Page 14 - Total War on PTSD

My first mission is to gain your trust so here I am, reaching out my hand. With my own PTSD, that was, and still is, not an easy thing to do. I recall digging my well-worn Mariners Cross out of hiding from under my uniform while glancing up at the night sky for the possible glare of a rocket and furtively kissing it before quickly tucking it back out of sight while heading out to the bunkers...and how I thought seriously about kissing the good earth of America after coming home from my Afghanistan deployment. Years after some very good care and some poor care, part of me was, and admittedly still is, stuck — over there, in hell. Let me share with you how it felt for me to be there.
“I imagine myself standing outside at night with my head tilted up to accept the rain pouring down on my face. I don't notice, nor even feel, the tears running down my face alongside the raindrops. My emotions left me long ago, stolen by a thief in a night streaked by rockets glare, shaken by their thudding impacts, and pierced by the rapid-fire response of marine guns defending our perimeter. It doesn't matter that I am soaked to the bone, that my clothes cling to me while the rain tries to wash away my pain. I see it all and hear it. But I feel nothing but that deep dread that carries one question: does that incoming have my name on it?
Every day, and at any time of day, when I hear any sort of unexpected noise, I may go into barely controlled panic mode. My reaction includes immediately looking around for escape routes and examining everyone and everything around me as a potential threat, my anxiety and heart-rate rising by the second.
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