In the comments from that previous blog were several from tigerdog, the wife of a Vietnam vet medic. We shared concerns and recollections of PTSD and I thanked her for being compassionate and helpful to her husband. People who suffer with the flashbacks, nightmares and painful memories of battle and war and blood tend to hold such things in a secret place. I know I have for over 40 years.
During the past 20 years I've tried several times to share some of the emotions and feelings held so deeply within for so long but whenever I have tried, I have always found myself holding back the "worst" of it. Partly I guess because I've never thought anyone could understand what's there and partly out of some sense of self defense because I knew deep in my heart that if I ever let it all out I might lose control emotionally.
I'm over 6 feet tall and weigh over 250 pounds now. I was born in the south where men are MEN and aren't supposed to show weakness. At least back in the 50's and 60's when I was a child and adolescent that was what was taught. For a man to cry would NOT have been understood or tolerated by the adults I knew. So the story I'm about to tell is difficult for me but I've decided to spill my guts here for a minute.
Tigerdog's comments told me about her husband's transfer to the "burn unit" in Japan after his medivac flight from Vietnam. It reminded me of some things I had long buried in my subconscious.
My wife and I were having breakfast this morning in a little cafe in our town and I began to tell her about the comments and that led to my opening a little of my memory. I told her about two burn victims I treated in Vietnam. One had been terribly burned by napalm and the other a white phosphorous grenade. I won't go into detail here but as I talked about those guys and my anger at the monsters in this administration who didn't answer their country's call but seem so willing to send other's children to fight, bleed and die, I was overcome with emotion. I was in the middle of a sentence about holding all this in for 40 years and how terribly I felt for these kids who are living that Hell every day in Iraq.
Suddenly I was crying. I had to stop talking. I got control back quickly because that's what I do. It only lasted a couple of minutes and I don't think many, if any, of the other patrons even knew it happened but my wife looked at me with a puzzled expression and asked, "Where did THAT come from?"
My God! I know what so many of these people will feel in 20, 30, 40 years. How many of them will wind up homeless or criminals or hermits whose souls are so damaged they can't function. How many of them will wind up with the self destructive impulses I've had all these years. How many of them will have to hear a friend or spouse or child ask them in 40 years: "Where did THAT come from?"
Here's yesterday's Blog for anyone who wants to read it:
http://www.dailykos.com/...
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