boosterp
05-21-2009, 09:57 PM
My psychiatrist had me thinking and I go again tomorrow, but he said I need to get "it" off my chest.
Since most of us here have short attention spans I will try to keep this short. I have been working on this in my head and much of what I am about to share even my loved ones have not heard. But since I have shut out 3 councilors in my time I need to work this out in writing and what better way than to tell total strangers.
I have a history of major depression, post traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD), and generalized anxiety. Of the nine medications I take 5 are for my mental illnesses, 2 for pain, and 2 are to protect my stomach from further damage. If I go somewhere for more than 2-3 hours I have to carry a pill pack with me for my next dosage of medications and extra pills for the anxiety.
I was in the Army from 1992 to the end of 1999 and was honorably discharged but it was a medical that got me this discharge. As a small guy (5'10 and weighed 125-140 pounds through the 7 years) I busted my ass to prove myself and succeeded and got some pretty cool awards for it. I was a medic, highly trained and did things that would require 8 years of medical school to do outside of the Army. I also saw some of the most awful things that many just read about. I broke bones, damaged joints, and killed my stomach and esophagus while hiding the pain. I am now at a high risk of developing stomach or esophageal cancer because of this. But this is more about my mental state.
As for the PTSD this stems from my job in the Army and how I was treated after my physical disabilities caught up to me. I saw some horrific ways that people suffer and die. Part of my job early on was bagging and tagging dead bodies. Whether it was the drunk who tried to cross the Autobahn on foot, the guy who was sniffing propane and got his by a car, the guy who I had just trained giving himself an IV of Jack Daniels, the guy cut in half between 2 vehicles screaming in pain, the one hit by a high speed train while chasing his dog, I can go on, but I still have these images in my head. There are other things too but I will not discuss that now, or think I can discuss it. The second part is once my physical pain caught up to me. In the Army you were taught that a form of motivating the weakest link is through harassment of sorts. I went from being top dog to being an out cast and shit upon. I was not even invited to parties after it was discovered that I may be medically discharged. I was called names, treated like a 3rd rate soldier, and even my command ostracized me. When the discharge came through that was the final straw in the rejection I felt. This leads me to depression and anxiety.
The depression and anxiety have a couple roots. Part is the rejection, part stems from my physical state. If you look at me I look like a normal skinny 30 something guy. Once I put on my splints for some physical activity it changes. I have to ask for help to do certain things or even open a jar. Or, if I have a little difficulty walking that day you may see me parking in a handicap spot limping a little when I walk. At 22 years old I had broken my left wrist (once left handed) and in August 1996 I had a surgery that I did not consent to nor should of had. I had broke my wrist a few years prior playing football but it also damaged one of the tendons in my wrist causing a cyst. The surgeon was only supposed to remove the cyst and repair the tendon but instead started to smooth some of the rough edges of the bones in my wrist. This essentially caused a cascade of traumatic arthritis. Then, the Army was supposed to provide me with therapy to regain strength and motion but felt it was more important to move me to another assignment against regulations. I had some left knee issues from a accident when learning to parachute from planes, and I was violently puking blood from the damage the pain medication did to my stomach and esophagus. Eventually I was fighting to stay in the Army because my next assignment was a prestigious one at Walter Reed but I lost that fight. I was also in line to go to Iraq for 6 months when we had a DMZ set up but that's a whole different thing. So at the end of 1999 I sat in my parents house wondering what to do next.
Mental health issues, 7 concussions, memory problems, wrist, shoulder, foot, ankle, and knee problems I feel like a human mess. I have broken the wrist, the foot and ankle, my skull, and wonder what I could of broke next if I stayed in. I damaged a knee and a shoulder and wonder what I am going to be like in another 10 years. It really sucks sometimes being me, yet I desire to live. What conflict.
Well, after a failed marriage which a big part of it was due to my mental state, being forced to resign this past June from a distinguished career in medical research (rejection again) and now wondering what to do as I post this. I am not looking for sympathy, just posting some thoughts trying to work out a few things in my head. I always write things down as I work through them and this is what I did here.
Also, I stress the desire to live. I have a great supportive family, my best friend and his family are wonderful, and I have a gf that is amazing. Even as I cycle between mental lows they all stand by me.
Fuck, this should have been posted in the confessional.
Since most of us here have short attention spans I will try to keep this short. I have been working on this in my head and much of what I am about to share even my loved ones have not heard. But since I have shut out 3 councilors in my time I need to work this out in writing and what better way than to tell total strangers.
I have a history of major depression, post traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD), and generalized anxiety. Of the nine medications I take 5 are for my mental illnesses, 2 for pain, and 2 are to protect my stomach from further damage. If I go somewhere for more than 2-3 hours I have to carry a pill pack with me for my next dosage of medications and extra pills for the anxiety.
I was in the Army from 1992 to the end of 1999 and was honorably discharged but it was a medical that got me this discharge. As a small guy (5'10 and weighed 125-140 pounds through the 7 years) I busted my ass to prove myself and succeeded and got some pretty cool awards for it. I was a medic, highly trained and did things that would require 8 years of medical school to do outside of the Army. I also saw some of the most awful things that many just read about. I broke bones, damaged joints, and killed my stomach and esophagus while hiding the pain. I am now at a high risk of developing stomach or esophageal cancer because of this. But this is more about my mental state.
As for the PTSD this stems from my job in the Army and how I was treated after my physical disabilities caught up to me. I saw some horrific ways that people suffer and die. Part of my job early on was bagging and tagging dead bodies. Whether it was the drunk who tried to cross the Autobahn on foot, the guy who was sniffing propane and got his by a car, the guy who I had just trained giving himself an IV of Jack Daniels, the guy cut in half between 2 vehicles screaming in pain, the one hit by a high speed train while chasing his dog, I can go on, but I still have these images in my head. There are other things too but I will not discuss that now, or think I can discuss it. The second part is once my physical pain caught up to me. In the Army you were taught that a form of motivating the weakest link is through harassment of sorts. I went from being top dog to being an out cast and shit upon. I was not even invited to parties after it was discovered that I may be medically discharged. I was called names, treated like a 3rd rate soldier, and even my command ostracized me. When the discharge came through that was the final straw in the rejection I felt. This leads me to depression and anxiety.
The depression and anxiety have a couple roots. Part is the rejection, part stems from my physical state. If you look at me I look like a normal skinny 30 something guy. Once I put on my splints for some physical activity it changes. I have to ask for help to do certain things or even open a jar. Or, if I have a little difficulty walking that day you may see me parking in a handicap spot limping a little when I walk. At 22 years old I had broken my left wrist (once left handed) and in August 1996 I had a surgery that I did not consent to nor should of had. I had broke my wrist a few years prior playing football but it also damaged one of the tendons in my wrist causing a cyst. The surgeon was only supposed to remove the cyst and repair the tendon but instead started to smooth some of the rough edges of the bones in my wrist. This essentially caused a cascade of traumatic arthritis. Then, the Army was supposed to provide me with therapy to regain strength and motion but felt it was more important to move me to another assignment against regulations. I had some left knee issues from a accident when learning to parachute from planes, and I was violently puking blood from the damage the pain medication did to my stomach and esophagus. Eventually I was fighting to stay in the Army because my next assignment was a prestigious one at Walter Reed but I lost that fight. I was also in line to go to Iraq for 6 months when we had a DMZ set up but that's a whole different thing. So at the end of 1999 I sat in my parents house wondering what to do next.
Mental health issues, 7 concussions, memory problems, wrist, shoulder, foot, ankle, and knee problems I feel like a human mess. I have broken the wrist, the foot and ankle, my skull, and wonder what I could of broke next if I stayed in. I damaged a knee and a shoulder and wonder what I am going to be like in another 10 years. It really sucks sometimes being me, yet I desire to live. What conflict.
Well, after a failed marriage which a big part of it was due to my mental state, being forced to resign this past June from a distinguished career in medical research (rejection again) and now wondering what to do as I post this. I am not looking for sympathy, just posting some thoughts trying to work out a few things in my head. I always write things down as I work through them and this is what I did here.
Also, I stress the desire to live. I have a great supportive family, my best friend and his family are wonderful, and I have a gf that is amazing. Even as I cycle between mental lows they all stand by me.
Fuck, this should have been posted in the confessional.