PTSD: The beast that lurks within

I was in Value Village today on Wednesday looking at some CD's for the radio station archives. I just laid my hands on some Herbie Hancock when out of the blue, WHAM! The shelf and the wall jumped and shook just like mortar round going off nearby.

I jumped back with an audible gasp. I stood there and closed my eyes, trying to take in calming breaths. The shakes came, came on hard. I opened my eyes and looked down at a 12-year-old girl sitting on a bench with a book in her hands. I quickly turned my back from her gaze, mortified by my reaction in front of a innocent little girl.

It was obvious I was in the grip of a PTSD attack. That curse was sleeping for months. But only sleeping, and now it was fully awake as I grabbed my CD's and walked away to the check out counter. My eyes were downcast, my hands shook the entire way. Then to stand there while a woman was making a large purchase, shaking and unsteady on my feet, seemed to take forever.

A young lady came up beside me and pointed to an empty check out stand to my right. “I can help you here sir,” she said with smile. I just mumbled something like a yes. As she was ringing me up I looked her in the eyes and said, “Can you tell those people back in receiving not to slam that door?" I pointed toward the wall where I was standing before looking at the CD’s. Receiving is on the other side of it . “I have PTSD and I shaking like leaf because of it,” I said in a perfectly calm voice even though I was anything but calm.

She looked startled at that. A lady behind me made a nervous smile. I took my change and moved quickly out the door and fled into the parking lot, feeling frightened, angry and ashamed all at the same time. It was the first time in months I had one these episodes. And it happened right in front of a child. Of all the damned things to have it happen in front of little girl? Why? I felt shame and anger that I was so taken in fright by what was in reality a door being slammed on the other side of the wall by someone and ashamed it wakened the demon curse that should have been left in the dark, sleeping in my soul.

My body shook all the way back home. One look on my face told the story to my family. I went the through the past event with a quaking voice, trying to hide my shaking hands. Yet I remained somewhat calm. I went to bathroom after that and washed the fear and sweat off my face. I looked into the mirror at a face pale with fear and loathing. A face of a stranger – and yet it was my own.

I decided to do something about it. Face it. Write about it. This is how I take on my PTSD. I write about it. While it is fresh in my mind. Write about it to put the demon back in its deep, dark cage. Turn the lock with each key stoke on the computer to put it at bay. This is how I learned to combat PTSD, that little curse from my stint in Iraq 10 long years ago. It wasn't long enough obviously. It never will be as long as I live.

This is one method to combating the curse of PTSD. It works for me but it may not work for others suffering from this affliction. Each person must find his or her path to fight it. That is because PTSD affects people differently. Some find solace from medication or counseling. Some find a way through art, writing or music. Some find it through hard work, others though hiking or other outdoor activities. Some will turn to their faith, whatever it is, for comfort and peace of mind in the darkest hours of PTSD.

Sadly some never make it and find death instead. Far too many at their own hand in suicide, at a rate of 22 per day – a suicide rate that has not changed in years. It badly needs to be lowered. Now is past time to do so. Some how my fellow veterans must find ways to survive and live to see another day. I found mine, my will to drive on in the face of my pet demon by writing about it. It brings calm to my troubled soul.

I will live to see another day. I have faced my fear and let it flow through and left it behind me with each word I write. My biggest problem was that I lost control in front of a little girl who should never have to see an old soldier reel in fear at a sudden bang. I felt those young innocent eyes on me. I felt shame at losing it in the light of those eyes. A child should never have see things like that. Ever.

I must carry on as a soldier should. And I will survive for another day. I will never give in or give up. That is a promise I will forever keep. There is no cure for what I and others suffer from. There is only trying to live with it. To come to terms a monster that resides within, hidden from sight, deep in my very soul.

Daniel D. Grota is a retired Veteran of the U.S. Army with over 21 years in service. He is also a Tuesday morning co-host on KVRF 89.5 FM, Radio Free Palmer. To email him, write to news@frontiersman.com.