PTSD and Alaska bring challenges

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder — that’s a mouthful for anyone. We love to call it PTSD. Well, “love” is the wrong word for something that is a curse — a curse from a war. I’m sure other veterans have different names for this as it affects them, too; usually, involving a lot of cuss words.

Veterans bear a lot of scars and wounds, from burns to missing limbs to broken bones and broken spirits. And almost all bear the unseen one, too. It was called shell shock and battle fatigue in World War I and World War II and something else during the Korean and Vietnam wars. Today, some genius gave it the tongue twister and acronym it is now: PTSD. It will do for the time being.

I have PTSD, and writing about it is, frankly, hard to do. Making it public is even harder. But it must be done. The reasons why are many. Although it is difficult to share my deepest wounds, I do so in the hope that someone out there knows another veteran who suffers from this and the other wounds of war and reaches out to help them find the help they need.

It affects people differently, some worse than others. My case is mild in comparison to others I know, but I have it nonetheless. Depression, nightmares, insomnia attacks, hyperawareness, self-isolation from friends and family and the shakes from loud concussive bangs, even certain smells can trigger it. Like most veterans who have been through a war, it didn’t end when I got back to the states. You can’t just turn it off and carry on like nothing has ever happened. Some of my friends and family just don’t get that. I understand that most times. And sometimes, I just want to pull my hair out in utter frustration.

It and the other wounds of war open up a whole host of demons for the sufferer. Alcohol, drugs, crime, homelessness, domestic violence, unemployment and suicide is just the short list of the demons. That does not make us bad people or whacked-out crazies, either. We are just people who have been through a wringer and somehow survived it.

Recovery is a lifelong battle for us. It is one more challenge, and challenges are part and parcel to being a soldier. We signed up for it, at least I did more than 30 years ago at the young age of 19. I’m 50 now. With 21 “good” years and only a five-year break in between service with the U.S. Army, Reserves and National Guard. From crewing Huey helicopters in Germany, Texas and Washington state to cranking wrenches on Humvees in the desert heat of Iraq and the bitter cold of Alaska’s winters, it was the thrill of meeting challenges that drove me.

But the war changed me in ways I could not control. It aged me 10 years in one. My health and heart couldn’t take it. After my retirement from both the Army and my job as a technician for the Alaska National Guard, I lost the will to meet the challenge. That made my PTSD even worse.

But the challenge was still there, it just changed its shape. Veterans’ issues are now the challenge. Writing about them and bringing them to light to the public are now front and center. Living in Alaska is another major factor in healing. The land, the people and the shear wildness that make Alaska what it is have helped me in ways I cannot count. I don’t drink anymore. I walk almost every day — from two miles to six, depending on my mood and overall health (I have lost more than 30 pounds from my walks). And I have begun to take up my artwork again. My hands have stopped shaking, so now I can hold a drawing pen. I love to photograph life around me. I also have taken up a new skill — writing, from short stories to this column.

I’m far from perfect. Just human. I still battle my PTSD every day. I will for the rest of my life. But now I do it on my terms. I do it to face my fears and do something positive with them. It is my hope that sharing my story will help others do the same.

Wasilla resident Daniel D. Grota retired from the U.S. Army after more than 21 years of service.