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| From the suicide note of Daniel Somers |
I've wanted to write a post about combat related PTSD and TBI for a while, but honestly I burst into tears when I start putting my thoughts together about what to say. Then I thought maybe I'd research and use stats, and science, etc. but that stuff is so impersonal and I feel like people don't connect with straight information; so instead I will tell our story and how it affects the entire family.
When P and I met in 2006, he was a relaxed, fun loving guy full of smiles. Maybe he was different at work (he was in training), but with me it was all fun. We went to fireworks shows, restaurants, bars, and just lived a fun life. He would travel to Tuscaloosa and see me, and I would travel to Georgia to see him. When he moved to Savannah, I visited there as well and we decided that I would relocate there while he was on his first deployment. It was a short deployment, but he saw action (he was Airborne infantry, so he was always in the thick of things, and never on a FOB but rather on a COP at best). He returned almost the same, though there were some small differences; gone were the nights of watching fireworks on River Street because he coldn't handle the noise. Restaurant trips changed too; now where we sat mattered because he needed (not wanted) to be able to see the main exit at all times. Bar hopping was hit or miss, depending on his overall mood he would either turn into a brooding, dark drinker, or the over the top "life of the party" drinker. He never would forget where I parked, though, no matter how many beers he'd had that night (there is a reason for me highlighting that fact). He did another short deployment while I was there, but it was a secret one that I only found out about recently when I was pouring over his military records.
Fast forward to 2010, and we moved to Colorado on military orders. Within 3 months of our move, he was deployed to Afghanistan for a year....a fucking year. I was across the country from my family and friends, in a new job, and in the middle of infertility treatments while simultaneously working on gaining custody of our now children. My new work friends were awesome, and we worked on the Army post so I was surrounded but folks who got it...they understood that I needed my phone on me at all times, and understood if I burst into tears for no apparent reason. My clients were soldiers who were leaving the Army and they would give encouraging words and the obligatory "he'll be okay". Then August 30, 2010 happened.
There was a communication blackout but P managed to borrow a cell phone from one of the Afghani soldiers so that he could call me. Physically he was fine, but there had been mass KIAs that day, 9 to be exact; and P had been there to see 2 of them. They were on a patrol, and his best friend as well as his Lieutenant were killed in front of them. He witnessed 2 of his friends blown to pieces, with some of their blood and body landing on him. P and others in the platoon did all that they could, and carried them to a helicopter but there was nothing to be done. In P's mind, he should've died too. He didn't tell me all of those details until much later, but he called me that day to let me know that he was okay so that I wouldn't see something online or on the news and be worried that it was him. Later that week, or maybe it was the next week, I attended the memorial service for all 9 soldiers on post at one of the chapels. It was much like the ones portrayed on fiction TV shows, but so much worse because you know that it's real and as a wife, all I could think of was "thank God it wasn't my husband" which then made me feel guilty for even thinking that way. I cried, a lot, but I went back to work that day and put on a good face.
June 2011, P came home from Afghanistan to a wife and 2 kids which would be a huge adjustment for anyone but for someone with PTSD and TBI (both which he did not yet know he had) was almost more than he could handle. He received no real emotional, psychiatric, or physical care upon his return. Returning from deployment is a huge deal, and there is a homecoming ceremony, but the military (or at least the Army) really does not care about truly caring for them once they return. They are expendable; there are others that they can send to take their place if they are killed or injured to the point of not being deployable again. They need a certain number of boots in theater, and they honest to God don't care how they get it. I have personally seen soldiers who were deemed "non-deployable" because of mental issues all of a sudden be deemed "deployable" because a unit needed to meet a certain number.
From June 2011 to now, we have been through hell and are working our way back. I knew that he was different, and he knew that he was different, but we didn't know how to deal with it. We also had no idea how serious it was until about a month ago when he got a hold of his medical records during his medical retirement process. Now although we understand it to a degree, we are dealing with a new normal and a new future.
P is 31, he has PTSD, TBI which in turn have resulted in insomnia, nightmares, daily headaches, depression, and brain lesions. He also has other symptoms of PTSD-anxiety, paranoia, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, etc. He has degenerative arthritis in his back, hips, and knees. He has 2 other spinal issues (I can't recall the name right now), as well as bunions and other problems with is feet. He has lost feeling in some of his extremities.
He is only 31 years old.
He is being medically retired, and the VA is recommending 100% disability. Per his TBI and PTSD testing results it is likely that he will not be able to hold a job due to the paranoia, headaches, flashbacks, anxiety and neurocognitive issues resulting from PTSD and TBI.
He is only 31 years old.
He has trouble remembering where we park the car if we go to the store. He has nightmares, even though he takes medication for it. He can't run any more. He still has to see all the exits in a restaurant when we go out to eat. He cannot tolerate crowds, and has only gone to one fireworks show in 8 years. He is no longer the carefree, happy go lucky man that I met 9 years ago in Georgia. He is in physical pain every single day. He can no longer watch military related movies or documentaries. His one attempt at going to church with the kids and me, on Xmas Eve to see the kids perform, resulted in his worst panic attack ever. He doesn't really know how to relate to civilians any more, because they "have no idea what it's like". He thinks about his friend, the one he saw blown up, everyday.
He is only 31 years old.
I've had to change the way I communicate with him. I realize now that he processes things differently than he used to, and I've had to adjust to that. It isn't that he ignores the fact that the house needs cleaning, it's truly that he doesn't notice (he doesn't get a pass on throwing his clothes on the floor, though). He wasn't always gas lighting me in the past, he truly does not remember things well and sometimes doesn't remember them at all. I've had to teach him how to interact with the kids. He doesn't feel true happiness as much, and his smile is different. He's applied for SSDI.
He is only 31 years old.
I am applying to become his caregiver through the VA because I cannot go back to work. The pay will be tax exempt, and it will help us make up the difference between what he makes now and what he will get paid during retirement. The truth is, he needs help from me every single day; and that's okay, I'm not complaining. I make sure that he takes his meds, eats somewhat healthy, makes the calls that he needs to make, and help him stay occupied so that he doesn't spiral into a dark hole of depression. We take walks almost daily, just the 2 of us while the kids are in school, so that we can talk and reconnect. Next week I am making (yes, making him, lol) start a stretching program to hopefully help with pain. I am researching getting one of our dogs trained as a service dog so that perhaps he will feel more comfortable in public, so that maybe we can go out more and to new places without him having so much anxiety.
He is only 31 years old.
The government does not care; there is not enough money or resources to care for the troops coming home who need help. In general, the people of this country do not care; they are quick to say that we as a country need to go to war, rather than exhaust every diplomatic solution. And they damn sure won't sign up themselves, or tell their spouse to sign up, or take their kids to a recruiter to sign up. No, no-that they won't do. They will cry for war from the comfort of their homes, watching news reports, and praying to keep the troops safe but they don't have to experience it IN their homes. There are not enough mental health or physical health services for our Veterans. For some of them, the VA is the only place that they can receive affordable health care, but many times they live hours away from a VA Center or hospital. We are fortunate that we will still have TriCare so he can receive services at the local Air Force bases, the VA Center and Hospital, or private doctors. The fact that there are homeless Veterans, and Veterans who die by suicide every day because of lack of care is disgraceful and unforgivable.
This is only a small portion of our story, our whole story in living with his PTSD and TBI could fill a book. And we are far from the only ones living this life. So please, share this and share any other military PTSD related experiences. Read Daniel Somers's suicide letter. Watch Restrepo to get a real idea of what our troops experience at war. Volunteer in your community to help Veterans or to even visit Veteran retirement homes (yes, those exist). Take action, don't just pray for them. Do something to help, we are begging you. 22 a day, that's the number of Veterans who die by suicide. Think about that the next time that you think that war is the answer.
