So, I've failed again. Or, most likely I have. It's almost 100% for sure. I'll find out tomorrow for sure. It's very likely that when I wake up in the morning (wake up? yeah right. I'm not sleeping tonight) that I'll have no job. Again. For the ... sixth? time since I left the Army in late 2014.
Let's see. The hydraulic pump factory, the cable place, taco bell, refereeing basketball, the lawn mower shop the first time, and then the lawn mower shop again. Yep. Six jobs I couldn't keep. 28 months, 6 jobs I've lost. That's an average of 4.67 months per job. And that's not counting the time spent on unemployment. Take out those months, and we're looking at right around 4 months per job.
Yeah. There's a winner.
On Tuesday, my boss told me that he understands that I'm going through issues. Side bar rant here: No. You don't. Unless you've lived with it, felt its effects, seen or lived the issues firsthand, you have no stinking clue.
Unless you've been there for the sleepless nights, the accidentally sleeping all day, the panic when you hear a loud noise, the anxiety of being in a crowd, the depression of knowing that you can't do normal things, the looking over your shoulder and completely missing your daughter's birthday party at the restaurant, the having your kids know that they have to ask you if they can hug you because they know you can't be touched by surprise, the guilt at accidentally punching a co-worker because he placed his hand on your shoulder when you were having flashbacks, the screaming in the night in terror at nightmares...
You know what? I don't feel like posting anymore.
- Sapper Woody
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Saturday, March 18, 2017
18 March 2017
So, it's been about two weeks since my last post. That's been due to many reasons. Mostly because I didn't feel like it. After all, this is for me.
I should have posted, though. Maybe I would have felt better. It's not a long story, but it's a dark one. But, I feel like telling it. So here goes.
I had my deal with my fugue state that I talked about before, and then I just spiraled down from there. Things got bad. Nightly bad. I won't go into the details, but more than once I thought about surrendering my firearms to my dad.
I have to interject here. Some people would immediately think, "Why the heck do you have firearms in your state?!". Screw you, first off. That's my business. Secondly, since I feel like explaining, when I think I need to surrender my firearms is way before I would actually do something to end my life. I think of giving them up when I think there's even a remote possibility I may have the thought to harm myself.
Thirdly, do you honestly think not having firearms would stop me? I literally laugh out loud at the thought that it would. If I were to kill myself, I wouldn't choose a gun to do so. Too messy and traumatic for my family. Besides, without the guns, there's still pills, drowning, strangulation, car wrecks, falls, and this new thing called veins in your wrist. So, getting rid of guns to stop someone is laughably stupid.
I think if I ever surrender my weapons to someone else, that'll be my cry for help. Kind of like, "I'm getting serious about this. Get me some help" kind of thing. So, if I do surrender my weapons, you can bet it's serious; but not that I was thinking of using them. Too messy.
Anyway, I was depressed. Still am, actually. Trying to recover. But I listened to myself singing "American Soldier" on YouTube, and that didn't help. Just reminded me of what I've lost. I loved being a soldier.
I'm still a soldier. That's the problem. I can't stop being a soldier. If I could, maybe I could be 'regular'. Maybe I could look at a woman in a hijab and not be reminded of the wars. Maybe I could see some wires across a sidewalk and not think that I need to cordon off the area. Maybe I could sit with my back to a door. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But, imagine a doctor, if you will. He spends years training to diagnose people. He practices medicine. Then he retires. Now, if that doctor sees a man limping down the street, his mind will diagnose that man. Or if he sees a person bleeding, he will help. He can't help but be a doctor.
Now, imagine a soldier. Spending the hourly equivalent of a bachelor's degree in training for his job, crammed into a few months. Real immersion training. He's trained to spot threats. He's trained that a person wearing certain types of clothing may be hiding a bomb. He's trained to notice if a cargo truck is riding low on it's springs. He's trained to watch all avenues of an approaching threat. He's trained to keep an eye out for snipers. He's trained to look for disturbed earth.
Now, take that soldier, trained in that fashion, and throw him into a warzone. For however long, I don't care. 6 months, 12 months, 15 months. (In my case, I did 12 months in Iraq, and 13 in Afghanistan.) Where every day, he has to use that training to keep himself alive. Where he has to sometimes sleep outside with his gear on for fear of attack. Where there has to be someone on watch at all times. Where one false step on the ground can be your last. Where stepping on a crack or not stepping on a crack could mean the difference between seeing your family again or going home in a body bag.
Let him retire. Suddenly, he's expected to not be what he is, but it's ok for the doctor!? Double standard much?! People EXPECT the doctor to retain his hard taught skills, but they expect the EXACT SAME OPPOSITE of a soldier?! How does that make sense?
I'll tell you: It doesn't. But that's the reality I face. But yet no one thinks anything of it. "Oh, you used to be a plumber, could you look at my toilet?" "Oh, you used to be an electrician, can you take a look at my stove?" "Oh, you used to be a lawyer, could you give me legal advice?" BUT "Oh, you used to be a soldier. Stop it."
Now I've gotten all worked up and sidetracked. You'll have to wait to hear about the rest of my two weeks, dangit.
- Sapper Woody
I should have posted, though. Maybe I would have felt better. It's not a long story, but it's a dark one. But, I feel like telling it. So here goes.
I had my deal with my fugue state that I talked about before, and then I just spiraled down from there. Things got bad. Nightly bad. I won't go into the details, but more than once I thought about surrendering my firearms to my dad.
I have to interject here. Some people would immediately think, "Why the heck do you have firearms in your state?!". Screw you, first off. That's my business. Secondly, since I feel like explaining, when I think I need to surrender my firearms is way before I would actually do something to end my life. I think of giving them up when I think there's even a remote possibility I may have the thought to harm myself.
Thirdly, do you honestly think not having firearms would stop me? I literally laugh out loud at the thought that it would. If I were to kill myself, I wouldn't choose a gun to do so. Too messy and traumatic for my family. Besides, without the guns, there's still pills, drowning, strangulation, car wrecks, falls, and this new thing called veins in your wrist. So, getting rid of guns to stop someone is laughably stupid.
I think if I ever surrender my weapons to someone else, that'll be my cry for help. Kind of like, "I'm getting serious about this. Get me some help" kind of thing. So, if I do surrender my weapons, you can bet it's serious; but not that I was thinking of using them. Too messy.
Anyway, I was depressed. Still am, actually. Trying to recover. But I listened to myself singing "American Soldier" on YouTube, and that didn't help. Just reminded me of what I've lost. I loved being a soldier.
I'm still a soldier. That's the problem. I can't stop being a soldier. If I could, maybe I could be 'regular'. Maybe I could look at a woman in a hijab and not be reminded of the wars. Maybe I could see some wires across a sidewalk and not think that I need to cordon off the area. Maybe I could sit with my back to a door. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But, imagine a doctor, if you will. He spends years training to diagnose people. He practices medicine. Then he retires. Now, if that doctor sees a man limping down the street, his mind will diagnose that man. Or if he sees a person bleeding, he will help. He can't help but be a doctor.
Now, imagine a soldier. Spending the hourly equivalent of a bachelor's degree in training for his job, crammed into a few months. Real immersion training. He's trained to spot threats. He's trained that a person wearing certain types of clothing may be hiding a bomb. He's trained to notice if a cargo truck is riding low on it's springs. He's trained to watch all avenues of an approaching threat. He's trained to keep an eye out for snipers. He's trained to look for disturbed earth.
Now, take that soldier, trained in that fashion, and throw him into a warzone. For however long, I don't care. 6 months, 12 months, 15 months. (In my case, I did 12 months in Iraq, and 13 in Afghanistan.) Where every day, he has to use that training to keep himself alive. Where he has to sometimes sleep outside with his gear on for fear of attack. Where there has to be someone on watch at all times. Where one false step on the ground can be your last. Where stepping on a crack or not stepping on a crack could mean the difference between seeing your family again or going home in a body bag.
Let him retire. Suddenly, he's expected to not be what he is, but it's ok for the doctor!? Double standard much?! People EXPECT the doctor to retain his hard taught skills, but they expect the EXACT SAME OPPOSITE of a soldier?! How does that make sense?
I'll tell you: It doesn't. But that's the reality I face. But yet no one thinks anything of it. "Oh, you used to be a plumber, could you look at my toilet?" "Oh, you used to be an electrician, can you take a look at my stove?" "Oh, you used to be a lawyer, could you give me legal advice?" BUT "Oh, you used to be a soldier. Stop it."
Now I've gotten all worked up and sidetracked. You'll have to wait to hear about the rest of my two weeks, dangit.
- Sapper Woody
Saturday, March 4, 2017
04 March 2017
Nothing hurts quite as bad as when someone kicks you while you're down, thinking that they're helping you. And the people closest to you have the greatest potential to hurt you. Combine the two and that is a recipe for disaster.
Today, I went into a fugue state. As near as I can tell, while in this state I left for work, but instead of going to work I pulled off into a parking lot and slept. I awoke to someone pounding on my window.
It was my father, and he was pretty mad with me. I could easily tell, because he said the word "crap". While I was still trying to get my bearings, he began yelling at me. He had the audacity to remind me that I was hurting him. He said that there was no excuse, and the only answer he would accept was that I was too lazy to go to work and provide for my family.
I'm not sure how, but somehow he had gotten my keys from my car, and I couldn't just drive away. I told him to give them back. He didn't, and it was probably a good thing, as I was still out of it and trying to get my bearings. I even had the thought of forcefully taking my keys from him. He is a former prison guard, and probably sensed this, because he got real close to my door where I couldn't easily take any action.
---
I stopped typing there for about an hour. I was going to call the crisis hotline, but called a friend instead. One who knew my wife was looking for me. I found out from him that my wife had received word this morning that her grandma had died. I'm not good at consolation, but I tried anyway. It's hard to be good at consoling people when you're a non-empathetic robot. Hopefully I helped. I held her while she cried for a bit. I think that helps people.
I also called my dad. As much as I want to avoid him, I'm going to face this thing head on. My family is leaving soon to go over to my parent's house, where I'll help my dad do some work. Then he and I will go to practice. We sing in a quartet together. We're both tenors, but I'm a higher tenor. It works out since our lead is a baritone. So we pitch the music lower, and then my dad sings the tenor, while I sing the baritone part an octave higher.
Keep your fingers crossed...
- Sapper Woody
Today, I went into a fugue state. As near as I can tell, while in this state I left for work, but instead of going to work I pulled off into a parking lot and slept. I awoke to someone pounding on my window.
It was my father, and he was pretty mad with me. I could easily tell, because he said the word "crap". While I was still trying to get my bearings, he began yelling at me. He had the audacity to remind me that I was hurting him. He said that there was no excuse, and the only answer he would accept was that I was too lazy to go to work and provide for my family.
I'm not sure how, but somehow he had gotten my keys from my car, and I couldn't just drive away. I told him to give them back. He didn't, and it was probably a good thing, as I was still out of it and trying to get my bearings. I even had the thought of forcefully taking my keys from him. He is a former prison guard, and probably sensed this, because he got real close to my door where I couldn't easily take any action.
---
I stopped typing there for about an hour. I was going to call the crisis hotline, but called a friend instead. One who knew my wife was looking for me. I found out from him that my wife had received word this morning that her grandma had died. I'm not good at consolation, but I tried anyway. It's hard to be good at consoling people when you're a non-empathetic robot. Hopefully I helped. I held her while she cried for a bit. I think that helps people.
I also called my dad. As much as I want to avoid him, I'm going to face this thing head on. My family is leaving soon to go over to my parent's house, where I'll help my dad do some work. Then he and I will go to practice. We sing in a quartet together. We're both tenors, but I'm a higher tenor. It works out since our lead is a baritone. So we pitch the music lower, and then my dad sings the tenor, while I sing the baritone part an octave higher.
Keep your fingers crossed...
- Sapper Woody
Friday, March 3, 2017
03 March 2017
It would be better if I were dead. At least, that's what the voices told me. I hear them sometimes, but not all the time. Not enough to get meds for it, apparently. When I told the Doctor about them, they said that they could prescribes some anti-psychotics, but they wanted to hold off on that. So, I think I was diagnosed with mild psychosis, in addition to my other diagnoses of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, and Adjustment Disorder.
I only hear them when I get depressed. And today I was. Two nights ago I took a sleep medication and then slept for 15 hours. My body is VERY reactive to medication. So, even though I only took 50mg of Trazedone, I slept from about 2230 until 1330 the next day. Last night, I only took have a pill. I couldn't sleep. I tried, honestly. After laying in bed until about 0030, I got up and moved around. I tried to fall asleep again around 0230, but again failed. I was feeling bad mentally.
When my alarm went off at 0600 signaling that it was time for me to wake up and practice my Kung Fu, I instead went upstairs and took a shower. That's when the voices started. "You're a loser!" "You should die!" "Fill the tub up and let it drown!" I don't know why that last voice referred to me in third person, but it did. I try to ignore the voices, but they won't go away.
To get my mind off of them, I tried working a simple physics problem that I had in class a few days ago. If a mass of 100Kg is hanging off a cliff 20 meters from the ground, attached to a rope that goes up to a pulley and then along the top of the cliff to another mass, assuming a .2 friction coefficient, how heavy must that second mass be in order to only be going 10m/s when the first mass hits the ground?
I worked it out loud, doing the calculations without pen, paper, or calculator. It scared my wife for a second, because she didn't know who I was talking to. I kept messing up the calculations, though I got them close. I came up with 250Kg to accelerate at 2m/s^2. I remembered that the answer was something closer to 270Kg.
This helped me a little bit, but I could not shut my brain off. The voices kept grabbing at me for attention. Finally, at 0700, when I was supposed to leave for school, I decided I couldn't take it anymore and had to sleep. I couldn't drive anywhere anyway.
My wife asked me what needed to happen for me to be able to go to class today. I told her I wasn't sure, but that I had to reset my mind somehow. So, she graciously stayed with me until I fell asleep at roughly 0800. I woke up at 1300, but I was still out of it. My wife sat with me on the couch for hours watching the TV show "Scrubs", until I finally somewhat snapped out of it.
Missing class depresses me, and also gives me anxiety. But, even worse, I missed a newspaper interview today at 1100 that I was supposed to be a part of. The University newspaper wanted to interview our robotics team. I missed it. I keep letting everyone down.
Even now, since I am feeling out of it, the voices are there. I can ignore them for the most part, though. But I can still hear them when I am not thinking about anything else. "Why are you typing?" "No one cares what you think!" "Give up. You're done. You can't come back from this."
Are they right? I don't know. I do know that I have my livestream to look forward to tonight, playing Smite on the Xbox with a couple friends of mine. That always seems to help me feel better. Hopefully when I can livestream I'll get to talking to my friends, and they'll pull me out of this. They don't (or maybe they do) know it, but chatting with them live helps a lot.
I thought about calling the veteran's crisis hotline again today. But I decided not to. They always ask if you're having suicidal thoughts, and I usually have to lie to them and tell them that I've never contemplated it. I don't want them to send someone over to "help" me, and cause more stress. The last thing I need is to be taken to the hospital and put under suicide watch. The stigma attached to that would break me.
Besides, I have my family. My wife and my three daughters. I couldn't bear to leave them alone in the world. If for no other reason, I couldn't let my girls grow up without a Dad. They need me, as poor a job as I'm doing. It's better than nothing, in my way of thinking.
I only slept about five hours today. Hopefully that won't interfere with my sleeping tonight. I need to go to work tomorrow. I missed it today. And my disability isn't quite high enough that I can get by without working. Almost, but not quite. I still need to work about 20 hours per week to sustain my family.
Well, hopefully it can only go up from here.
- Sapper Woody
I only hear them when I get depressed. And today I was. Two nights ago I took a sleep medication and then slept for 15 hours. My body is VERY reactive to medication. So, even though I only took 50mg of Trazedone, I slept from about 2230 until 1330 the next day. Last night, I only took have a pill. I couldn't sleep. I tried, honestly. After laying in bed until about 0030, I got up and moved around. I tried to fall asleep again around 0230, but again failed. I was feeling bad mentally.
When my alarm went off at 0600 signaling that it was time for me to wake up and practice my Kung Fu, I instead went upstairs and took a shower. That's when the voices started. "You're a loser!" "You should die!" "Fill the tub up and let it drown!" I don't know why that last voice referred to me in third person, but it did. I try to ignore the voices, but they won't go away.
To get my mind off of them, I tried working a simple physics problem that I had in class a few days ago. If a mass of 100Kg is hanging off a cliff 20 meters from the ground, attached to a rope that goes up to a pulley and then along the top of the cliff to another mass, assuming a .2 friction coefficient, how heavy must that second mass be in order to only be going 10m/s when the first mass hits the ground?
I worked it out loud, doing the calculations without pen, paper, or calculator. It scared my wife for a second, because she didn't know who I was talking to. I kept messing up the calculations, though I got them close. I came up with 250Kg to accelerate at 2m/s^2. I remembered that the answer was something closer to 270Kg.
This helped me a little bit, but I could not shut my brain off. The voices kept grabbing at me for attention. Finally, at 0700, when I was supposed to leave for school, I decided I couldn't take it anymore and had to sleep. I couldn't drive anywhere anyway.
My wife asked me what needed to happen for me to be able to go to class today. I told her I wasn't sure, but that I had to reset my mind somehow. So, she graciously stayed with me until I fell asleep at roughly 0800. I woke up at 1300, but I was still out of it. My wife sat with me on the couch for hours watching the TV show "Scrubs", until I finally somewhat snapped out of it.
Missing class depresses me, and also gives me anxiety. But, even worse, I missed a newspaper interview today at 1100 that I was supposed to be a part of. The University newspaper wanted to interview our robotics team. I missed it. I keep letting everyone down.
Even now, since I am feeling out of it, the voices are there. I can ignore them for the most part, though. But I can still hear them when I am not thinking about anything else. "Why are you typing?" "No one cares what you think!" "Give up. You're done. You can't come back from this."
Are they right? I don't know. I do know that I have my livestream to look forward to tonight, playing Smite on the Xbox with a couple friends of mine. That always seems to help me feel better. Hopefully when I can livestream I'll get to talking to my friends, and they'll pull me out of this. They don't (or maybe they do) know it, but chatting with them live helps a lot.
I thought about calling the veteran's crisis hotline again today. But I decided not to. They always ask if you're having suicidal thoughts, and I usually have to lie to them and tell them that I've never contemplated it. I don't want them to send someone over to "help" me, and cause more stress. The last thing I need is to be taken to the hospital and put under suicide watch. The stigma attached to that would break me.
Besides, I have my family. My wife and my three daughters. I couldn't bear to leave them alone in the world. If for no other reason, I couldn't let my girls grow up without a Dad. They need me, as poor a job as I'm doing. It's better than nothing, in my way of thinking.
I only slept about five hours today. Hopefully that won't interfere with my sleeping tonight. I need to go to work tomorrow. I missed it today. And my disability isn't quite high enough that I can get by without working. Almost, but not quite. I still need to work about 20 hours per week to sustain my family.
Well, hopefully it can only go up from here.
- Sapper Woody
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