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Mar
24
SNOTTY FISH AND PTSD
Filed Under Life, Love, PTSD, Trauma, War | Comments Off on SNOTTY FISH AND PTSD
by Janet J. Seahorn
This weekend I heard an experienced angler talk about the joys of being in a stream or lake fishing for Snotty Fish. Snotty Fish, he thoughtfully explained, were those fish that were not easy to catch. They were fish that could not be tricked by some ordinary fly or enticing lure. More than likely, such fish had, in some earlier time, been caught before and managed to escape through sheer luck, tenacity, or down right determination. After going through such a traumatic encounter, they were more cautious than most of their finned friends. They understood the consequences of impulsively taking the enticing lure. Therefore, the fisherman who caught (and released) such a Snotty Fish had to be incredibly patient, knowledgeable, and persistent. This particular angler made it clear that catching Snotty Fish was the best and most rewarding way to angle.
Listening to this person talk, I began to comparing how similar Snotty Fish were to veterans who are living with Post-Traumatic Stress. Many of our troops have experienced the traumas of combat. Men and women who have seen and participated in some of humanities worst deeds; deeds that stay etched on the mind and heart. Vets, who when they return to the mainstreams of society, may be unable to trust others, their governments, and even themselves. Yep, Snotty Vets!
Snotty Vets, like Snotty Fish, are often hard to play out. They have experienced lessons in life that few of their fellow countrymen have ever imagined. Such knowledge often makes them wary of their surroundings, including trusting in their own abilities and worthiness. For family and friends, this knowledge can make these Snotty Vets difficult to live with and understand.
Yet, here is the beauty of being in streams with Snotty Vets—they are worth the time and effort to catch and reel back to wellbeing. Health care professionals recognize this fact. Families, friends and communities who walk the path through appropriate support, timely information and love come to empathize with the journey and value the internal strength, courage, and effort that each of them must live out in order to heal.
So you see, Snotty Vets like Snotty Fish are well worth such effort. Simply swimming in their waters help us have greater gratitude for their sacrifice.
Here’s a toast to all of you Snotty Vets, and to all the spouses, children, and siblings of Snotty Vets: “May your new streams be filled with an abundance of peace, joy, and good vigor. May your days bring you fulfillment, and your nights quiet rest. And may you continue to embrace your Snotty strength and leave behind the sorrows of the battlefield. For you are our precious Snotty Vets. We love you. We honor you. And, most of all, we need you to become whole again.”
Mar
22
What’s Worth Fighting For
Filed Under American Patriotism, Life, War | Comments Off on What’s Worth Fighting For
by Janet J. Seahorn
Some people may have a difficult time understanding what in this world would be worth giving one’s life. The courage to go into battle knowing the possibilities. Watching while others die or are severely wounded, and still continue to fight. Many poets and philosophers have written how significant it is to live life for something beyond oneself. To live for a cause greater than yourself. This short video was sent to me by my brother. While I listened to the music and watched the screen, it was abundantly obvious why America is definitely worth fighting for. Beyond any political agenda, beyond any religious belief, beyond the love of family and friends, America has given us bountiful blessings with such amazing beauty. Yes, America is not only beautiful; it is worth living and dying for in our lifetime.
http://sagebrushpatriot.com/america.htm
Mar
9
by Janet J. Seahorn
Some days life is a real challenge. It tests us in many ways. Ways to be smarter. Ways to be braver. Ways to be more thoughtful. Ways to be kinder and more compassionate. And some days, ways to just keep getting up every morning, breathing through each minute and making it through some dark and lonely nights. Living with Post-Traumatic Stress compounds all of these “tests”. At times it may even seem that the journey is too long or too brutal; that the suffering is unending and the battle unachievable. It is during such times that we must remember we are not alone in our ordeals. Reminding that someone, something (for me it is my faith) is walking beside us telling us quietly that we will be OK. Urging us, “Don’t Quit”. We do not know what tomorrow may bring. But if we Don’t Quit, I do believe in the appearance of a brighter, happier day. Believe you have what it takes to pass any test. And whatever comes your way —Don’t Quit!
Don’t Quit |
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Feb
11
by Janet J. Seahorn
This week is the week of the Heart. Yep, lots of hearts in the multiple shapes and shades of Valentine cards. This is the week — some focus only on one day — to call forth the power of Love. Sounds, corny, but it is true. Love heals.
One only needs to watch a small child with a skinned knee crying for comfort. Mom enfolds the tiny tot in her arms, puts a band aid on the boo boo, kisses it gently, and soothingly says to her child, “See all better”. And the child believes. Wow! If the emotional counselors are correct, what we focus on we get. Perhaps we should try to focus on Love, even for a day. Test the statement, “Love Heals”.
Love Heals acts of war…
Guns, bombs, and torture certainly don’t.
Love Heals violent acts of countless forms.
I may never forget a terrible act, but maybe I can get to a bit of forgiveness.
Love Heals our physical and emotional pain.
Ask a pet owner of the power of his precious companion.
Love heals our fears.
“Worry is simply the habit of focusing on what we don’t want.” (January 22, 2010, Daily Word)
Through the strength of the Heart, Love Heals. And like that small child, I choose to believe.
Jan
30
Guest Post by John DiCiacco:
(A brother, a friend, and a combat veteran)
This was taken from a book I recently read titled “DUTY, HONOR, SACRIFICE” written by Ralph Christopher. It is about the Brown Water Sailors and the Army River Raiders I served with in Vietnam.
The following was written in 1985 by Terry Sater who served aboard one of the PBR’s in the Mekong Delta. He was upset after hearing that one of his shipmates from Tango 6 had not fared well after the war.
His wife suggested that he should forget the war and get on with his life. So he stayed up late that night trying to figure out how to explain it all to her. The next morning Terry gave his wife this poem.
It reads:
She said, “Why not forget it? It happened so long ago.”
The deepest wounds, cut to the heart, will always heal slow.
The nightmare of the Mekong, of death, despair and fear,
Could not be left in Vietnam, its fresh, its crisp, its here.
My body’s strong. My mind is sound. I suffer from no pain.
But once a man has been to war, he’s never quite the same.
For I know war for what it is, no glory in the fight.
It’s friends who die, and crippled kids, and voices crying in the night.
I know the chill of monsoon rain, the heat of tropic sun.
For some it never happened, and most will never know,
Except for those who fought the war. It happened long ago.
Jan
19
The Nightmare Revisited
Filed Under Life, Peace, Today's War, Trauma, War | Comments Off on The Nightmare Revisited
By Janet J. Seahorn
Last year at this time, Tony and I were in Vietnam and Cambodia. It was a humbling, yet inspiring excursion. As Tony stated many times, he did not go there to heal or recreate the war. He wanted to visit, only to see how things had changed, with hopes that the people and the country were mending.
By all outward appearances hope seemed to be occurring. Yet, what keep coming back to me, were the faces of the old women. We did not see the same number of older men, perhaps because many of this age were killed in the war. The women’s faces were not happy. Their features lined with rivers of anger. It was the eyes that held the emotions, and for many, their emotions were tortuous and hate-filled. What haunts me now are the faces I glimpse in the newspapers of civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan; similar looks living in human bodies experiencing similar horrors of war.
As we continue to read of the escalation of suicides of returning military men and women, I wonder if such unforgettable faces are haunting them. Faces of the enemy, faces of their comrades, faces of the children? In the first few blogs of this New Year, I wrote of Peace. Can it be attained in a person’s mind and heart after experiencing so much? I very much want to believe such a peace is possible. For others, the hideous experiences continue to dig deeper ravines into the soul. To heal, even a bit, these gorges must be filled in gradually.
Perhaps not fully, but even building up the crevasses a little keeps one from falling into the yawning depths of depression, anxiety, and hopelessness. As long as one can look up and see the sky, hope is present. It is when one’s existence is swallowed in darkness that even the tiniest light is diminished. Finding ways to keep the sunlight accessible for our returning vets will be the work of everyone: the nation, its people, families, friends, communities, and most importantly, the veteran.
We have troops leaving daily for the war zone, and others returning. A 2008 Rand Corporation study revealed that 300,000 troops who served in Iraq and Afghanistan had Post-Traumatic Stress, while 320,000 reported probable traumatic brain injuries. Both conditions greatly increase the likelihood of attempted suicide. “According to a Congressional Quarterly compilation in late November 2009, 334 active-duty military service men and women have taken their own lives in 2009” (Edward Pages, 2009: The Year of Soldier’s Suicide), and this does not include those military individuals who have been discharged.
Let us all be sure to look into these eyes of freedom and not dismiss the signs of their sacrifice. Peace and healing is everyone’s work; everyone’s answerability. As a nation, it must be our core mission to mend and heal all those that fought in lands where few of us ever think to venture.
I doubt if many of our returning military personnel have rational thoughts of wanting to return to the combat zone. It took almost forty years for us to do so.
One of our favorite veterans, Michael MacDonald, wrote us the other day relating his response to those who frequently ask him if he ever wants to return to Vietnam for a visit. His reply, “Why, I was just there last night.”
And, for many, this statement is all too true. It is those nights without returning that we pray for in our sleep and dreams. It is those nights without revisiting the nightmares that keep us healing.
Jan
6
2010 New Year’s Wishes
Filed Under American Patriotism, New Year, Peace, War | Comments Off on 2010 New Year’s Wishes
by Janet J. Seahorn
It’s already time for a brand New Year
Filled with new hope, dreams and some cheer.
For many their prospects are filled with great joy
While others the forecast may seem a bit grim.
Perhaps we can change the Year 20 and 10
And make it a season for our world to mend.
A year of forgiving,
A year of great love,
One of abundance sent from above.
A year without conflict,
A year where wars end,
A time where the goodness of angels commend.
A year of good fortune,
A year without hate,
When lies and untruths and battles abate.
A year where one’s word
Can be totally trusted,
Where nothing is left but goodwill and justice.
A year without fear,
A year where we’ve learned
Those rainbows are just around the next turn.
A year where we find
That we are not lost,
That life must be lived no matter the cost.
A year that we take
One step at a time
Trusting to see and feel the sublime.
A very deep breath
And we’re on our way
To making each moment a true New Year’s Day.
May your coming year be filled with love,
safe-keeping and prosperity.
Jan
3
A Perspective on War
Filed Under American Patriotism, PTSD, Today's War, War | Comments Off on A Perspective on War
I seem to spend a lot of time thinking about war, even when I don’t want to. The reality of war. The horror of war. What does winning a war really look like? Are war and terrorism even related or is one a symptom of the other?
Following is an article in today’s Denver Post which provides a perspective…
-Tony Seahorn
Fool’s game: A soldier’s lament
By Megan Nix
Posted: 01/03/2010
My friend from Denver, a thirtysomething with a full red beard, a plaid shirt, and a loud, choppy laugh, looks like any guy you might have a drink with to talk about girls or music or the work week.
The last time I hung out with him, we shared a beer stein on Larimer Street during Oktoberfest and talked about Halloween costumes. During a more recent happy hour, we talked about the summons he received to deploy to Afghanistan.
Because of the Army’s Uniform Code, I can’t name him. Suffice it to say he’s the one person in the 30,000 who got that call to whom I can give a voice.
It was Nov. 11, 2009, Veterans Day, when my friend was called back to war. His friends had taken him out to shoot clay pigeons in honor of his being a veteran in Iraq, and when he went to his parents’ house for Sunday dinner, a big envelope was waiting for him. He went down into the basement where his father, a potter, was shaping clay. “I just walked up to him and gave him a hug,” he says, smiling from above the amber glow of his draft beer. Hugs are not something he regularly does. “Then I stepped back, and I said, ‘Dad, I’m going to Afghanistan.’ ”
Like most soldiers, he’s dealing with some of the same symptoms as one of his heroes, Audie Murphy, a World War II vet who publicized the unseen wounds of war. Fear, insomnia, depression, a loss of faith in our country’s leaders, and a nightmarish reluctance to re-enter the world “outside the wire.” Like any young man who’s already been to war once, my friend is doing everything he can in order to not be deployed twice.
When he served in Baghdad, there were four to five American deaths a day, the city was a “cesspool,” and “generals were being moved around like playing cards. People don’t realize how much worse it is than what you see on TV. In a city that goes to war, services stop – sewage, water – there’s very limited law and order. You can’t even imagine how awful the world is when a war is happening there.”
Despite his hearty laugh and recurring shrugs, he exudes disillusionment. We’re nestled in a leather booth, and at the bar, two toothless men start to shove each other against the stools and shout obscenities.
“I bet you,” my war-bound buddy says, “at least one of them is a vet.” It doesn’t matter if they’re vets or not, at least one person here is, and those unseen wounds of war? I can see them in this bar.
“My job in Iraq as a public affairs specialist was to prove, ‘What’s the good here? What’s the silver lining? How can I slant this to look good?'” my friend explains. “If you’re very honest,” he says, with signature honesty and one hack of a laugh, “you could never do it.”
One of the reasons he has agreed to talk to me is so that he can be honest, albeit anonymously. The namelessness seems to fit: Both Iraq and Afghanistan are wars largely stocked with low- to mid-level soldiers on repeated deployment. Soldiers from Nowhereville, U.S.A., young men and women who will die largely unrecognized for being, as my friend says, “some sort of hero.”
He’s not in the business of sugar-coating. Bombs are the best way to kill because no one has to be there, he tells me. He recounts how the fluids on the floor of a walk-in freezer stacked with car bomb victims flowed, tar-black, to a drain under his feet. “Beyond capacity,” is how he describes the scene of the nameless corpses. “Innocent victims of roadside bombs gone wrong. The unwanted. Victims that will never ever be identified.”
My friend’s insights increase with the drinks. He points out that while what we have is called a “volunteer army,” life circumstances are what dictate if enlisting is in a kid’s future. “See those guys?” he points to the two men who have stopped fighting and are staring blankly at their sentinel of empty shot glasses. “If they did serve, I can almost guarantee they came from little money. No Haliburton sons and daughters are dying in Iraq or going to Afghanistan,” he says, pushing his finger into the beer-stained table. “I can’t even tell you how many Army leaders I’ve seen without a combat patch (signaling they’ve been deployed) on their right arm. It just shows you how many people aren’t bearing the weight of this war.”
The weight of his story accumulates like a collection of heavy fragments.
A break for a granola bar on the back of Vehicle 2. A deafening explosion. A puff of smoke where Vehicle 4 had been.
Like many young men who enlist, my friend wanted to be independent of his parents and the military was the best possible solution, so he enlisted five years ago. “I thought if I don’t find anything I’m passionate about, I should go,” he says.
By now, he’s gathered plenty of things to be passionate about. One of them is not returning to Afghanistan. As a technically disabled vet who already did five years, was honorably discharged, and “did everything I was ever asked,” he received the news of his “involuntary mobilization” with reluctance and disbelief. He knew he was subject to recall until June 2012, but opening the envelope was one of those times when you say, “Seriously? I mean, seriously?”
Really, he did more than he was asked to do: He volunteered to fight at a time when he knew he’d likely be deployed. He was stationed in Iraq during one of its bloodiest summers. And, most importantly, he came back.
He also has simpler reasons for not wanting to return: He doesn’t know if he can pick up a 200-plus-pound person. He doesn’t want to carry a weapon. And he doesn’t want to be a pawn in a game of politics if part of the reason the withdrawal is scheduled for 2011 is because President Obama is up for re-election in 2012.
After opening his Afghanistan envelope, my friend immediately called his superior to appeal. “What’s the deal?” he asked. “I cannot do this again.” And the noncommissioned officer on the phone replied: “Look, we are scrounging the bottom of the barrel right now. The bottom of the barrel.”
One of the two men at the bar says he doesn’t have the money to pay for his drinks tonight, stands up from his tattered stool to leave, then sits back down. Someone puts a coin in the jukebox and I’m hoping the song will be happy, but it’s not. Bonnie Tyler’s voice starts in on “Nothing but a Heartache.”
“I only saw the effects of war, not the worst of it,” my quieted friend admits as the song reaches its refrain. “For every war story, there’s a better story not being told. Those go to the grave. Or they’re stories that the people holding them can never begin to relive.”
Tyler croons, “It’s a fool’s game,” while I work on my next beer.
I’m not sure what I should tell this young, smiling and wounded man in front of me. That he’ll be fine and somehow his appeal will be granted, and if not, he’ll come back and we’ll have beers and it will be over. We both know that soon he’ll probably be on a plane with his 60 pounds of gear, looking for silver-lined stories to send back to middle American about the benefits of being at war.
“It’s a heartache,” she sings: “Nothing but a heartache. Hits you when it’s too late. Hits you when you’re down.”
There are many things to thank my friend for, but the only thing I thank him for at the end of the night is his time, and at least that feels like a little bit of sincerity in the midst of everything we’ve both heard and read about our reasons for sending him to Afghanistan. “I’ll see you soon,” I tell him, and the last thing I say – my minuscule gift of acknowledgment – is his name.
The silver lining in this story? I’m still looking for it.