Intro to a larger piece still to come

There is an old house in Iraq. It sits amidst the rubble from a bombing. The house is not empty as one would think, instead it stands as shelter for a platoon of US marines caught in the middle of a fire fight.  Bullets are flying from every direction. They are hitting the old stone and ricocheting all around.  A young marine is in fear for his platoon.  He sees the dust flying and the building crumbling with each gun shot.  His heart is pounding, the gun shots are deafening in his ears. He can hear his soldiers being hit and see the blood from their lifeless bodies staining the broken walls.  His mind is racing trying to get a step ahead of the enemy. He tries to move but the sand gives way under his feet. It sticks to his body using sweat and blood as the glue. 

His body and soul have been worn and broken from his service to his country.  He thinks of his young wife and daughter back home and the daughter still in her mommy’s tummy.  The thought of them gives him strength, determination. He will not go quietly. He sees that he is the only soldier left, the others have all fought their last. He shakily rises to his feet. He checks his weapon and notes there is only a single round left. He takes a few deep breaths and says a quick prayer. He prays for his family, prays for his soul. He knows there is only one way to keep from becoming a prisoner. He was trained to always leave that one last round for himself if he is ever in such a situation. He takes a picture of his family from his breast pocket and says a silent goodbye.

He chances a glance out the window and all he can see is the lights from the Iraqi guard’s guns. He notices their black uniforms in between flashes.  He hears them calling for him to come out and drop his weapon. He knows that his gun will not leave his hand until his heart stops beating.  He steals his nerves and opens the door. He raises his gun to his head. He was determined they would not take him prisoner.  He heard an order being given to shoot the weapon out of his hands. He smiled inwardly to himself. He was a US Marine, he would never drop his weapon.  He started walking forward. He felt the shots. With each one he knew his time had come. He had held out long enough for his men. He had fought valiantly and showed them their respect had not been misplaced.  He started counting each time he was hit. One. Two. Three. Its going to take more than that. He thought. Four. Five. Six. He started getting weak, but held his grip firm.  He said his final goodbye as he felt himself growing weak. Seven. Eight. Nine…

A shot rang out in a small town in East Tennessee. It was the tenth within the last five minutes. That morning’s newspaper headline read:

“Marine killed by police had PTSD”

 

 

Dream Life Cast

Ok, I’m going to have some fun tonight. The prompt on my phone today is, “Your life is a movie, who is your dream cast”… Yeah, let’s have some fun. If I am guilty of type casting, oh well, get over it…hehehe. Here we go:

Me-

Teenage me: Jennifer Lawrence

Me now: Evangeline Lilly

My hubby-

Teenage hubby: Christopher Mintz-Plasse

Hubby now: Seth Rogan (yes, he’s changed that much)

My wonderful daughter-  Abigail Breslin (when she was younger)

My mother- Jane Fonda

My father- Harrison Ford

My brother- Jake Gyllenhal

My sisters (y’all can figure out who is who!!!)-

M: Cameran Diaz

J: Mila Kunis

R: Rachel McAdams

The fabulous Mrs. P- Sally Field

AGT Spill

Ok, I am going to write a little different tonight. I do not know if you watch America’s Got Talent or not, but there was this one band on there this week, American Hitmen. They are a group that got together during their deployment to Iraq. They normally sung rock songs, but last night they decided to cover The Beatles’ “With A Little Help From My Friends”. The judges had a problem with it since it was not rock like the band normally performed. They said that they also were not going to base their decision on the band’s military history, but what they failed to understand is that the band was making a statement with the song. They were trying to say that the reason they did ok after getting out of the service was the help they received from their friends. I personally thought the song was very fitting to the band’s story and to tell who they are. Ok, that is my spill for tonight. I will post a link to the performance below and let you all make your own judgments about it.

Watch the American Hitmen's performance from lastnight.

My Persecutor

I have so many thoughts swirling around in my head. I am having trouble grasping at a single one for a topic. I also have so many thoughts that are highly inspiring me to write about, but there would be utter chaos if I did. How can I write what I want when I have so many to protect? I have secrets screaming to be released, but it is my conscious keeping them hidden. It is so hard to want to write, but not be allowed to write what it is you feel or think. Damn these confines placed on me by society and what is supposed to be “prim and proper”. Damn them.

I am a writer. My love is putting my thoughts out there and seeing the world’s reaction. I want to entertain, I want to surprise and inspire. How can you do this being yourself when there are so many telling you to watch what you say? Yes, I speak my mind, at least the acceptable part. But what apart the ideas and thoughts that society does not want to hear? How am I to get them out of my head?

It is times like these when I really miss my father. We used to have these extremely long conversations about everything and nothing in particular. I guess I got my inquisitive nature and “don’t give a shit” attitude from him. The main thing I can ever remember him really calling me down on was using a curse word. His admonishment was always, “Susan, young ladies do not talk like that”. To which I always replied, “Now when the hell have I ever claimed to be a lady!” This was a running joke of ours.

I so miss being able to talk freely with him. I am sick of being black mailed with everything I say or type. I am tired of always having someone threaten to show my writing to people who should not be reading it. I feel as if I have a chain around my thoughts not letting them come out. It feels as if I am suffocating in my own creativity that cannot be expressed in any way other than to write, and write, and write. To me writing is a way to heal or find peace with different events, and I cannot write what I want to without fear of some type of backlash or threat.

Writing

Dream, My Love (2008)

Come beautiful poet
Rest by my side
Let my words wash away the pain
I will use my lines to chase away the loneliness
I will whisper in your ear
Words of bright sunny days
in each other's warm embrace
Come with me into the land of dreams
Of cotton candy clouds
And licorice hearts
Where the water is sparkling
And the sun is always shinning
Let our fingers entwine
While we walk through fields of flowers:
Roses, daisies, black-eyes Susans and lilacs too
We will lie beside crystal water falls
under the moon's stare
And speak words of love
Yes, come lie in my arms
And let us drift away to the land of dreams

Scared (2008)

I'm scared
Falling
What should I do
I want to open my heart to you
Just please be gentle with it
It is bruised and broken
It is fragile
I'm scared
I opened my heart for you
You fount the key and opened my safe
I told you my thoughts
I let you in
So I told you my thoughts
I let you in
I'm scared
Promise me you will be gentle
Because I feel myself falling
Take my hand
Put your arms around me
Hold me close
Tell me it will be ok because
I'm scared

Look Into My Eyes (2008)

Look into my eyes
See the picture of my soul
The breath of my heart
The wondrous capacity which is
Me

The Key (2001)

To smile is to light the world
With joy and glee
To cry is to drown the world
With the force of the mighty sea
To glance is to look at the world
Without on care
No one around to notice
Yet there are over a thousand people there
No cares, no problems
All walking carefree
Until the place is gone
Now who holds the key

Ride On My Prince (2001)

Ride on my prince
Into the field of battle
For this is your chance
To live your dream
For you have not only my support
And care,
But my heart as well
Ride on my handsome prince
Ride on

Goodbye My Brother (written in 1999)

I thought I would have you forever
But I was wrong
For that forever turned into a never
And then you were gone
You & I were the best of friends
Even though we were different
Right down to the ends
We were inseperate
You were and always will be
A great friend
And brother to me
Right down to the end

Dr. Tick & PTSD

I’ve had this one certain book sitting on my shelf for a couple years. I regret to say I never picked it up to read it thoroughly until a couple months ago. A very dear friend of mine lost his life to his personal battle with PTSD. It is too late to help him, but maybe I can reach others with the information I discovered since reading the book.  That book, and Mrs. Reiss please forgive my awful citing (it’s been a few years), is War and the Soul by Edward Tick, Ph.D. (2005).  In his book Dr. Tick discusses some of the best ways to help veterans who are waging their own war against Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD.  Dr. Tick has over thirty years of experience in helping soldiers heal from PTSD.  He uses some unconventional tactics (according to modern psychiatry) to help.  He has combined all his thirty years’ worth of knowledge into this one unforgettable read. 

                The first thing Dr. Tick does is to describe what PTSD is and how it comes about.  He talks about the two part process of war; “1) dehumanizing the people involved and 2) placing them and ourselves in a kill-or-be-killed situation”.  He talks about how the military removes a person’s “civilian inhibitions” by:

·         Taking a recruit’s civilian identity

·         Having them repeatedly practice ways of killing until it is an unconscious reflex

·         Taking to their breaking point, and pushing them over

·         Demeaning them as a person

·         Punishing the ones whose will is harder to break

Basically stating, they take these young men and women and throw them into some of the harshest situations imaginable.  They are barely even old enough to vote and are having to fight for their lives and the lives of those around them. It is in these moments that “the civilized brain shuts off and the savage takes over”.  Dr. Tick says that after this, there is no return to innocence” for these brave soldiers.  They are taught to lose all feelings, maybe not by their instructors or COs, but by their instincts to survive. Dr. Tick talks about how in order to keep your mind at peace during a war and soldier has to view the “enemy” (whoever it may be) as inhuman. 

It is for these reasons that Dr. Tick, along with Erik Erickson, argues that PTSD is not merely an anxiety disorder, but an identity disorder.  The returning soldiers lose a lot of who they are on the battlefield. In order to make a full recovery they have to find that human or civil side of themselves once again. For some this is harder than others. The ones at the highest risk are those that had to kill close up, or look into the face of their targets. The reason Erikson classified it as an identity disorder is because the young men and women who face battle are typically at an age where they are still developing a strong sense of self. War distorts what should be positive self-images into nightmares.  Dr. Tick states that “many veterans who cannot get on with life are boy-men (or girl-women) stuck in the psychic war zone, lost in an incomplete and horrific rite of passage”.

Of those soldiers returning home from the battlefield, it is estimated that anywhere from 25-60% show signs of PTSD. Dr. Tick believes that one reason for this is that as a society “we do not help survivors rebuild dignity and rediscover inner peace because the recovery of individuals is no longer a priority to the larger social system.” Dr. Tick describes their situation as going through a “death-rebirth” process to where they are transformed from what they used to be.

As bad as all this sounds, Dr. Tick asserts that there are several treatments for PTSD, but the veteran must be open to them.  He asserts that to return to their civility veterans must “cleanse, purify, rejoin the world community, follow the flow of life, and attain forgiveness”. It is from traditional, communal cultures that Dr. Tick derives his treatments. He saw where in Native American cultures the very first thing they did when returning from battle was to purify. One way of doing this was the sweat lodge. Dr. Tick lists several reasons why sweat lodges are the perfect purification tool for returning soldier:

·         It is a safe place

·         It serves as a symbol of transition from the warzone to a world at peace

·         It melts away the defenses they develop during combat

·         Their prayers are sincere

·         It is a communal experience (acceptance is a HUGE part of healing)

·         No one will be judged or shunned

·         Everything said is to be respected

·         It is considered a sacred space (veterans need to feel the spiritual connection)

The next part of purifying is telling their story. This is a crucial component. Having their stories heard and validated help veterans feel more at peace with their actions. Dr. Tick suggests this should be done before the general public with a facilitator there to encourage the veteran to dig deeper into their stories. This also helps the veteran to begin to rejoin society. What helps even more is for the nation as a whole to show their acceptance of the veteran. They may not like the war, but there is no reason to hold the veteran accountable for it. They are merely doing their jobs. Organizations such as Westboro Baptist Church are a large component that needs to be silenced in order to help veterans heal. 

Another point that Dr. Tick makes is that PTSD therapists need to be more open with the veteran. The veteran will open up and disclose more if the therapist is more self-disclosing themselves. The therapist must become part of the veteran’s “warrior society”. What is truly needed is a class of “noble citizen-warriors” who know what war does to a person and is willing to speak publicly about the subject.

I will leave off with this thought, while by many war is classified as an act of violence; Dr. Tick calls it an act of intimacy…

 

Tick, Edward, Ph.D. (2005). War and the Soul. Wheaton, IL: Quest Books.

The Burning Marlboro

I lay in bed and watch the smoke trailing up from the end of an almost burnt up Marlboro. It glistens against the clear glass of the ashtray. Such beautiful patterns come from it. It’s almost hypnotizing. Tonight is going to be another one of those nights where, even though I know I’ll catch hell for it in the morning, I just can’t sleep until I get my thoughts out. I have so much going through my mind it feels like it is about to explode. I can feel every fiber of my being getting tighter and tighter wound. I feel as though I am going to snap at any minute.  The smoke is still spiraling, dancing away from the reddish-orange glow. My mind starts wondering back.

I am still looking for a job. They all want experience.  “What experience do you have in the area?” they all ask. I find myself drifting back farther. To the outside world, I have led a very privileged life, but let’s stop to examine that for a minute and see exactly what experience I have in the field of human services.  From the ages of 5/6 until I was around 9/10 years old I was being sexually molested by my uncle. I did not tell my parents until I was 16, only a very few select friends knew. I became engaged to the boy I thought was the love of my life when I was 17. I fell hopelessly and maidenly in love, only to have him completely shatter my heart a few months later. I dated around for a year trying to find a replacement for him. It was then that he called me to come visit and to begin new talks about getting married once more. I fell for it because I was so desperate to prove that I was worth something after the abuse. I spent a weekend with him and came back home only to have him call everything off again a few weeks later.

I started college at a prestigious liberal arts college in fall of 2004, only to drop out after one year. I had began dating a guy who was originally very verbally abusive. I had let him talk me into missing too many classes. He talked me into going into nursing instead. I loved nursing. I ended up marrying that guy, even though he was mentally and verbally abusive. Don’t get me wrong, I was not innocent by no means, but there was still no call for some of the infractions.  I ended up not having the time to study which led to failing out of nursing because of a minor score of 79.9 when I had to keep an 80.

My husband and I separated in January of 2008 based on irreconcilable differences. That May my father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. I was thrown for a complete loop. Then my divorce was finalized June 4. My ex began calling and truly showed that he had changed and was able to prove it to me. We re-married July 5. I was pregnant by the end of the year. Everything went great, until I had a stroke two weeks after our daughter was born. I have fought and clawed my way back. Then we were homeless for a stint. I finally finished my degree and now they want experience? What more experience could they want?

~I have known the worst fears of a child.

~I have faced the pain of denial.

~I have been defeated, but came back even stronger.

~I have known the emptiness of losing those closest to me.

~I have known the worry for the future.

~I have known the hunger pains while ensuring my child did not.

I have lost both my best friends within mere years of each other, the ones that were always there. That I never had to say a word to, they always knew. I have been threatened, blackmailed, and called a bitch. I am still here though. I am stronger every minute from it. I stand firm in my convictions. I have worked my ass off to get to where I am, and put up with a lot of shit just to survive. I have bit my tongue so much it is permanently scarred.

I ask again, what more experience do these people expect? I have proudly dedicated my life to helping all those who need it. Do I regret any of it? Not for even a minute. It is through these trials and tribulations that I have come to be the strong person I am. I honestly feel as though I would not be here today if I had lived a pampered life. I would be just another spoilt rich girl trying to make it in the big bad world. But that is not who I am. I am a fighter, not a princess. I will survive. I have too many depending on my not to. Too many people in my future that is going to need my help. I have already failed twice, I will not fail again. I will not let myself.

Oh, look at that. The Marlboro is smoked up. Guess it’s time to leave this world and let the dream world have its play.