I have many dreams.  Some big, some small.  Some realistic, some fantastical.  But they’re mine and it’s nice to know that I give myself the power to realize them one at a time until my time runs out.  I don’t have to rely on anyone but me…I never should have in the first place.  And I can admit very freely how scary it is and even how lonely, but it is also empowering. 

When things sort of fell apart with my marriage, I was so scared.  I had never felt so afraid or hurt or unstable.  And I looked ahead thinking there would be no way I could walk forward.  But it also awakened me to myself.  What I knew was that I had given up alot of “me” to be able to be a military wife.  Getting ahead in my education and finding myself in a career was next to impossible just due to the all the relocations and deployments.  And I honestly did that proudly.  Until the day it seemed that my sacrifices over the years no longer mattered to him.  And then I was ready to get ME back…to chase after things I wanted for myself that I had let run away.

Today, I looked back down that road I’ve been walking all along to see in that near distance what the past year and a half have brought.  A tough year of self-realization, of contemplation, of returning to school, etc.  And when I turned back around to evaluate where I stand today, I see this person I’m learning to love and appreciate again.  A mother, a friend, a warm heart, a NURSE (official on Monday!), a strong woman…I see ME.  And good, bad, or indifferent, this is how my life is going on.

It’s all just hitting home to me.  Everything that has led me to this point is swimming violent circles around my head.  It’s strange to have so many contradictory emotions run through at once, to feel so hopeless and yet so eager for the future.  I’ve been seeing snapshots of past life for days and I’ve been spending hours trying to gather in my head how I will proceed on to start this new life on my own. 

I guess it’s the fact that not every picture that I recall is  bad.  We had some very special and happy times.  And we had some very dark and devastating ones.  Sorting and filing them into a way that allows me to walk on…that’s what I’m trying to do now.  Reviewing the good and bad is like looking at two completely different lives and it’s hard to believe that they somehow fit together as part of my life story.  I think of the day my daughter was born…the moment, in fact, and how heavenly my life was the moment they put her in my arms and he and I cried together out of joy for this miracle we weren’t sure we’d ever have.  And then I think of that day I learned of his last crucial mistake, his last bad decision and how sick I was of letting PTSD be an excuse any more that would tear me apart any longer.  I remember how hurt and angry and confused and ugly and stuck I felt that day…and how I knew things would never be the same after that.  And they weren’t.  They never will be.

How did we get here?  How did we end up so far past “home” that it’s not even home anymore?    What is this all for?  Did that stupid war accomplish anything that says that the way it ruined my life is worth it?  Do people realize how many of those who served their country gave their lives for it and yet still walk our streets?  Does the government even care about families like mine or stories like ours?  Who answers for any of this?  Who stops it?  What justifies it?

Shawn and I have been “separated” for almost six months now.  We haven’t been together in 14 months…  And the ups and downs and twists and turns are relentless and becoming more painful for both of us, I think.  Trying to completely let go is difficult.  And maybe down right impossible when you have children.  But it’s starting to feel like a new kind of never-ending hell and as much as I want us to be friends and incredible parents together, I also think I can’t take any more of the same discussions where we try and figure out everything and get nowhere.  He can’t tell me exactly why he pulled away from me when he did or why my efforts were fruitless for him.  And I can’t tell him why now that he’s willing to try, I can’t do it anymore.

Seven years.  Seven years is why. I didn’t quit or give up.  I gave seven years of “trying.”  The last three were extremely difficult and by the end of it, I was broken.  Nobody gets that…or wants to.  They didn’t know or didn’t want to know what was happening.  Even when I went to family and told them how bad his PTSD had gotten, they seemed to skim past it in disbelief.  And I felt so alone trying to fight a giant much bigger and stronger than me.  He’d become so bitter with life, so negative and easily enraged.  He was miserable to be anywhere, miserable to be nowhere, and he started drinking just to tolerate being at home after work…just to tolerate anything.  His whole life as he knew it was forever changed by what he had to go through overseas.  And the changes became too much.  For both of us, just too much.

He once told me that war had taken everything he’d ever thought he’d known or believed or been taught about life and turned it upside down.  That it stole the innocence and the good from him.  It took his religion.  It made everything a lie.  I didn’t know how to contend with that.  I understood it.  And I mourned it, to be honest. But I couldn’t possibly know how to combat that for him.  And I tried in any way that I could for him.  I stayed sometimes when I didn’t want to…when he scared me…because I wanted to be his savior.  The reality was then, and is now, that you can’t be a savior.  You can be a friend.  You can be devoted and committed.  You can be a listener and you can give advice. You can love them and support them, but you can’t be a savior to anyone. 

In the end, people have to choose to save themselves, even if that means accepting help.  And they have to know that in the time it takes them to make that choice, life continues and change occurs as naturally and as dependably as day becomes night.  Timing matters.  If he’d made the choice two years ago to ask for help, to see that I was there fighting for him and for us.  Instead it’s two years later and day has become night many times over and my fight and energy for it are gone.  Yes, I’m changed.  I’ve felt the failure and the hurt and the disappointment and the loneliness.  And I’m changed–but no more than anyone else would be had they have walked a mile for me, or even with me.  Despite the change,  I’ll always care for him and hope for him and be there to support him.  But, I can’t help the changes either–no more than he can help what’s happened to him.  And I guess I need everyone to try and understand that and just climb off of me for a minute.  And maybe, someone could just support me without judging me and know how hard it is to let go.  But know that I think I have to let go…

So off to see mental health for him.  But first…

It’s a joke, you know.  They say they “screen” these guys when they redeploy homeward for PTSD or related issues.  But honestly, there are no checks and balances and there is no way to make these guys actually answer any of those questions truthfully when they know it’s only going to delay them longer and affect their home return.  So first off, this is where the systems and the programs begin to fail.  And then, they give all the spouses pamphlets and have meetings about what to expect after their homecoming, warning signs of PTSD, etc.  And while I guess it did help me recognize the early signs, it didn’t help him at all.  No matter how much I knew about PTSD, I’d never know it like he did and nothing I recognized or said made any difference.  And he refused to acknowledge it for fear of what that ‘label’ even meant for him as a career soldier. He refuses still today. I don’t think I blame him either.

Our experiences with this disorder accumulated over about 6 years before he knew he HAD to go talk to someone.  And when he did, I was disappointed with how unaggressive they were in actually addressing the problem.  They wouldn’t even officially daignose him.  They were quick, however, to send him home with medications–masks, if you will–with “plans” to have him talk to a psychologist later.  It never happened. He’d return and the psychiatrist would just give him more meds.  You’re depressed and anxious?  Have some Xanax and Prozac.  You can’t sleep?  Add some Ambien.  And honestly, I think this was just making it worse.  To just blanket these deeply seeded problems chemically without finding the root and pulling it out of him…I don’t get it.  It seems so simple a principle: to get rid of the weed, you must take it by the root.

And it angers me.  Not just for us, but for everyone who has received this part of the “program.”  If anything, they’re just handing these guys the chemical weapon to destroy themselves further with addiction and drug dependence, and even equipping them with serious means to end their life if they feel they can’t take it anymore.  It’s happened.  A lot. To people we know, in fact.  Yeah, to people we know… For one, SPC Joseph Dwyer.  He was a friend of Shawn’s in OIF I.  They saw and did some crazy things in that drive to Baghdad.  And on June 28, 2008 due to PTSD, he overdosed. 

So what did they do for us? NOTHING. They did nothing…except add us to the statistics of what happens to military families and marriages after combat.  Thanks guys.  Appreciate it.

You know, you’ll never please everyone.  In fact, some days you won’t please anyone.  But defeat is an awful thing to lie down for.  Just because someone didn’t like what you had to say doesn’t mean it wasn’t valid for any number of reasons.  #1: This blog helps ME.  It’s hard to verbalize things sometimes.  And I write for me… And I so chose to post my journaling because… #2: This blog can be a help to others who are battling the same things and sharing the same experiences… and now, #3: This blog may help raise awareness about combat-related PTSD.  People need to understand not only what it is and what it’s doing to our soldiers and their families, but they also need to understand how poorly the programs that are there to “help” are being implemented. 

No one will ever understand the gravity of this disorder if there isn’t at least one who is willing to put an honest face on it, who is willing to speak up about the quality of treatment options being offered by government/military programs. 

So, I re-enter myself here with a disclaimer:

This blog is of a personal nature. It’s content will be as vivid as the reality it speaks of.  It will discuss topics and issues from a personal perspective that no reader is being forced to agree or contend with.  While it is not the writer’s intention to offend, she will not edit a blog of true life encounters to please those who are easily offended or shallow-minded, as this would affect the entire premise of the blog. If this be the case, it is recommended that you not read it, as you are not being  coerced to do so.  In that, any disgruntlement you feel from this point is not to be blamed on the writer, but on yourself as the reader for continuing to read on.

More to come and thank you to those who have showed genuine support…

I hate PTSD. Period. For so many reasons…but mostly for how it needlessly destroys people and families.  I’m not a perfect person or wife, but the truth is, PTSD ruined us. Not him, not me, but those stupid 4 letters that haunt so many.  Too many can’t or won’t talk about it, they don’t get the help they need, and it slowly tears them apart.  I felt that maybe just talking about it may help others to be able to speak about it and, not to cure it, but to at least seek help before it consumed their lives the way it did ours.  Maybe if people understood the gravity of it and the overwhelming occurance…that’s what I thought.  And now I say, “No wonder…”  No wonder this is how it is…

The response and judgement that came at me has just made it clear to me why this is a tragedy for so many soldiers and their families.  But, I have to clarify…I’m not angry now and wasn’t ever angry at him for being affected.  I don’t blame him…I can’t imagine and am heartbroken over what it was like for him to see and experience what he did.  I became frustrated that I couldn’t help him when I was his ‘other half,’ his best friend, his wife.  And it over the years changed him completely.  The happy, spiritual, easy-going man I married became almost atheist, miserable, and angry.  And I know he didn’t want that or mean for it to become that way…but as a result, actions were taken that were hurtful and hard to recover from.  I spoke to reach out.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t believe that.  I was reaching out for us and to everyone going through what we were. 

You all have both my gratitude and apologies.  And I wish you all the very best.

God Bless, Sheli

That’s what this last year and half especially has been like.  Wait…reality…its been longer.  But that’s when the bricks fell, when everything I thought up to that moment came crashing down on top of me and I was left trying to decide the next move, to sort the options, and to come to terms with what I’d tried so hard to ignore. That’s when PTSD would no longer be background noise I was desperately trying to drown out.  It came screaming and with force, refusing to be ignored any longer.

The funny thing is, I didn’t think I’d ignored what was going on with my husband.  From the first deployment I’d educated myself on PTSD–what it looked like, how to deal with it, what to expect.  So when its first signs were revealed I perked up and tuned in a bit.  I made myself available, gave him the freedom to talk about anything whenever he needed to, didn’t force him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, never judged or feared what he said about what he’d seen or done.  When his ‘triggers’ came, I stayed calm with him, reassured him, stayed by him.  Loud noises, public places, fast drivers, sirens–all were recognizable triggers.  And then his nightmares started.  The first time I became aware of them, I wasn’t even conscious.  I was sleeping next to him, seperated to my side of the bed like married people do…and then I woke up to what seemed like a sudden strike of lightening, with the flash and everything, followed by a throbbing pain in the whole side of my face and with shock, I jumped up confused.  It was the first time he hit me in the middle of one of his night rages.  He came to and found me sitting up holding my face, a bit frightened.  When he realized what had happened he couldn’t stop apologizing. He told me he’d been dreaming and I told him I was okay, to go back to sleep.  I wasn’t angry or upset.  Just worried. And over the next couple of years, it happened more.  I never got mad.  When he offered to sleep in another room, I refused.  I wanted him to know I was going to be there no matter what.  And I was…

…And this was the beginning.

So not now, but soon, I plan to maybe catch up on the last few years of what life and military has been like…and clarify what it used to be.  It’s time people really understood some things…

And, there’s also that not so kind thought of goodbye lurking around.  R&R is a blessing and curse because it’s such a short-lived trip followed by yet another dreadful departure and seperation.  You get so excited for the time to come, and then it’s over so quickly and you always feel you’ve blinked past your time together and not really reacquainted.

Nonetheless, I’m beside myself at the thought of being held again, to have his arm around me, his hand on mine, and his face close enough to touch.  It’s odd to think of having such a personal interaction when you’ve gone so long without it.  The protective shell that has built itself around me over the last several months is about to be cracked apart and it’s oddly uncomfortable and exciting.  Having to be so independent and then allowing yourself to be vulnerable to someone again is maybe one of the toughest parts of military marriages.  You work so hard to be able to deal with living alone and then dread the day you become exceedingly good at it.  But, the good news is, we’ve been successful at all of this thus far.  And we survive our deployments on prayer.  I firmly believe that fact alone makes our transitions smooth and his trips safe.

Meanwhile, Kaeli and I took a 10 day vacation to California with my family.  It was a wonderful way to kill time and Kaeli has yet to lose her awe over her Sea World experience.  We had a wonderful trip despite a few minor setbacks, but I of course found myself depressed and lonely without Shawn there to share that experience.  It was Kaeli’s first real vacation, and we celebrated our 9 year anniversary while we there–that made it a little bittersweet.  Those situations bring me back to the reality of how much I need him and want him here.  Because, no matter how much I’ve adjusted to him not being here, I can’t adjust to him really being gone either.  The more people I’m around, the lonelier I feel.  And no experience is thorough while he is gone.  I miss him so much.  And I miss me, too….because I have to be someone that isn’t necessarily myself in order to make it through these prolonged seperations.  Though it will only be a few days, it will be nice to feel like I “fit” somewhere again. 

You never really know what to expect as a first time mom.  But rest assured, whatever you pictured in your head is nothing at all what it is.  And yet, it’s everything you pictured.  When I found out we were having a girl, I immediately imagined this teeny little thing with little blonde ringlets, like me.  I imagined a quiet child..much like how I and her father were as children.  And here she came, 9lbs and 2ozs, head full of thick, dark hair.  And fiesty from day one.  She’s been completely unexpected and such a blessing.  I envisioned alot of quiet moments where I would hold my newborn and just gaze at her…birds singing, gentle sun shining…. And then there was colic.  Needless to say, i learned quickly how hard it was to be a mother…a good one, anyway.  I developed patience I’d never known, energy despite sleepless nights, and a truly unconditional love I never knew I was capable of.    And as much I as I try teach her, she’s taught me more already at 2 and a half.  I’ve become stronger and resiliant and patient.   And i love it.

Since there was a time when I believed i couldn’t be a mommy, I feel even more blessed.  And I’m never disappointed when things aren’t how I pictured….because she didn’t come from a cookie-cutter mold…she’s this little person who is taking her own exciting paths, who is discovering things her own way, who lets me walk beside her when she does.

To all the mother’s who are waiting to be showered on Mother’s Day….STOP!  This is your day to realize how blessed you are to have the opportunity you’ve had.  To be thankful and contemplative.  You’ve already been so blessed!  The thing of motherhood encompasses every trial and triumph..every tantrum, every fit of laughter.  All those days you smelled of sweat and spit-up….those were the best days of your life!  Because hard as they were, you became someone better….you became a mommy!

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!  To those who were there once, who are here now, who will be there tomorrow, who long to be there….