Sunday, May 07, 2017
I stopped and I listened to myself one day, and what I heard was startling to my mind. I heard myself saying that there was more to do in my life than to piss it away on feeling sorry for myself, and for not at least trying to d some of the things that I was being told were not going to be on my list of accomplishable things. So I stood up on the inside of my mind and I kicked myself in the emotional ass for having been a fool to have accepted anything less than I had worked for in my life.
I didn’t know what in the hell PTSD was, so I never gave it a thought as to having any impact in my life. I heard about it, but it was always about someone who had been exposed to deadening combat situations and things of that nature, not just any emotionally upsetting traumatic experiences.
A soldier, sailor, marine, airman, someone who was fighting in a war, someone who was exposed to the rocket’s red glare, someone who was defending the flag, they were the ones who were available to the drudgeries of PTSD, NOT some guy, who was a soldier at one time, but had moved on with his life, so the forgotten things of that time would not have any impact on his life. No, I fell for the perfection of my ego’s vanity. Foolish, me!
I could rattle off some of the things that I have been a part of or some of the things that I have seen, but they wouldn’t make the story any more beneficial to anyone else who was reading it. I saw more pain, more destruction, more dependency on distractive devices, less love for other people, less compassion, less indications of an upswing in respect for other people.
I could argue that things have not been fairly distributed to me after my contributions, but that would be egotistical BS on my part! I’ve had a good life. I was not abused as a child, although someone took their shot at trying to do so. I had good parents who took decent care of me, so I can’t call that to bare on my road of PTSI issues. But I had a life, and sometimes, life can be cruel and unexpectedly damaging, a real pain in the ass!
I had to come to grips with my own collusion with the traumatic input that invaded my emotional safety field and caused the wholes within its protective fencing. Yes, I admittedly placed myself into situations that caused my mind to question the sanity of the moments, and the level of idiocy to which my mind was being exposed. It was my choices that placed me there, it was my need to feel a part of the solution to problems which never existed in the forms to which I was told that they did.
It was the expression of my foolish sense of pride that led me to believe in the smoke covered illusions of patriotic need to commit to my need to participate. But it was not the big bad boogeyman that I found, it as poor people who had been thrown into the tumult of war, the despair of impoverishment that most of us will thankfully never know. It was the poor who had to make unconscionably dire choices, because they had no decisions to make. I was crashed into that wall called “actuality”.
Choose; baby dies from hunger or you do, either way, both will die. Join the armed forces, or be killed for refusal. Give us your child for sexual slavery or we’ll kill you and take the child anyway. These my friends are not choices, they are demands that have no alternatives! Eat poison, or die from starvation could be offered as a choice, but it is not really a viable set of options.
Go along with the nationally embarrassing set of political options, or you are seen as a problem. Knowing that war is not an acceptable value, is the viewpoint of one who has been there, not one who has heard or one who has seen war movies or documentaries. An exploding bombe has resonance, when it literally makes your ears to bleed! Or you have your bladder go weak by the absolute sock to your system. The smell of rotting bodies is one that plays havoc on your memories for the rest of your life.
People are the result of wars. Dead people! The victims of a non-voted set of actions that destroy everything that they could have ever been. These are not enemies to the armies who come to combat them for their governments, these are simply people who have had no options to refuse to fight. When a burglar breaks into your home, you have the choice of helping him to rob your valuable, be killed while he does so, or fight his ass off! That’s it, waiting for the police to arrive might not be on the table!
So to, are the tables not so rife with choices and options for the victims of emotional traumas. No one asks to be mistreated. No one is collaborative with an attack against their safety, no matter what they may have signed up for. Hundreds of thousands of persons who have been involved in military actions over the past two decades, were not in the opinion that they may actually have to go and to fight and to be maimed or chemically altered or to be emotionally compromised by having signed a piece of paper. It was a background dal at best.
Firing a gun on the range is not the same thing as looking down that barrel and through the sights, at the face of a human being you know that you are about to eliminate from the living race of humanity. Can you? Really?
Cowards are the ones you hear bragging about killing people, they talk big sh*t about the pain that they have caused, but if that shoe is being dropped on their heads, it’s time for the begging to begin. Do you remember the scene in the movie the “Shawshank redemption” when the guy comes back from the hole after beating “Andy” half to death, and the two guards are waiting in his cell to beat him down? The first thing the tough guy did was to beg for mercy! That, is how cowards operate.
I don’t tell stories, I tell truths. I have seen some gruesome things, humans are gruesome animals at times. No more a masochistic creature exists, than that we call human being, but this is not a creature-wide phenomenon, it is thankfully placated by the majority being less violently slanted.
But still as I stated earlier, I have been a fool as well having made myself available to the committing of acts I would never have considered otherwise, and none of what I am talking about, make me feel like a hero. It makes me feel like a fool who didn’t do his due diligence.
PTSI? A side effect of foolishness in some cases, but a real and debilitating condition in need of treatment, and not dismissal as another form of disordered emotional insanity.
Will anyone who deals with PTSI(D)s ever be healed? I can pray for it, as for myself, I probably won’t have the time to see it happen for me, or for anyone else, but this is why I write, it is why I ask questions, it is why I make the phone calls, visit the offices, and make a complete pest of myself; because I hope that it will push someone to gear up for a changing of the treatment modalities and they in which the condition is defined.
Right now, there may a person who has the answer, but maybe this person is afraid to go up against the entrenched system of bureaucrats and other a-holes who are constantly protecting the status quo. Maybe the healing treatment is sitting in a computer or on a disc or on a piece of paper somewhere, just waiting to be used.
Hopefully, however, it is not waiting be used as so many of us have been in the past and in the present. Hopefully, our futures are waiting to be salvaged from this emotional pit, and reconstituted as a stronger entity, and allow for persons who are suffering with PTSI(D) issues, to become unavailable to its destructive and disruptive affects, any longer.
You see, making a fool of myself earlier, has made me demand better of myself today. I can apologize to myself later, but for now, I will work hard, and I’m doing it, now!