Avoidance...

So for those of you new to my blog, lets sum up. I went to Afghanistan in 2008, got back in 2009. Saw a whole bunch of really fun stuff over there, did a lot of really fun things over there. Came back, started a family, damn near got divorced, still hanging on by a thread and now I live in Pennsylvania while my wife and daughters live in Michigan. I know, that's a very brief overview but the cherry on top to all of that is that since 2009, I've been dealing with a pretty pronounced case of PTSD. I've had my ups and my downs. But that is enough to bring you up to speed on what I'm about to cover.

Avoidance: The action of keeping away from or not doing something.

How many of us (vets) can see that in our daily lives. I'm going to take a wild guess and say just about all of us. Even the ones who don't have PTSD.

Just a thought, I could be wrong, but at least for me who is the only person I can speak for with any kind of certainty, avoidance is the order of the day. Has been for years. Its like it became my first general order.

I will avoid everything within the limits of my life and quit my avoidance only when properly relieved.

 That fit in there pretty good. For those of you who don't know, the first general order is I will guard everything within the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved.

So anyways, avoidance is mother fucker. Because if you're avoiding everything in your life you're really not solving anything or getting anywhere. Avoidance is all about comfort. You avoid things so you're not uncomfortable. You don't want to deal with crowds because they make your hands sweat. You don't want to be near hajis because they make your heart race. You don't want to smell diesel because it just smells so damn good. Seriously they need to make cologne out of that shit.

In my case, I've been known to hide out in my house or work for months at a time. Basically, if it is not required to maintain my employment or my life I don't do it. Just enough to make sure I don't get fired and I don't die. I can't really explain it any more succinctly than that.

Now there's a lot of issues with that, chief among them is basically being dead. For all intents and purposes I believe that acting like that is tantamount to volunteering to be dead.

If that's not dumb as a box of shit I don't know what is.

But what do you do about it? I mean you can spout a few platitudes about whatever but that doesn't really help anyone who is right in the thick of this shit. Truly it doesn't. I always love it when people say shit like, "Oh you just need to get out there and do things, once you do that it'll go away."

How about this, the idea isn't to get it to go away. Truthfully, I don' think it will ever go away. Those feelings will always be just one little step away. To be perfectly honest, I don't know if I them to go away. If they did, I might be losing a major part of my life. Something that I am ridiculously proud of.  When my country called, I answered. I fought, and I made it home. I don't want to suppress that or forget it.

So how do we get to being able to live with it and not drive myself and/or everyone around me fucking insane? That's the $64,000 question.

Enter Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Stage Left!

CBT to my fat ass's rescue.

Is it a miracle cure? I suppose initially I thought so. But you have to get in your own head, which is someplace I imagine the majority of us combat vets aren't real keen on going most times.

So I dreamed up an imaginary friend to help me out. Okay, I might have had a little help from my adolescent fantasy land that I lived in from about 9-15 years of age, but whatever works right. Just imagine Ronda Rousey with tiggle bitties. That's my imaginary friend. A better characterization might be the woman who calls out all my destructive thought patterns and is nice enough to call me a "bitch" when I need to hear it. I do need to hear that quite a bit.

Basically, the way that I understand it (and I'm not a shrink so I may get it wrong, I'm only talking about me) is that the basis of CBT is to catch yourself thinking the bullshit that makes you unhappy, anxious, depressed, lazy or anything else you don't want to be and when you catch yourself, challenge that shit and find the fallacious thinking that you are doing and show yourself that you're full of shit.

Its hard to do. Its not easy to spend your day examining your thoughts and checking them. Especially when you're like me. I've got to challenge just about every thought that runs through my head. But it gets easier, and you learn different things to adapt your mind to the rigors of thinking about thinking. In my case, I created my imaginary friend. So in my head its almost like someone else is in there watching my thoughts and when a bad one comes by it grabs it, shakes it in my face and says, "What is this shit, bitch?"

It works. No one can tell me it doesn't. I do it every day and if I didn't do it everyday I would most likely have eaten a bullet many many years ago. So my existence is a testament to how well this stuff works.

See for yourself. Talk to a shrink. Tell them you want to do CBT, most of them will be all over that shit. If you don't want to go to a shrink, then you gotta read. So decide which one you hate less and if it you elect to read, this is the book you should start with FEELING GOOD

Okay, that's enough of my shit for one day.

Book Recommendation: The Coddling of the American Mind.

Here's a website all about it.

Now, I got a remote start installed on my truck today. Mostly because its starting to get F-ing cold around here and I don't want to have to get in a cold truck every morning. I want to get in a warm truck. So $339 later here I am.

But I had to take it in to the shop this morning to get it put in, and I didn't have anyone to give me a ride home so instead of waiting there I figured I'd head over to Barnes & Noble and see what I could dig up. First book I picked up was "The Coddling of the American Mind"

Its no big secret that college campuses are bastions of leftist thought. That in and of itself is not earth shattering at all. The problem with it is that they have gotten to the point where the free exchange of ideas is tantamount to violence in their minds. The idea being that, if you think differently than they do, and you have the nerve to speak, then you're being violent.

I am about midway through the book and I got it this morning so I can tell you the prose is excellent and it keeps you interested. I haven't gotten to the last part of the book where they are going to delve into some solutions to this mental illness that seems to be pervasive in all these kids.

That is one thing that I think they did exceptionally well. They recommend CBT, which anyone who has been through my wonderful history with PTSD knows is a Godsend. Its basically, a thought modification project you do in your own head. For the most part, works like a charm. So, if you find yourself in a depressed state, do some reading on CBT, do some of the thought worksheets and start catching your bullshit thoughts before they spill out into your life. Its what I did. If you need a place to start reading here it is.

Also, I don't think I'm the only one who finds the fact that these guys posit that these college kids who can't seem to hear certain words without having a conniption, need to do some cognitive behavioral therapy. They may not have meant it this way, I cannot speak to their motives, but in my mind the implication there is that these kids are on some level, fucking nuts.

Now I'm not one for bashing generations. Okay, that's not true. But I normally do it up, not down. I train the majority of ire onto the boomers. Additionally, I work in a profession where younger people are needed, and my profession is having exceptional problems attracting and keeping quality kids nowadays. This doesn't bode well for the future of my job. Which, unfortunately isn't going anywhere. So we need to figure out how to work with this younger generation and be able to hand this off to someone when I'm too old for this shit.

Typically, older folks love to bash the kids. I'm not really too interested in that on a macro level. On a micro-level, I think its great. These chuckle-heads are endlessly entertaining to me. But when you think about it big picture, whether we like it or not, its the old who have to adjust to the young. Pretty soon we'll be senior citizens drawing our non-existent social security and belly aching about the discount we get at the Cracker Barrel, and they'll be running...well everything.

I also would like to point out how each generation always manages to forget that the generations that they love to talk shit about are their own damn kids. Take some fucking responsibility. My kids are 5 and 3. So I'm going to have to answer for them in a couple decades.

That went all over the place didn't it? Anyway, pick up a copy if you're looking for something to read.

Today, She Put The Dog Down...

And I wasn't there. I knew it was coming, but I didn't know it was coming today. I picked that dog out. When he came up and laid on my feet years ago I said, This one.

Now after that he became a royal pain in the ass. He was a spaz. He had to be medicated and toward the end of his life he peed everywhere. But he was a dog, and that by itself made him good.

My wife tells me she did it while I wasn't home because I didn't even like the dog. Which is partly true. I didn't really like him, but there were times when he grew on me. But that's not what I'm getting at here. I picked him out. I am part of the family, I'm supposed to be the head of the family. I wanted to be there. Not just for the dog, but for her.

She calls me up crying to let me know that Ranger is gone and while I felt for him, I felt for her too. I felt for my little girls. My little girls who are going to ask where the dog is later. I didn't want to miss this. I want to be there for my family. But I can't. My job, and our future won't allow that right now.

But it doesn't hurt any less.

I'm sorry I wasn't there to at least say goodbye Ranger.

I'm sorry I wasn't there to comfort you Princess.

I'm sorry I won't be there to answer your questions girls.

I'm so so sorry.

That Might Have Been A Little Over The Top...

I don't know if you read what I wrote yesterday, but it came from a pretty dark place. I've been there myself. From time to time, I feel the need to go back for a little bit. Not quite sure why that is, but its a thing.

So here I sit watching a bunch of nerdy chuckleheads playing poker on TV. Yes, I've fallen that far, I'm actually watching people playing cards on TV.

In any case, I wanted to say that you don't need to worry. I mean feel free if that's the kind of thing you like to do. I mean some people are worriers. But make no mistake. While there have been some thoughts had. Maybe thoughts that most would say I shouldn't be having...they were had nonetheless.

I don't think that having suicidal or homicidal thoughts is really that big of a deal. I think the problem lies in there being really no way, other than self reporting, for anyone to differentiate between thoughts and plans.

Plans would mean you set down and figured out how many guns and bullets you need and where to get them if you don't have them already and where you were going to stand and all that stuff. Maybe followed by a dry run or a practice if you will, or maybe a rehearsal to use the parlance I learned in the Army. We rehearsed most of our missions, if we had time. What is that other than practicing to kill someone. They gave me medals for that. If I did the same thing here, I'm headed to a padded room.

I haven't broken with reality. I haven't lost my will to live. On the contrary, I think its all the more solidified. Given the fact that like the word contrary, I am a contrarian and if I think for one minute that there are people in the world that would like to see me out of the picture that is all the reason that I need to stay in it and increase my profile if you will. Basically, I am too big of an asshole to want to kill myself.

A Local Man...

A local man was shot in the head last night. Police are unsure of the cause of the shooting. Currently the CSI crew is working on figuring out whether he shot himself or if one of his many fans came and did the honors for him. No note was found, but the man did have tears streaking down his cheeks leading the investigators to speculate it was self inflicted. A large cache of VA prescription medications were found in the man's apartment.

No one has come forward to claim the body as yet. Police are working to find the next of kin. Which is to say, they are looking for someone who legally has to take this dead fuck off their hands so they don't have to bury him in a cheap grave on the county plot. It may be cheap, but that shit is still expensive to the taxpayers.

His funeral was attended by a smattering of old friends and a few old enemies who just wanted to make sure it was him that was getting put in the ground. A few tears were shed, a few chuckles and a couple evil grins,  but for the most part it was business as usual again before the first shovel full of dirt hit the top of that pine refrigerator box the county was good enough to purchase for him.

His life was fairly unremarkable. His landlord said he paid the rent on time, but he needed to get the clean up crew in the apartment to get that bitch rented out again. The family will not be getting the security deposit back. Time marches on...

He did manage to leave his children a couple life insurance policies. A parting gift from a father not worth his salt. The insurance agent joked, "consider it 18 years of child support paid in full"

Oh don't worry about me. I'm just trying to find out how deep my darkness goes. If you thought I was talking about myself, rest assured I am not. I wouldn't give any mother fucker on earth the satisfaction. I am going to live to a ripe old age and die alone, but not miserable. Or maybe I'll get lucky and find a way to go out in a blaze of glory...not likely, but its possible.

In any case, if I ever come up with a bullet in my head, make no mistake about it, someone else put it there. I choose life.

Oh How I Love It So...

Everyday at one point or another I'll stare out into space and somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I can smell it. I can smell the dust, I can smell the nasty shit farts of all the GI's belting out the last remnants the steak and lobster we had at Salerno the other night. I can hear that low guttural hum coming from the patrol fueling back up next to the LZ.

I can feel the sweat rolling down my back. I can smell the cigarettes and piss emanating through the back door as I do believe that the only place in society today where smoking is not only tolerated, but accepted and even encouraged is in the military. Plus, the piss tubes are behind the "barracks", or the KBR Quonset huts that have contained our beds for the past few months.
I can feel the 550 cord tied around my wrist. Left over remnant of an overzealous platoon daddy who liked to take weapons while a motherfucker was sleeping.

I can feel the dust. Yeah, I'm back to the dust again. That god damned dust again. It gets into everything. Its on the sheets. Its on the floor...along with the funny looking skid mark left over from the lone 7.62 round that came crashing through the roof the other night. It never lets up, the dust. It is constantly rubbing your hands raw. Rubbing your face until its smooth, well except for the permanent layer of dust that is caked on your face...and everything else for that matter.

I hear the emmy award winning conversation coming from somewhere a few bunks down pertaining to the cost of butt sex in Bagram.
The fucking dust again. Its between my teeth now. So much so that every time I close my mouth I can feel and hear the fucking dust crunching between my teeth. I take a bottle of water from under the rack and swish it around in my mouth trying to get it out of there. Which only succeeds in relocating the bulk of the dust from my mouth to my stomach. I'm going to be shitting dust covered turds for a  year.

Then someone says something to me. Or the phone rings. Or some such shit. And I'm back. Back here. Watching some nonsensical TV show, or flogging the dolphin, or smoking a cigarette while the old bag across the street looks at me like I'm the devil himself. I can't help but wink at her.

Then a little bit of me feels a little twinge of guilt. What the fuck am I feeling guilty about? Hell if I know. For the life of me I still can't figure that one out. But the fact remains, I miss it. I miss it, because oh how I love it so...

Kids Today....

How many times throughout your life have you heard that phrase? Kids today. Normally it is used derisively against whoever the "kid" is. Also, have you noticed that people are real fluid in their definitions of kid vs adult, old vs young when it comes to themselves. Just an observation I'm not sure where it fits into this but its been on my mind so there it is.

Its especially true of those of the population my age and younger. I'm 41 and for the sake of argument I could probably be representative of most people up to age 45. Then those kids younger than me. Millennial I believe they're called. But it seems like no one at the older end of that generation wants to be associated with them. Have you noticed that? Its not all of them. Just the old ones. You know the ones who were almost in the previous generation but missed it by a year or two on the cut off?

Also, who the hell picks the dates on these generations? I can't figure out what they use as the criteria. A major event? Just a random date. A epoch distance from one fixed point in time? Fucked if I know.

For the sake of today's diatribe we're going to use the above chart. Why? The incredibly scientific method of it was the first one I saw when I googled "define the generations", and surprisingly enough it fits very nicely with my view of myself and the world. (Define confirmation bias) Plus its the Pew Research Center. I've heard of them before.

But I want to talk about the people who were born between say 1981-1985. These people are now 34-38 years old. I've got a lot of friends in this age group. One night at a bar with my brother someone was talking about this shit and he got real defensive about not being a millenial. He had no interest in being one. Which I suppose I can understand, at least from where I sit the vast majority of press on millenials is negative. But it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that this is the never ending story. Every generation thinks the one that came before and the one that comes after are shit. The only generation that's worth a damn is the one you're in. Except them guys that fought WWII they're exempt from all this shit, cuz everyone knows they're the best...except for the fact that the baby boomers are 100% all their fault. 

But I still didn't know what to do with the whole, "I hate my own generation" thing. I suppose since I'm a generation Xer, it doesn't faze me all that much. I mean they've made TV shows about my childhood now (The Goldbergs) and the consensus is that my childhood pretty much rocked. *I have some issues with that, but on the whole for the generation its true. 

Plus, we're the generation who were the last to live when there wasn't a computer in every fucking pocket. The machines didn't run my life from jump street. I mean they do now, but it didn't start off that way. I wonder if there's a certain amount of intergenerational jealousy because we actually know what its like to live in a world without smart phones? Maybe I'm nuts. Or I'm trying to justify my own feelings of superiority. Could be, but it doesn't change the fact that at least in my experience those kids born 1981-1985 are the only people who will argue with you about what generation they're in. I've rambled long enough. Looking back, I really need to start structuring my posts some kind of way. This stream of consciousness shit is exhausting...