I’m Living with PTSD but I Will Not Be Defined By It
Every story, every tale of someone’s life starts somewhere. For this, I think it is best to start near the end as in present day. I have been on a long journey since 2010, and I can finally say it has hit the path I know I was meant for.
I am a father to an amazing 1-year-old boy with eyes wide open to the world and they glow with amazement as he learns new things and experiences some of the world’s wonders first hand. But this isn’t my first shot at fatherhood — I also have three other equally amazing children, although I only know them through pictures I view on social media posted by their mothers. My daughter, 11, is so beautiful and from what I can tell full of life. My oldest son is nine years old and looks to be a beast on the gridiron experiencing the religion that is football in Texas. My middle son who is 4 is just now getting into sports playing tee-ball and has the biggest smile. My kids are all amazing, and I love them all equally, even with everything that has gone on in my life prior putting us in the current position.
I was discharged from the Marines in 2010 with an Other Than Honorable discharge. I had completed two tours to Iraq, one being your typical combat deployment — we were shot at, blown up, and hunted by the insurgents we spread from Fallujah to Ramadi. We knew the enemy was there, and they made sure of it. We lost some of the best men I have ever known to sniper fire and to improvised explosive devices. I won’t get into the details of these moments, mostly to preserve the level of sanity I have and dwelling on those moments aren’t what I want to be doing for obvious reasons.
My second deployment was more of a mind game. We were closer to the border of Syria and had taken part in opening it back up. During this time, the insurgents had begun to make their way out of Iraq to seek refuge in Afghanistan or other bordering countries. We knew there were still some out there but we had no idea where, when, or if they would strike. It was a mental game one that eventually takes its toll on someone. After that, we were attached to the 22nd MEU (Marine Expeditionary Unit) and went on float. It was your typical calm deployment living on ship, running on the flight deck, lifting weights, and just staying ready in case we were called upon to head into Afghanistan or back to Iraq.
Looking back at all of this, I realize I had been compartmentalizing all of my experiences so as not to have to deal with them, some of the things you see and do in certain situations aren’t really who you are but your mind relying on prior training and just wanting to survive. My family noticed a change in me, I am sure others did too. I brushed it off and just kept moving forward.
After my discharge, I moved my then-girlfriend and our two kids to Texas. It was rough to say the least. I wasn’t there. I was checked out doing things I normally wouldn’t do, and the unfortunate reality was my two kids where the ones suffering the most during all of this. I was their dad but I really wasn’t. I would go to my daughter’s school functions or take my son to the park. Looking back at this, I now know I wasn’t actually there. My mind was shut down, I was still over there without even realizing it. I was numb to the world and to the wonders of it — the wonders of being a father and seeing your daughter at her first choir recital, or the joy of your son as he does his first big jump off of the playground equipment. My PTSD was there, but I wasn’t allowing myself to deal with it. I was keeping it in check with a bottle of booze or a case of beer.
Quickly, the slope got wet and I slid down it, deep into the darkness as my mind swallowed me leaving a hollow shell of a person that was just going through the motions. This is when my girlfriend took my kids away from me, and they moved back to Virginia. I was angry and pissed off. I couldn’t believe she would do this. Now I know it was what was best for my kids, and looking at them now and how happy they are, I can’t argue that.
Then, I started dating again, and I had another son, but history repeated itself. So I did the only thing I knew how — I continued to numb myself with no other outlet or way of dealing. I didn’t want to face my PTSD. It made me feel weak and angry, so all I did was drink to keep myself numb. I was a hollow shell, continuing to go with the motions and do anything I could to be functioning as an adult. During this time, my friend Sam who was my corpsman, committed suicide. This rocked me to the core and was probably the first true emotion I felt in a long time. Sam saved me when I had my issues that lead up to my discharge, and in turn, I was unable to help him. I was devastated. I literally collapsed on the side of the road. That was the first time in years I had felt a true emotion.
I found Team Rubicon during this time, a veteran-led disaster response team. I deployed on one small relief operation with them, but I wasn’t ready to drink the koolaid yet or buy into their veteran reintegration mission. But after Sam died and emotion had smacked into me, I did some reflecting. Sam loved How I Met Your Mother, and he thought Barney was the next best thing to sliced bread. He was always quoting him: “When I am sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead.” I realized Sam would have smacked me upside the head told me to get up and stop wallowing in self pity, that life happens and what you do with it is on you. I deployed with Team Rubicon to the Hurricane Sandy Response in 2012, and it has been a blur ever since.
As my time with Team Rubicon went on, more and more I begin to heal. I even met my now girlfriend during the Hurricane Sandy Response. We had no idea what was in store for us at that time in a pub in the Rockaways. Also the bright-eyed, 1-year-old I spoke about at the beginning of this is our son Killian. Team Rubicon has helped me realize my purpose in life and has given me the training and help to deal with my PTSD and not be afraid of it. I am currently a Clay Hunt Fellow where we went through a program call YouSchool, a self-discovery program. It goes deep and makes you face your past and deal with your weaknesses. This has helped me in so many ways, and I am currently going through CPT (Cognitive Processing Therapy) to help me with my PTSD. We talk about my deployments, and I am slowly opening up and not hiding from those boxes that hold the details of those moments. And as far as being a father, I can feel again when Killian does something for the first time and smiles and wants me to see I am there in a heartbeat smiling with him. I play music and we dance together (well, sort of I can’t dance) and his moves are bouncing up and down swinging his arms, but it feels good and I laugh and smile. I embrace those feelings and emotions. I am no longer afraid of feeling and I don’t want to be numb. Coming home from work no matter how tiring it is knowing that I have a family at home waiting for me with a hug a smile and kiss makes all the stress wash away. Team Rubicon gave me the support system to be able to reach this new level in my life.
Since joining Team Rubicon, I have been given two things I want to pass on to my son:
1. You are never alone in this world. There is someone out there who has either experienced what you are going through, or is going through it as well. Don’t ever close the door on your past because you past experiences may be the key that helps another unlock their door.
2. You can do anything that you want, with true grit and determination the world is literally at your fingertips.
I will always have the scars of PTSD, but now with the help of those in Team Rubicon, and my friends at the Steven A. Cohen Military Clinic (I refuse to call them therapists anymore, as I have connected with them on so many levels they are my friends now). I can live my life the way it is meant to be as a Veteran, A Father, and most importantly a person in touch with himself that faces everything head on.
