually resolve any issues.)

Time. Hurry up and wait. It always seemed like there was an invisible hand moving the military around-- who makes up these jacked up schedules, anyway? But in the end everything always seemed to get done.

Now, I have almost complete freedom of schedule-- much of my day is free, and most of my nights in a week are free. This is in freedom of choice, not freedom to lay on the couch and watch Airwolf reruns. Academics are far more demanding here than at the community college I was attending when I was working those 50+ hour weeks, yet I have far more free time now. Still, I seem to get far less accomplished.

It was easier, I think, to schedule every waking minute when my tempo was similar to being deployed. The invisible had guiding time was the need to always have somewhere to be by a certain time. There was a rhythm, like clockwork... every day after work I headed straight downtown to school. I had a couple of hours to do homework, and then I was in class the rest of the evening. The cycle ran again the next day.

When I was a full time student at the community college, I was (stuck) in the same building all day. I got there in the morning for my first class, had several hours off, then had my next class in the afternoon. In between those times, I was in the library with the same group of people every day. Most of us were in the same classes, and we not only helped each other out but kept each other motivated.

Time. Once you're in a rhythm, time ceases to be an issue. You know where, and when, and how, and you just find yourself there. It takes conscious effort to get there... but once you're in the zone...

I am having a great deal of trouble with time and sleep management since starting on the meds. The past few days, I've had so much of an issue that I've been questioning the increased dosage-- was this really a good idea? I'm having more trouble now, not less. WTF?

Today, it started making sense when I looked at the clock, and it was five hours past the normal start of my day. I missed all of my classes today, and I missed turning in two assignments; night before last I was up all night studying. I don't know what time zone I'm in right now.

When I looked at the clock, and it said 1500, I was in morning mode-- I hadn't gotten dressed yet, hadn't had coffee yet, etc. That's when it occurred to me that I've never had a time in my life when I had so much freedom to do what I need to do. I have all of the resources at my disposal that I could ever want. I'm walking distance from world class libraries, really good coffee houses, I have a great apartment, I have all the tools (pens, paper, books, laptop, ruck, etc.) that I need. My kitchen has food in it, the lights are on, the heat is keeping my place warm.

I feel pretty decent. I'm not feeling desperate, I have a new girlfriend (woohoo!), I want to live and grow and have a wonderful life. But I'm lost in time right now. The clock means nothing to me, the calendar is a lost cause, and my brain doesn't make any distinction between today or tomorrow or yesterday.

Finals are approaching. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Use of force authorized...

2010-11-30T16:32:00.000-06:00

Time, again.

It was twenty years ago yesterday that the United Nations authorized the use of force to remove Iraq's armed forces from Kuwait. License to kill. If there was any doubt in any of our minds about the war happening, that removed it. If there were still any airmen thinking they'd be home soon, they threw that idea out when they heard about the UN's decision. Me included.

I am having a hard time with it being twenty years ago, now. So much has happened since then, some of which I remember and some of which seems like it never happened. I don't want to forget. I can't forget. Here is a hard place. Even though I have friends here who are veterans, they're all veterans of the second Gulf War. They've been to Iraq and Afghanistan. It's a different war, different circumstances, different reasons.

In many ways vets from Iraq and Afghanistan understand each other, but in many ways we're separate-- I hear vets talk about being in the same unit. My unit wasn't the only one of its kind, but there certainly weren't many like us. We had a specific mission, and a specific area of responsibility. We were made up of interchangeable parts that when assembled, surprisingly worked. No one knew who we were, outside of the other units we were connected to (and through). My unit was not made up of secret squirrels, but to some extent we worked in the shadow of our customers. Highly regarded by some, but quietly. You won't read much about us in the history of the first Gulf War, but everything you read is connected to what we did.

I've never run into anyone from my unit since I discharged, with the exception of one person I've kept in close contact with. I'm in contact with several people from my unit on Facebook, and so I've seen pictures of their kids and wives and houses and cars. I haven't seen any of them in person since my last day on active duty.

There were 500,000 of us, over there in that Desert. That's almost the population of the city I grew up in.

I look at my patches, my ribbons, the bits and pieces of life that I brought back. I didn't know at the time what I'd wish I'd brought, so I only brought a few things home. Newspapers, a coffee mug, a jar of sand, some pictures. We didn't have digital cameras then, and even if we did, pictures weren't encouraged where I worked. It's so strange now, to think that I was in Saudi Arabia, at war. It feels exactly like yesterday. I wonder if it's real, but I always know that it was. Some days it's like a mirage. Others days, today seems like the mirage.

It takes a couple of years, I think, to get to where I'm standing. You come home and you put the uniform away, and get on with the life you dreamed about all those nights while you were deployed. You achieve a balance, sort of... thinks are okay for a while. It takes time for things to unravel. When I talk about where I am, more recent veterans don't always understand... they haven't unraveled. (Yet. some will, some won't. I hope no one does.)

That might be why I'm feeling a bit isolated, why I'm feeling so withdrawn lately. Why I don't want to leave my apartment. I'm scared of the world right now, because I don't feel like anyone understands what I'm going through, this time of year (and especially this year).

---

A local museum is working on a Desert Storm exhibit; I'm going to contribute an oral history, as well as some of the pictures and newspapers and other things I've managed to hold onto all these years. It is a very strange feeling, that something I was involved in warrants space in a museum.

---

Now, I'm headed to the campus vets office to study, something I haven't done much of the past week or so. I didn't make it to class yesterday or today. It might be the anniversaries of things this time of year, the change of season to dark and gray winter, the changes in medication, or all of the above. I'm trying to pick it back up, one step at a time.

Time. Not on my side.

2010-11-29T11:41:00.000-06:00

Time is always moving forward. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. Today is where you are on the line.

Now.

Tomorrow isn't the issue, or even today. The issue with PTSD is yesterday. The day before today. You can look at a calendar, and say "Today is Monday 29 November 2010, so yesterday was Sunday 28 November 2010", and you would be technically correct. Your statement is true. However, in my yesterday, I was in the middle of a city in the middle of the Desert, in the middle of a war. I was in my grandmother's house, in the middle of my family who was supposed to protect me. I was in the middle of a marriage and a life that was falling apart. I was in the middle of my living room, with only candle light and no heat because I couldn't pay the electric bill. I was waiting on a street corner for a bus that would take me to the VA hospital. I was this close.

I'm late, a lot. You know that rule that says if you're ten minutes early, you're late? I can never follow that rule. I think I've figured out why. PTSD takes away your sense of time, blows it up, scatters the fragments in the wind. I never know what time it really is, because my mind doesn't see my life as a timeline. So many things that were really long ago, feel like they were yesterday. I've relived so many things, again and again, that they seem like they just happened. Twenty years ago, I was in the Desert preparing for war. Twenty years. It seems like just yesterday. So it's hard to know that it's 0800 and I need to get up for class when my brain thinks it's 2200 and I'm standing on top of a villa staring at faraway lights in the Desert night twenty years ago.

It's not so much that I see the Desert night-- it's that I don't feel here. The past is hard to grab onto; it's much like a mirage, I see it in bits and pieces that swirl in and out. It's like trying to step on a sunbeam. You can put your foot on it, but you're really not stepping on it.

Here and now is the best it's ever been, but I don't feel like I'm really here at all.

A break for Thanksgiving

2010-11-24T01:16:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving is a time, traditionally, that people "go home" for. It's one of the busiest travel weekends of the year, along with the busiest shopping weekend of the year. (Oh, yeah, and it's a time to feast and give thanks.)

Me, I'm not planning to travel anywhere, because I have nowhere to go and I really don't want to deal with a house full of people.

This Thanksgiving, I'm going to take the free time I have, and I'm going to focus inward. I have some boxes of papers that need to be sorted and shredded. I have a couple of small projects that I've been wanting to work on for a while. And finally, I need to just take care of myself a little better than I have been lately.

I'm also taking a break from posting, just for the holiday weekend. I've been writing a lot lately, and while it helps, I'm starting to feel like I'm writing in circles. Writing is keeping me occupied, but it's not helping me get anything done. I need to step away for a few days.

So-- have a happy Thanksgiving, a relaxing weekend, and safe travels there and back if you're heading out to somewhere.

Thanksgiving, again?

2010-11-21T17:10:00.000-06:00

A year ago, I went to Thanksgiving dinner with my then-girlfriend, hostessed by an old friend of hers. It was immediately before final exams, as Thanksgiving always is, and I didn't especially want to go. I wasn't happy or comfortable there, I reacted badly when it became apparent that we'd be there for a while, and my then-girlfriend wasn't very happy with me. (I wrote about it last year.)

This Thanksgiving, I'm in a much different situation. I'm unattached, I've changed schools, I've moved, I'm on medication. I have no plans for Thanksgiving, other than work in the evening. I've tossed around the idea of cooking a ham for dinner-- a turkey is a lot for one person to cook (and eat). This year, I'm planning to give thanks by myself. My psychiatrist raised an eyebrow at the idea-- she suggested it's really better if I try to get together with family or friends. Given the right situation, it might be better, but I don't want to find myself in a situation where I'm going to be uncomfortable. I don't have anything to prove. Surviving Thanksgiving dinner won't "make me well", won't "cure" me.

Yet, this week, since it is the week before Thanksgiving, everyone will ask "So are you going anywhere?", and I'll mumble something that sounds like I have plans of some sort. I don't want to explain why I don't like large family gatherings, or gatherings in places and with people I don't know. Some people will think it's sad, that there are veterans who are spending a holiday alone.

It may be, someday, that I am able to reach an inner peace, a circle of friends and family, and a situation where I will enjoy Thanksgiving dinner, and actually look forward to the event. This year isn't that place.

Happily ever after.... wha?

2010-11-20T16:03:00.000-06:00

Weekends, I've decided, are hard to deal with.

Today, I've watched a couple of hours just disappear. I'm awake now, have had two cups of coffee, have made and eaten breakfast. I was supposed to meet someone at one of the libraries at noon, and didn't make it there-- I wasn't awake until 1300. It seems right now that the world ends at the outer boundaries of my apartment. Whatever else is going on, it's just blurry once you get outside my four walls.

So much of my life has been spent running to catch up with a train that never slows down. Moving, from one crisis moment to another. Always one step behind, always late, always short. It's one of those things the brain and body adjust to, if you feel that way long enough. It becomes natural, even though it isn't. I wonder if that's why I stay up so late, and why I have trouble being productive during the day and evening-- if I have everything done that needs to be done, what then? What does a person do when everything is completely under control? There are all kinds of self-help books for dealing with a crisis, but where's the book that tells you how to manage your life effectively when things are in general pretty good?

"Pretty good" in my case means my tuition, rent, and other bills are paid. My car is paid off. My credit card balance is zero. I have more hours available to work, than I have hours in my schedule to work. I've actually had to turn down work. I've been able to put aside, to save, a little bit of money this semester.

At the end of the movie, everyone lives happily ever after. The only time there's a sequel is when "happily ever after" doesn't actually happen.

I'm trying to figure out why I can't seem to get out of my apartment, why I'm wasting my day-- writing isn't wasting time, but I have studying to do-- and I'm close to the conclusion that I've never been in a better overall position. I don't have many worries beyond school, and even there, in two of my classes I'm actually doing pretty well.

My usual reaction to an uncomfortable situation is to avoid it. I think that's what's going on. It feels uncomfortable, to just sit in a library all day and work on something. There's never really been a time when I didn't have to worry or stress about making sure I had a place to live, making sure I had food, trying to resolve the current crisis. Staying up late, being tired in the morning, staying inside all weekend, tuning out to the point where I lose and entire day (or weekend); these things are making stress where there shouldn't be any.

I am ultimately faced with learning how to deal with life being good. WTF???

Do something you love today

2010-11-19T13:49:00.000-06:00

Something my VA social worker said to me this week is really resonating in my head:

Every day, take fifteen minutes or so to do something you really love; no matter how busy you are doing other things.

Ideally, you're in a situation where you get to do what you love fairly often, but I know that doesn't always happen. The thing that gets "missed" in talking about PTSD is its real life effects. You feel angry, jittery, can't concentrate-- those are some of the symptoms-- but the effects of those symptoms are that you fight with your spouse, you can't keep your hands from shaking, have trouble absorbing material in classes, and don't do a good job at work and can't explain why. You lose a relationship, you get fired, you fail a class, you end up delivering pizza in a bad neighborhood instead of writing software in a suburban office.

It can be truly hard to find those fifteen minutes. Things you really love can be out of reach-- if you love sitting in a coffee shop with a book and a latte, but you've been working double minimum wage shifts to pay the rent and living on ramen noodles because you got fired from your last job for being late too many times... yeah. The latte isn't gonna happen. I call it "survival mode" when you're spending all of your resources (time, energy, and money) on food, clothing, and shelter. You may not have fifteen minutes out of each twenty four hours to spend doing something just for the love of doing it.

I once had a job working for a courier company; it was a crappy job. I had to use my own car, and money for both gas and maintenance came out of the commission I got on every delivery. If business was good, I made money, but there were a lot of days when I lost money on average because it went to fix the car so I could keep working. Still, I managed to keep the job going for a while. This was back in the days when not everyone had a cellphone, and most buildings had a payphone or two (or three). So, I started collecting payphone numbers. Whenever I made a pickup or delivery, if there was a payphone in or outside the building, I recorded the number and location and added it to my list when I got home.

Eventually, I had accumulated several hundred payphone numbers. Collecting them gave me something interesting to look forward to during the day, especially if I was going somewhere I hadn't been before. When there were payphones, they often appeared in interesting places. The list of numbers by itself wasn't worth anything, but the few minutes a day I spent looking for payphones was a break from the hopeless situation I was in. Those numbers didn't do anything for my bank balance; they didn't pay the bills, didn't make my job better, didn't actually cure any of my problems-- but building the list gave me something, and it cost me nothing.

Finding something that you can love to do for a few minutes each day is important-- as my social worker pointed out, the positive feeling you can get from doing something you enjoy carries over into the rest of the day. That can sound out of reach when you've got so many things going on, but it's true.

Another VA appointment

2010-11-17T14:53:00.000-06:00

I had an appointment with my VA psychiatrist yesterday afternoon. When I got to the clinic, a few things happened before my appointment. First, I was offered (and accepted) my yearly flu shot. Then, my integrated care person found me, and we talked for about ten minutes about how I'm doing on the medications. She had actually called me a couple of times to check on me, but I've been so busy I haven't been able to return her calls-- so she made sure to talk to me before my appointment. She also asked me when good times to reach me would be, so she can check up on how I'm doing. After that, I talked to my actual psychiatrist, who recommended upping my sertraline dose from 50mg to 100mg. My psychiatrist also put in the new prescription, made a follow up appointment for me, and pushed the necessary buttons to send me more meds to cover the additional dosage.

And, I got a free stress ball. A person can never have too many of those.

I'm telling you all this, because I want you to know that the people at the VA really do care. It's not a system where they give you meds, send you home, and leave you to fend for yourself. However, if you're not feeling right, it is up to you to speak up. You don't have to solve what's wrong-- you're the patient. If your meds don't feel right, or the therapy doesn't seem to help, or you're not sleeping, or stuff just feels wrong, it's your job as the patient to say so. If your leg is broken, that's pretty easy for a doctor to see. If you're fighting with your girlfriend, startle easily, and you don't feel safe in crowds, these are things you need to bring up. If you hate your job and don't see much hope for the future, that's something you need to bring up, too.

There's help for these things.

It is perfectly acceptable to call the VA and not know how to describe what's wrong beyond saying "my life really sucks right now." There might not be an immediate fix. But it's a start.

More information: http://www.mentalhealth.va.gov/

Watching the clock

2010-11-15T17:00:00.000-06:00

I've noticed a pattern: I'll be reading stuff online, or watching TV, or doing something that's not studying, and I'll look at the clock. It'll say 1835, and so I'll tell myself that at 1900, I'll stop doing what I'm doing and get the books opened up. Of course, at 1914 I'll say the same thing, that at 1930 I'll start studying. And so it goes, until an entire day or night is gone and I haven't accomplished anything.

I've been doing this a lot. A weekend day without classes often starts late for me; Sunday mornings especially, since by that point in the week I'm pretty tired. Since I live alone, there's no one else here to wake me up, no one here to remind me that I have work to do, and no one to say "hey- let's get to the library."

It's the pattern that's the problem. It keeps happening, and it's a negative pattern. It's not a question of motivation. I actually want to study, and I feel pretty good when I am able to study and I get things done. It's an uphill climb to get from the futon or chair, to get cleaned up and get dressed and get out the door. I'm not sure if it's fear and anxiety. I'm not sure if it's that the meds are sort of dropping off, especially during early evening (when it's hardest for me to head out to a library).

I'm going to finish writing this paragraph, get done a couple of things that need to get done in my apartment, and then I'm going to head out to either a library or the veterans group office. I'm not sure how to break the pattern. But I'm trying.

A successful date, and a request

2010-11-15T13:03:00.000-06:00

I sometimes wonder if I should be writing about dating and social life-- does it fit with the idea that the blog was originally about academics and PTSD? The entries I've written about dating and PTSD have been pretty popular, and it's honestly a part of my life as a student veteran. So I'm going to write more, as things come up to write about.

I actually went on a second date over the weekend. We went out to a hockey game, then to a burger place afterwards, where we actually had a chance to sit down and talk about things. I think we laughed at least as much as we talked, but at one point something I'd written in my dating site profile came up. I'd written that I could be "difficult to deal with sometimes". So, I was asked to explain why.

I didn't go into any of the details of what actually happened, but I did explain that I'd been involved in Desert Shield and Desert Storm, among other things, and I'd been having issues with PTSD for quite a while. I also explained that I'm taking sertraline and trazodone, which both help with PTSD symptoms. I was quite nervous about explaining it all-- if there's a time when someone's going to get up and leave, that's going to be it (I thought).

She responded by explaining that she was taking an antidepressants as well, and had some issues of her own. She was genuinely sorry that I was dealing with all of this... which floored me. It wasn't the response I was expecting. We went on to discuss some of what's actually happening-- nightmares, flashbacks, trouble concentrating in classes, having to double check that the door is locked (twice), not liking unexpected loud noises, etc. It turns out we even share a few symptoms.

After burgers, we walked back to my place, watched some TV, and talked some more while watching music videos. At one point, she commented that normally, she'd never go to someone's place that she didn't know that well, even just to watch TV-- but she felt safe at my place, with me.

So, maybe my earlier fears that no one would want to deal with me at all, aren't as real as I thought they were. It may be that with the meds, I'm better able to be honest about myself and my issues. I can't speak for everyone in the world, but there is at least one person who didn't run away when she went out with a veteran with PTSD.

I don't really have a plan for how dating with PTSD is really supposed to work. I'd love to hear from those of you who are dating someone with PTSD, and find out what your concerns and questions are. Veterans, is this helping you as well, or do you have more questions?

Getting better instead of getting cured

2010-11-14T21:00:00.002-06:00

Yesterday at work, I had a chance to talk to another veteran, a friend I met several years ago at a local VFW post. She was involved in Desert Storm, and had some bad experiences both from that and from some other events. We don't talk that often. She was there when I left VFW, and so we know each other's stories pretty well.

There's a group here that's trying to get an oral history project going, and they're recruiting veterans to give oral histories of their experiences. I've signed up to participate-- I think it's a great idea. It's important that history records what we did and why. I'm a little nervous about it, because an oral history of my time in the Desert isn't necessarily going to be happy memories. I've gotten better about being able to talk about things that happened, at least enough to know that talking about it helps. (I also am starting to feel that as time goes on, Desert Shield and Desert Storm are being slowly forgotten.)

I talked to my friend about the project, and I don't think she reacted very well to the idea. She's still struggling with PTSD, and recently became a Mom. I know how I feel when I react badly to something, and I saw that in her reaction.

(Her reaction wasn't expected, and I made sure I let her know that I didn't intend to bring up anything bad or force the idea. I kinda feel bad for bringing it up. But you don't know if you don't ask.)
--

A couple of days ago, the campus veterans group had our monthly meeting. At the meeting, we had representatives from the American Legion (of which I'm a member) and the VFW (of which I'm a past member) talk about their organizations.

After a few minutes of the guy from the VFW talking, I noticed that my hands were shaking. Uncontrollably so. I couldn't hold onto the piece of pizza I was trying to eat. It's not unusual for my hands to shake a little, now and then... or at least, it's not uncommon. This time, they were shaking more than they ever have. (I had the same reaction, although not quite as bad, when I ran into the VFW rep at the start of the semester during the benefits fair.)

The American Legion rep was a little easier to deal with; I like the Legion's attitude, that you're welcome to be a member and anything more is up to you. The VFW seems to want to apply more pressure. But my hands were still shaking while the rep from the Legion was speaking, too.

--

PTSD doesn't have to always be about the specific time that something bad happened. I think that's what makes it so hard to deal with. Events that happen far away and a long time after the initial events can stack on top of each other and keep PTSD going. Those kind of experiences give us reasons to stay away, and I think that ultimately, we end up losing. We miss things that would otherwise help us, we don't try therapy, we don't ask about medication, we don't seek out peer support.

I also think that the idea that PTSD is something you get cured of is causing us problems. If you get an infection, you take some antibiotics that kill the infection and then you feel better. PTSD isn't like that. There's no PTSD equivalent to the yearly flu shot. I don't think that anyone is ever "cured". Healing is an ongoing process, one with starts and stops and good days and bad days. There is improvement, things get better, but it's always there. It's the idea that "someday I'll be cured" that keeps us from getting better.

It is about getting better. There's no magic pill.