“I can’t stop feeling hopeless. I’m done.”

If you’ve ever read my blog or visited my website you know what I do, the types of clients I work with, where I “came from”, and what I discuss here. Knowing all of that, I’ll tell you that hearing what I do, and seeing what I see on a daily basis never gets easy and never will. That’s why I’m so careful about taking care of myself emotionally and spiritually- because things are intense every day.

I’ve spoken about my past thoughts of suicide when I was in the middle of my struggle with PTSD, but I feel like I really need to let people know exactly where I was and what happened to get me to that point.

I had been through 2 deployments to Iraq already, and was halfway through my 3rd and final one. During those times I experienced what so many of us experienced- I was shot at and fired back, experienced incoming so much that after a while it’s just “normal”, lost buddies and had to see and deal with the aftermath (Remains Recovery Team Leader- “You’re older and more mature, you can handle it!”). All of the “typical” things that you see or hear about- the stuff that we as a society think and expect service members to experience because it’s a war, and that happens. None of us are truly ready for when these things happen, or the lingering effects of it. But what adds to many people’s burdens are the small things- the things that are in your memory and are at times crowded out or covered up because of the more vivid things that I mentioned above. Those are the things that are the candles on top of the giant shit-covered dirt cake we all feed from and that obscures the light in our souls, pushing us deeper into the dark places in our heads and hearts. Looking back on it all now, THOSE are the things that pushed me over the edge and had me feeling extremely hopeless.

Things like this- here’s a picture of me during my second tour….

See that guy? It’s me. I’m a dad at this point in my life. These kids used to SWARM us. Yelling “MEESTA, MEESTA!!” and asking us for, well… anything. Pens and pencils, a bottle of water, a dollar, food, just… stuff. Why? Because look around- how they’re dressed, surrounded by trash and dirt, and houses made from mud and stacked up cinder blocks. Goats and chickens walking around. We would search their houses and they would be almost totally devoid of anything. Foam mats to sleep on, a TV, a refrigerator or freezer and that’s it. Cement floors. I look back on it now and think how terrible it must be to live like that- even WITHOUT the things that come with living in a war zone. But then? That dad in the picture, the smiling guy with kids all around? He would also throw rocks or D-cell batteries at kids from vehicles as he rode by. Or smack a kid in the head because they were getting too close when we were recovering a vehicle that was hit with an IED. Or kick them in the seat of their pants. Who the fuck does that to a kid? What kind of sick individual is capable of that? Me. And then you bring it home- that’s what you carry in your Ruck. That’s what we bring back into our homes and keep in our hearts. Who was mean to their kid? Who yelled and lost their temper when their kid was being a kid? Me. That’s one candle on the dirt cake with shit icing.

Looking back on it, I remember so many details and things said and done. It’s all “just another day”. See… you don’t even have to actually experience one big, horrible event. But the knowing and expecting that you have to. Day in and out for a year. One time during my third tour, I was in this warehouse we occupied in Taji. It had a sheet metal roof. There were a few of us just sitting there, when we heard this loud “BAM!”, like someone bounced a rock off of the metal roof, and immediately after that a short “ping” off the floor about 3 feet away from me. We all looked up like “What the fuck was THAT?!” That’s when we saw the hole in the roof- about an inch or so long, football-ish shaped. We started looking at the floor when someone found it- an AK-47 round. We weren’t getting shot AT, but somewhere in the city, someone either fired in the air, or was in the middle of shooting at someone. This bullet goes up, and just happens to come down, through our roof and bounces off the floor 3 feet from where I am. Keep in mind- we’re “safe”, so no helmets, no vests, just uniforms. If that had hit me or someone else in the head, or anywhere else, we would have been screwed. Just another day.

Those moments are the candles on that cake. THAT’S what pushed it over the top. All of those small moments and things that I carried- even though in the grand scheme of things they were mere pebbles compared to the larger rocks, but when you add hundreds of pebbles to an already huge, barely manageable rucksack full of rocks those pebbles and the weight become pretty damn significant.

So there I am, on mid-tour leave on my third tour- driving around on the riding mower avoiding my family. I was there physically- smiling and putting on a happy face when I needed to (at least I think I was), but behind closed doors and in my heart & soul it was about as fucking miserable and dark as it could be. I had nowhere to go. I was pretty much used up at that point. I was an empty husk of a person. It was then that the thought came to me, that “If I killed myself, this would all just stop”. I was serious. It was an option, man. So why didn’t I do it? After years of trying to figure out why, the only thing I can come up with is that I went back to Iraq- and back to focusing on “the mission”. Without that distraction, who knows what I would have done.

Whatever the reason behind my not going through with it, here I am. And that’s the point of this blog entry. I just wish I could somehow reach everyone out there who is where I was back then to say to them that even though you may feel the way you do, and like there’s just no other answer or option, that there IS. That you aren’t a “monster”, you aren’t a “failure” or a “piece of shit”. If you need to talk to someone, there’s people out there that you can trust. Even if you feel alone and like no one will understand, that there ARE people that understand. Even if they aren’t a vet who’s experienced what you have, or if you’re the survivor of any other kind of trauma- there are people who care and can help. Maybe you’ve tried to reach out and gotten burned, because that happens a lot. But it’s okay- try again. I’M TELLING YOU it can be done, and that’s the truth. I’m not bullshitting you. I’m walking, talking, breathing PROOF that you can be right there, on the edge of harming yourself because of PTSD and Survivors Guilt, and all of those other “candles” I talked about, and not only just “make it”, but come back stronger and happier- kicking ass and taking fucking names. LIVING life- not going through the motions, but grabbing it by the horns and LIVING. Of course I’m not telling you it’s easy and everything will suddenly change and be perfect. The road can be rough, I know this. But because of where you’re headed, and what’s waiting for you at the end, it’s totally worth it.

I’m here, I’m ready. Ask for help. Contact me at Warrior Elder Counseling Services, LLC- let’s kick some ass and get it figured out.

Let me know what you want to do.