Posts for Tag: PTSD

Heartbreaking Suicide Note From 30-Year-Old Iraq Veteran to His Family: ‘I Am Free’

I am glad to see that The Blaze has picked this story up....hopefully other news networks will follow. Daniel took his life on June 10th, the same day that my niece's husband Allen took his. This is happening far too often. Our active duty troops and our veterans are not getting the help they need, the help they earned, the help they deserve, but are instead being discarded, and most Americans do not even know that we have a near epidemic of military suicides going on.
Daniel Somers served his time in hell, right here on earth, he did so on our behalf, and since his family has saw fit to release his last words....it is good and right that everyone take a moment and read them. A man's last words ought to be heard. It is too late for Daniel, it is too late for Allen, it is too late for Trevor and for the countless others who take their own lives...but if we listen, if we pay attention, perhaps we it will not be too late for someone.

These are his words:

I am sorry that it has come to this.

The fact is, for as long as I can remember my motivation for getting up every day has been so that you would not have to bury me. As things have continued to get worse, it has become clear that this alone is not a sufficient reason to carry on. The fact is, I am not getting better, I am not going to get better, and I will most certainly deteriorate further as time goes on. From a logical standpoint, it is better to simply end things quickly and let any repercussions from that play out in the short term than to drag things out into the long term.

You will perhaps be sad for a time, but over time you will forget and begin to carry on. Far better that than to inflict my growing misery upon you for years and decades to come, dragging you down with me. It is because I love you that I can not do this to you. You will come to see that it is a far better thing as one day after another passes during which you do not have to worry about me or even give me a second thought. You will find that your world is better without me in it.

I really have been trying to hang on, for more than a decade now. Each day has been a testament to the extent to which I cared, suffering unspeakable horror as quietly as possible so that you could feel as though I was still here for you. In truth, I was nothing more than a prop, filling space so that my absence would not be noted. In truth, I have already been absent for a long, long time.

My body has become nothing but a cage, a source of pain and constant problems. The illness I have has caused me pain that not even the strongest medicines could dull, and there is no cure. All day, every day a screaming agony in every nerve ending in my body. It is nothing short of torture. My mind is a wasteland, filled with visions of incredible horror, unceasing depression, and crippling anxiety, even with all of the medications the doctors dare give. Simple things that everyone else takes for granted are nearly impossible for me. I can not laugh or cry. I can barely leave the house. I derive no pleasure from any activity. Everything simply comes down to passing time until I can sleep again. Now, to sleep forever seems to be the most merciful thing.

You must not blame yourself. The simple truth is this: During my first deployment, I was made to participate in things, the enormity of which is hard to describe. War crimes, crimes against humanity. Though I did not participate willingly, and made what I thought was my best effort to stop these events, there are some things that a person simply can not come back from. I take some pride in that, actually, as to move on in life after being part of such a thing would be the mark of a sociopath in my mind. These things go far beyond what most are even aware of.

To force me to do these things and then participate in the ensuing coverup is more than any government has the right to demand. Then, the same government has turned around and abandoned me. They offer no help, and actively block the pursuit of gaining outside help via their corrupt agents at the DEA. Any blame rests with them.

Beyond that, there are the host of physical illnesses that have struck me down again and again, for which they also offer no help. There might be some progress by now if they had not spent nearly twenty years denying the illness that I and so many others were exposed to. Further complicating matters is the repeated and severe brain injuries to which I was subjected, which they also seem to be expending no effort into understanding. What is known is that each of these should have been cause enough for immediate medical attention, which was not rendered.

Lastly, the DEA enters the picture again as they have now managed to create such a culture of fear in the medical community that doctors are too scared to even take the necessary steps to control the symptoms. All under the guise of a completely manufactured “overprescribing epidemic,” which stands in stark relief to all of the legitimate research, which shows the opposite to be true. Perhaps, with the right medication at the right doses, I could have bought a couple of decent years, but even that is too much to ask from a regime built upon the idea that suffering is noble and relief is just for the weak.

However, when the challenges facing a person are already so great that all but the weakest would give up, these extra factors are enough to push a person over the edge.

Is it any wonder then that the latest figures show 22 veterans killing themselves each day? That is more veterans than children killed at Sandy Hook, every single day. Where are the huge policy initiatives? Why isn’t the president standing with those families at the state of the union? Perhaps because we were not killed by a single lunatic, but rather by his own system of dehumanization, neglect, and indifference.

It leaves us to where all we have to look forward to is constant pain, misery, poverty, and dishonor. I assure you that, when the numbers do finally drop, it will merely be because those who were pushed the farthest are all already dead.

And for what? Bush’s religious lunacy? Cheney’s ever growing fortune and that of his corporate friends? Is this what we destroy lives for

Since then, I have tried everything to fill the void. I tried to move into a position of greater power and influence to try and right some of the wrongs. I deployed again, where I put a huge emphasis on saving lives. The fact of the matter, though, is that any new lives saved do not replace those who were murdered. It is an exercise in futility.

Then, I pursued replacing destruction with creation. For a time this provided a distraction, but it could not last. The fact is that any kind of ordinary life is an insult to those who died at my hand. How can I possibly go around like everyone else while the widows and orphans I created continue to struggle? If they could see me sitting here in suburbia, in my comfortable home working on some music project they would be outraged, and rightfully so.

I thought perhaps I could make some headway with this film project, maybe even directly appealing to those I had wronged and exposing a greater truth, but that is also now being taken away from me. I fear that, just as with everything else that requires the involvement of people who can not understand by virtue of never having been there, it is going to fall apart as careers get in the way.

The last thought that has occurred to me is one of some kind of final mission. It is true that I have found that I am capable of finding some kind of reprieve by doing things that are worthwhile on the scale of life and death. While it is a nice thought to consider doing some good with my skills, experience, and killer instinct, the truth is that it isn’t realistic. First, there are the logistics of financing and equipping my own operation, then there is the near certainty of a grisly death, international incidents, and being branded a terrorist in the media that would follow. What is really stopping me, though, is that I simply am too sick to be effective in the field anymore. That, too, has been taken from me.

Thus, I am left with basically nothing. Too trapped in a war to be at peace, too damaged to be at war. Abandoned by those who would take the easy route, and a liability to those who stick it out—and thus deserve better. So you see, not only am I better off dead, but the world is better without me in it

This is what brought me to my actual final mission. Not suicide, but a mercy killing. I know how to kill, and I know how to do it so that there is no pain whatsoever. It was quick, and I did not suffer. And above all, now I am free. I feel no more pain. I have no more nightmares or flashbacks or hallucinations. I am no longer constantly depressed or afraid or worried

I am free.

I ask that you be happy for me for that. It is perhaps the best break I could have hoped for. Please accept this and be glad for me.

Daniel Somers

http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2013/06/25/heartbreaking-suicide-note-from-30-year-old-iraq-veteran-to-his-family-i-am-free/

Rest in peace Daniel Somers.....rest in peace Allen Young.....

Daniel Somers

Charles Allen Young

My Guys (The Musings of an Army Infantry Mom)

A conversation with my Army son last night brought forth so many memories. I remember the little boy who was obsessed with all things military from the time he was about 5 years old.

 He and I were leaving a grocery store one day, and he noticed a martial arts school had opened in that plaza, and began to beg me to go over and “sign him up”, laughing I asked did he want to be like the Power Rangers….and he looked at me, disappointed…and said “no mom, when I grow up I am going to be a soldier, and I will need to know how to defend myself”….needless to say we signed him up and he spent most of his young years enrolled in some martial arts program or another.

At nine, he found out from the neighbor kid about a Naval program for kids, and asked me to look and see if there was anything like that for the Marines or the Army…..and we ended up in the Young Marines.

 Halloween was easy for us, for every year he was some sort of military persona, a Marine, a Soldier, a SEAL. I was looking through photos and could only find one, in all his childhood where he was something other than military…….a SWAT team member…

Back to the conversation last night, and the memory it invoked in me.

You see, while growing up his most favorite toys and prized possessions were "his guys" a large collection of GI Joes, he knew each one by name; he carefully protected them, maintained their weapons and vehicles and played with them almost always over all other toys.

I recall many occasions where he would frantically enlist the assistance of his father or myself in a frantic search for a lost guy. He knew exactly which one was missing, and could describe him in detail, and would not rest until the missing guy was back with all the others.

 We bought him other toys, power rangers, spider man, ninja turtles, but all would be left in various places about the house, in disarray, or at the very least used as a special "enemy" for his guys to take out.

 Hours spent putting together various Lego sets only to enter the room to find he had disassembled it, and reassembled it as some sort of bunker or fortification, for his guys.

 Last night in conversation with him, now 23 years old and a man, I asked him why? Why another round with the Army, why this need and desire to go back again into harm's way....why can you not just stay home now, you have done your part? Why son?...........and he said.....my guys mom.....I cannot let them go without me.......I cannot stay while they go fight.....I cannot get out of the Army.......my guys mom......and the memories came flooding in.

 Years ago his most precious possession was his guys, made of plastic, so many battles were fought with them, each one who fell to hard use, or a dog's teeth, were wept over.... and yet today he has something so much more precious to him, his brothers, flesh and blood, each one known by name and personality, some closer than a brother, some not gotten along with as well as the others, some irritating,but all loved,  all precious.... all brothers...his guys.

  So soon, I will watch him leave again, into harm's way. My mother's heart once again afraid for him, my days spent in prayer for him....and for all his precious guys.

 Funny how such things turn out……

 

Update: He brought his guys home...some have wounds..but they all come home.


PTSD Awareness, in memory of PFC Joe Dwyer


Most Americans know who Joe Dwyer is, although many may not know his name or his story. The now famous photo shown in this note brought Joe into each of our homes. Our hearts hurt for him and for the little boy that he carried in his arms. He was a hero, risking his life to save an Iraqi boy.

 On June 28th, 2008 Joe Dwyer passed from this world due to an accidental overdose. He had battled PTSD every day since returning from deployment. His marriage failed and he struggled with drug addiction, substance abuse and depression.

 For the last five years of his life this soldier, writhed in a private hell, shooting at imaginary enemies and dodging nonexistent roadside bombs, sleeping in a closet bunker and trying desperately to huff away the "demons" in his head. When his personal problems became public, efforts were made to help him, but nothing seemed to work.

 Joe served with the 3rd Squadron, 7th Cavalry Regiment as a medic. According to his accounts of that deployment he only recalled four days that lacked gunfire. The day prior to the now famous picture, Dwyer’s HumVee was hit be a rocket.

 On the day of the photo, Joe watched as little Ali’s family was caught in crossfire; he grabbed the little boy and carried him to safety. We all saw Joe as a hero, but he did not see it that way. He said this about it. “Really, I was just one of a group of guys, I wasn’t standing out more than anyone else.”

 Joe joined the military after watching the twin towers fall. He felt that he had to do something. He married the love of his life just prior to deploying to Iraq.  They looked forward to building a life together but something went terribly wrong. Upon his return, like so many combat veterans, Joe just tried to keep it together on his own. He sat with his back to the wall in restaurants; he avoided crowds, he stayed distant from his friends and loved ones. He began to abuse inhalants.

 In October of 2005 he had his first run in with the police. Convinced that there were Iraqi’s outside his window he opened fire. Three hours later police convinced him to surrender and come out. He was taken to the hospital. He tried counseling and was in and out of the hospital many times.

  On the day he died he and his wife had been apart for a year. She told the Pinehurst Pilot, “He was a very good and caring person. He was just never the same when he came back, because of all the things he saw. He tried to seek treatment, but it didn’t work.”

 Joe left behind his wife Matina and his then two-year-old daughter Meagan.

 What many may not know about Joe is that he went to Iraq, taking the place of a friend, a mother of two who was terrified about leaving her children. He convinced superiors to allow him to go in her stead. He told his family and his young wife that he would be in Kuwait and likely to stay in the rear, but unbeknownst to them he was attached to the 3rd Infantry's 7th Cavalry Regiment. He was at "the tip of the tip of the spear," in one officer's phrase.

 The man who took this famous photo said this after Joe’s death:” I don't know that the photograph of Joseph was the best one I ever took, or my favorite, but I think it represented something important. At the time, it represented hope. Hope that what we were doing as a nation in Iraq was the right thing. Hope that our soldiers were helping people. Hope that soldiers such as Joseph cared more about human life than anything else. But now when I look at the picture, it doesn't feel hopeful. It makes me realize that so many soldiers are physically torn and in such mental anguish that for some of them, hope has turned to hopelessness. That, I have to believe, is what happened to Joseph Dwyer, who was haunted by the ghosts of what he'd seen in Iraq, by fears he had lived with for too long. He could never leave the battlefield behind.”

 This beautiful and brave but broken man had once been the embodiment of American might and compassion. And yet we lost him…….I ask why….and I ask each of you to read and study the very real and hostile illness called PTSD. Be aware of the signs, be aware and watch your sons, your husbands, your brothers, your daughters and your wives and your sisters as they return from combat.

 Be aware of the symptoms, be understanding, for there is so much that they see and experience that haunts them. It really is not that hard to understand. I do not believe that it requires us to experience what they experience in order to understand. We need to equip ourselves with knowledge and we need to seek any and all help available if our loved ones are struggling from this horrible condition.

 We do not have to lose others, like we lost Joe, thanks to him and others like him there is now awareness and a multitude of programs to assist. There is also less stigma associated with PTSD and our combat veterans are now able to step out and say they need help, that they suffer from it, where in the past this was not so, many were ridiculed, or their careers were jeopardized by any such admission.

 Joe, thank you so very much for all that you gave up for us, for volunteering after 9/11, for being the kind of man willing to take the place of a friend, so that she could stay with her children, for all the aid and comfort you brought to your comrades, who fought in the bloodiest time period in Iraq. I am so very sorry that your desire and willingness to help others cost you your life, and I am so very sorry that we let you down. Rest in peace Joe Dwyer, for you are a hero, not because of a photo that brought you into our homes, but because of the man that you were, a man willing to sacrifice himself in our place, and a man willing to take aid and comfort to our wounded, even if it brought you into great danger. Rest Joe, we remember and we will do all that we can to make sure your brothers receive the help and support that they need.

 

 

http://www.armytimes.com/news/2008/07/military_suicidedwyer_070308w/

 

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25775792/ns/world_news-mideast_n_africa/t/gi-famous-photo-defeated-his-demons/

 

Must read follow up from the reporter who took the famous photo : http://blog.cleveland.com/pdopinion/2008/07/my_photograph_made_joseph_dwye.html

 

http://www.ptsdsupport.net/inner_demons_of_war.html

 

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001923/

 

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001923/

 

Service dogs: http://www.mentalhelp.net/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=28873

 

Training your own service dog: http://servicedawgs.org/training/articles/steps.htm

 

If you need to talk to someone about PTSD

 

PTSD Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 Press 1 for Veterans.

 

National Institute of Mental Health's Anxiety Hotline-1-888-826-9438