The main reason I am writing The Afghanistan Story is to conduct a type of self-therapy that forces the person with trauma to walk through the scenario in as much detail as possible while they are no longer in a stressed environment. I have requested PTSD help from Veteran’s Affairs (VA) but it’s been over six months and I haven’t heard back. I have requested help from an outside organization and they took four months to get back to me and I was turned off by their lack of professionalism (they had promised same-week assistance). I have requested help from my doctor and was prescribed a sedative that I eventually became addicted to. I have tried talking to a therapist who said that Jesus would help me if I stopped doing such horrible things in my life (being polyamorous). I walked out of his office and never looked back.
Long story short, I have tried multiple other ways. It took me a long time and several panic attacks (one putting me in the hospital with what I thought was a heart attack) to understand that I need help. This is a last ditch effort to get better and have the nightmares be less often. So if my story is really descriptive in parts, and empty in others, it is because I am writing it as I remember and as a way to reassure my brain that I am okay.
I have lost friends to suicide. I have thought about swerving my car into oncoming traffic just to stop feeling so crazy. I have a son and he deserves more than losing a mom to suicide. One of my friends hung himself in the garage and left three children. Depression is not a joke, and a lack of sleep only causes things to seem worse.
People always say “Just come to me if it gets that bad.” Dude, when the pain is inside your head and radiates to your toes, no one can help. It’s a horrible way to live, thus not wanting to live.
I have a great life right now, and I’m safe. So I think it’s time to address what happened in the remaining months of my deployment. It is mentally and emotionally draining to write this story. But I’m okay, I promise.