The Cost of Freedom
Christina,
By law, I must include representatives from the military to ensure that I walk the line. I erased the line a long time ago. For those that are wondering why, this is how we turned iraq around- my classmates and I sent out a bunch of emails when we took action, but that is a story for another day. It is neither right nor wrong, good nor bad. It just is searching for truth in a mindless world of Orwellian drama and metrics. Now there is another fight to fight, and I'll take the same action regardless of what you think. Some would call it courage, I was taught simple duty because i am the man in the arena. I will no longer walk away from whom I am. I finally looked in the mirror.
I know not why my purpose. I send these emails out of love. Paul was very specific to the Corinthians. I simply don't see why we can't see. Anger consumes, Fear bleeds, greed controls. The only thing we have to turn to is the gifts of the creator- Faith, Hope, and Love. Once we let go of control, we are free to live.
Here's the next portion. A continual conversation I suppose until complete. I'm glad you embrace your gift of editing- most people do not accept their gifts. Good for you.
I'm speaking for many others that can either not nor choose to. If we decide to publish this thing, I simply want it done right even though sometimes I no longer understand what right is.
Mike,
Good action man, you're writing is engaging, although the poetry is deeper than my simple mind lets me go. I'm impressed with what you're doin, that's all I'm sayin. Keep at it, let me know if you need anything. You're a doing better than other guys, believe me. keep at it boss.
Izzo
Your turn, make this right whatever that may be. Turn my verse into something people can comprehend.
v/r
Mike
The Cost of Freedom
When I was a young man playing football and rugby, my coach would always ask the same question to any player who had suffered an injury: "Are you hurt or are you injured?" If one was hurt, then one could still play; they would simply fight through the pain. If one was injured, then they could not continue to play because it may cause permanent damage. Assessments were made based off the intensity and duration of the injury and the discretion and discernment of both the coach, medical team, and the player. The answer was never black and white, but a decision had to be made in regard to what was in the best interest for the team and the player's future. For me, the biggest fear was being perceived as a fake by my teammates if I told the coach that I was injured but my teammates and coaching staff felt I was only hurt.
Similar reasoning holds true for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI). In football and rugby, everyone gets hurt, but not everyone gets injured. In combat, every one deals with combat stress, but not everyone deals with PTSD. The diagnosis is a judgment call based on the collective assessment of the chain-of-command, the mental health team, and the soldier. Similarly, TBI is a clinical diagnosis of multiple concussions. Technically, both injuries involve brain damage. The injuries are treatable, but they require continued lifelong rehabilitation.
The study of mind and heart, emotions and thought, is as new as it is old. No one knows what comes first or last derived in burdening questions. We simply see symptoms of broken hearts and suicide prevention. Some things best left to the Creator I suppose as fascinating and maddening the subject. Life brings tragedy; life is not fair. Choices to be made- victim, survivor, or striver. We all have choice- walk away, conform, or voice truth to power. I choice voice. The audacity of hope must transcend in the same manner I once pursued al Qaeda.
PTSD is a clinical disorder, but it is not a pre-existing condition. I am neither a fraud, fake nor one lacking inner strength. I am a decorated combat veteran that requires help. In 2003, during the Thunder Runs, I led an 400 man battalion from Kuwait to Baghdad. Now, I get disoriented walking short distances. In 2005, as Iraq descended into chaos, I served on a Special Forces staff analyzing sensitive data. Now, I struggle to compute simple algebra formulas without the help of Microsoft Excel. In 2006-2007, during the Surge, I commanded 300 Iraqi and American paratroopers clearing al Qaeda held areas and training camps. Now, I struggle to remember to pay my bills on time. When the nation called, I was there. But I cannot win this war on my own. For many years, I tried, and it broke me.
You never really know what is going through another man's mind or the path that he walks. For veterans, the path is more obscure. He could be your grandfather, uncle, brother, or husband. He could be the homeless guy on the street. He may be the smartly dressed businessman in your office or the art collector downtown. On the surface, he tries to act like you wearing a mask to hide the horror and rage deep within his soul. He strives to be normal in American society, but his heart is numb. Normal is juxtaposed with the pain and suffering he has lived. He does not want his family to know what he has done. He suffers in silence.
I never thought I could heal. After all the killing and violence, I felt that I had a penance to serve. I felt condemned to a life with hope forlorn, faith no more; a life without purpose and without love. I was a shell of my former self drowning in an alcoholic sorrow along the river of the Sierra Nevada Pale ale. Sometimes, I wished that I had died in Iraq. At least then I would have had a hero's burial.
After four combat deployments and six years of perpetual war, I hit my breaking point, and I was forced to admit to myself that I was injured, not simply hurt. I have PTSD and TBI, but I am not a victim. I am a survivor maybe one day striver. The difference is attitude. For years, I kept sucking it up fighting through the pain-the best deceptions lying to myself daily although I swore never lie to others. Hell, I could redeploy right now and show you that I am tough enough to still fight, but there is neither rhyme nor reason in martyrdom-always fighting, struggling this man in the arena. For years, I fought through the blurred vision, tired eyes, seeing stars, broken, racing, brilliant thoughts while cognitive skills diminish no longer to pretend persistent headaches, and lethargy. I can now remember at least six concussions. My stubbornness to admit the extent of my injuries cost me my family, my health, and nearly cost me my life as thoughts and feelings bled. I thought that I could no longer feel. In truth, I was consumed with anger. Mostly, I was angry at myself for being weak because I was unable to control my war. Internally, I was trapped as a prisoner of my own mind. I was still in Iraq.
Now, I know only to think verse searching for confluence no longer prose. One plus one equals three, and it can be overwhelming. Everything paradox.
With all injuries, the final decision is made by the patient. One must accept the injury for what it is, not what one wishes it to be. Once I accepted my injury, I was ready for treatment. I spent six weeks in the Topeka Kansas Veterans Administration hospital learning how to heal. My treatment was the toughest obstacle that I have ever faced facing every fear fully: tougher than West Point, Scuba school, Airborne School, rugby, or war. Most importantly, I finally understood what was wrong with me.
In the end, and somewhere in between, I began to heal as thoughts persist never to diminish but loss of control regulates remission onward bound towards congruence. My condition will require a lifelong rehabilitation, but is that not the crux of the human condition? My condition is unique, but is it not the same as every man faces? Our founding fathers dubbed it the pursuit of happiness; others call it ashura, the active absence of sorrow. Regardless, it is my journey, but it was never simply about me.
PTSD treatment does not require hospitalization in a psychological ward, but it does require inpatient treatment in a safe, controlled environment. Those that suffer from PTSD are wounded heroes, but their wounds are often invisible.
Yesterday, you helped me. Today, I help you. So many others are hurting from Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. I only write my thoughts in hope to share my voice as it may help us all irrationally as it may be. Walk with me. I know naught for not truths I search; I simply verse in hopes of continual conversation and dance.
The invitation is open.
Mike,
Originally Posted by MikeF
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