Story sharing

I’m going to start off with a journal entry I wrote on January 2. Please note, that on this day, today May 22 while it is the 26 years of the passing of my best friend it is a good day.

“Yes. I am an absolute mess right now. I have no meds. The current status of the world has me spiraling. I am a United States Marine Corps Veteran. I took the oath, I signed the dotted line, and yes that was MY CHOICE. My choice to serve the United States of America and guess WHO that is? It’s you mother fuckers. The humans of this country who are at constant war with each other and are in constant contradiction of “values” based on WHO the person is. Race, religion, orientation, gender. Etc, etc, etc. These decide your conviction. I STILL made the choice to serve & protect YOU as the United States of America. When I got kicked out of the Corps, some of you mother fuckers threw that choice in my face. I see you. My world was flipped upside down, inside out. My body poisoned, we were deceived and manipulated. We are forgotten about. We are no longer needed. Disposable.”

You never know who is listening to the stories you tell. (Like really listening) & what stories they truly hold onto. It’s special when someone you’ve met continues to show interest in that one story months down the road. That is something I hold onto when forming new relationships.

I’ve hard a hard go at it the past few months. Let’s go with the cliff notes, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask. Last July, my psych of just about two years notified me that she would no longer be my doctor, and that I would be assigned a new provider. This can be shattering for a Veteran who has difficulty forming bonds or for any human who has a difficulty reliving any sort of trauma.

This is initial appointment dialogue (not verbatim). My wife was present for the telehealth appointment, and one of the initial questions she asked me was what medications have I tried in the past. Now, I have been a patient at the VA for 18 years,and I have been on a TON of medications. Even SEVENTEEN at one point, but I do not recall all of them. TBI or not, no ordinary human is going to remember something like this. She told me to “try harder” I took a deep breathe, looked at my wife, racked my brain and still could not remember. Having a TBI is like a constant road block, construction zone in the brain. If she had read my chart, she would have known a little of my background, she would have known the answer to her own question. Instead, me the patient, the Veteran is now worked up. I was now frustrated, angry, upset. This was not going well. It’s not quite clear in my mind what followed, and I sort of just floated through the appointment. She made the executive decision (which I agreed) to change a medication which I had been on for quite some time. It was time for a change. However, it was NOT a good outcome.

I was declining. My diet, my weight, my mind set. I was constantly nauseous, rapidly losing weight, anxious, angry, sad, crying, yelling at my wife, my pups, my mom. I was out of my mind, out of control. I felt like I was on fire inside. As if I was dying, I felt this before. Long time ago. I needed this to stop. I explained this to my primary, to nurses, to my psych, therapist. I requested blood work which was a fight in itself. After agreeing to blood work, without my consent my primary tested me for Fentanyl, Methamphetamines, Barbituates, Benzodiazepines, Cannabinoids, Cocaine & Methadone. I WAS FURIOUS. What signs did I present that I am a drug user? I need to be enlightened, and he could not provide an answer.

There was a time in my life when I abused drugs. I mentioned it above. The VA provided those drugs. I used those same drugs to attempt to take my own life. That was in 2010. I also mentioned that a psych asked me about previous medications in which I could not recall. The medication she chose to put me on, Venlafaxine was one of the 17.

Read that again.

One of the 17 medications I was prescribed when I attempted suicide, another VA psychiatrist put me on 14 years later.

I have legit been tortured these past 6 months by a system that I’m supposed to have trust, and faith in. I’m just trying to live. To survive.

We are The few.

The proud.

The crayon eating.

Window licking.

Stupid enough to sign the dotted line.

Right hand raising.

Governments pawn.

Marines.

And I’m going to start telling you stories of my service, and my after service.

Humans connect through storytelling. TELL your stories. LISTEN to stories. READ stories.