The 30th anniversary of the Marine Barracks bombing in Beirut arrives on October 23rd. On my Facebook newsfeed, I noticed that some veterans made reservations, purchased tickets, and completed other preparations necessary to attend the reunion, but then faced the real battle - getting there. I don't mean hitchhiking or seeking an overbooked plane flight, but the battle of the mind we face in making the trip as the anxiety grabs the heart and guts with a nasty twist. As a veteran of Grenada/Lebanon, I can sympathize with that particular agony.
This anxiety is not your run-of-the-mill nervousness most folks feel when going away for a weekend. This is more like the onset of the stomach flu. That time before eruptions have begun, but you know something is very wrong down below. The guts seem to twist around themselves into a Gordian knot, and then they reach up and give the heart a tug, or a push, or something that just feels, well, like you're going to die.
I forgot to count how many times I have got up on a Sunday morning, showered, shaved, breakfasted...you know the drill. Dressed in my church clothes, I sit and wait like a good Marine vet, prepared well ahead of time. Then, the thoughts begin, followed by the feelings down below. Head call, potty break, whatever you want to call it, one after the other. It would just be easier to not go, and often that proves my only option. Immediate relief? No, often the symptoms require hours or an overnighter to burble on back down to a more normal level of tension.
Don't eat the day before, so the guts have nothing to twist on? Tried that; add hunger to the awful feelings churning down below. That combination reminds me of the prep for surgery; not exactly a remedy for calming the nerves and placating the mind. Problem solving helps, and it is an activity the non-sufferers love to engage in, God bless 'em, but listen up now: sometimes we lose the battle of getting there.
Avoidance of situations happens. It is one of the symptoms of the malady. There is no shame here, or at least there shouldn't be any, but sometimes we fight that too. There are times that I even lose the battle of writing about it. Surely that should be a time free of anxiety? No, I suffer less physical symptoms, but the maelstrom of the mind doesn't always shut down so easily. I wish that I could give every PTSD/anxiety/TBI/separation anxiety sufferer, veteran or civilian, a pill that immediately stopped the churning, fearful feeling we face so often. But I don't have one yet.
I once faced some hard words at my workplace after I almost made it to the airport for a work assignment, but then had to turn around and go home when the symptoms overwhelmed me. The loss of money from the plane ticket and other non-refundable deposits they could compute and see on the spreadsheet, and the company was not happy about it. The PTSD problem I don't believe they ever understood. Words they tried and spoke, but over time the PTSD cost me, of that I have no doubt. Does it cost me in getting another job? Sure, the same problems I have getting to church or struggle with in going to a reunion assault me each and every time I think about applications, interviews, and other such jobber things.
Some nut from back in the old country, Nietzsche, if I'm not mistaken, once said: That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Well, that psychonut was full of horse manure. That which did not kill us can make us truly miserable the remainder of our earthly lives. Praise God it doesn't happen all the time, and at times we do win the battle of getting there. When the trip comes and one of us gets mugged by the beast on the way and must return home, let us gather to support and not condemn. Those without the PTSD will condemn with looks and ledgers, but let us defend our fellows. And, I'll keep looking for that miracle pill.
God bless and defend you,Bucky
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