And when the water takes me down ...I'll go.


We are here now and yet never completely present.

I'm talking about today because I have shut down for repair. My un-feelings are hurt. I had trained these (feelings) out for a very good reason....and for a very long time. I thought I might just take them out and "feel them" and then, put it all away, but my dilemma is the same today as yesterday. I am waaaaay stronger for having some experiences, the stress-lesson being the most difficult.

I could not be weakened by soggy tears. There is no comfort on the battle field and home IS safe for them to "go off" in. We (the wives) are probably the only ones who will truly ever forgive them..even before they forgive themselves. And we don't forget...we understand. I understood that traumatic damage.

I understood that there were not many options. I PRESSED ON, but not everyone can or should. If you fear for your life or your children's lives, or the veteran's life..GET HELP IMMEDIATELY

In the early years (pre diagnonsed-PTSD) we took him to a hospital..he was drunk and out of control. He was so back there it was frightening, I'm sure I was shaking in my little old hippie slippers. But in having felt the same horror, this was HOW I would learn that my assignment was this man..to show him love. It was not easy back then...I thought I would die of heart break. We all know we can't have that...who would support our shaky veterans...the old troops and now the young. Some of you are fighting these issues.


I am finding my way back to feelings...what now? I will have to ask, because I DO NOT KNOW or UNDERSTAND I am hooked on my trained response (survival mode) that has been my teacher and my weakness. Was I mad? Sad? Did I need to be mad or want to be mad? Is it normal to be mad? Or am I sad (and all other forms of this question apply)? I'm very sure I was not glad. It hurt me to hear glad tidings of joy...I buried that one long ago. There was no outward emotion...except: THE RIGHT ONE! Problem being, the guessing: which answer he was in need of, what is the level of anger??? briefly assessing I turn to myself: what is my battle level and IS IT FRKN WORTH IT? I always hoped it would be worth it and it is, after all these years. I did forget some things and I am happy for it.

I have some memory loss due to chemotherapy and OLD AGE. I am surviving 5 years plus after having a radical mastectomy and chemo and radiation...yeah the full meal deal. I did not know if my vet would be able to take care of me, so I prepared to be dead. I made every body's Christmas gift that year...just in case. I wanted to be remembered. But here I still am: happy as a clam and don't give a da**, but I care deeply. I love deeply. I was 21 when we got married and I am now 60.

I would ask myself this question if ever I chose to leave and stay gone: "Can I be ok if my vet (the father of my children) should end up on the street or dead?"   He was suicidal anyway and I learned how not to be responsible for it. I knew there was nothing I could say or not say.... do or not do, to change anything!  I became "not responsible" for anything.  So when it came time to take responsibility..it was foriegn and hard.
So here we are. We have our meds we have our life and we still have each other. It's darn near perfect. I had visions of this life and I' m willing to bask in it's ease. War was brought to my home and family. Not just little battles and things one could overlook. I prayed to see him (DH= dear Hubby)  as God saw him and love him with God's power and might and my prayers are answered. Love does not die, even in death so beating the crap out of it was a sort of long, slow death...but you don't die...cancer was like that. The threat of death is imminent anyway and most people don't have to think about it. I was one of the "chosen" to be right where I am doing exactly what I am doing. One has to die of something, so a broken heart qualifies. I just did not care anymore. Take me and I will have run a good race...doing what I promised I would do: to love him , for rich or for POOR in (mental) SICKNESS or in health, for better or WORSE. I had no idea how tight these promises would hold me. I clung to these words and vowed to march on. I tried to understand and got wisdom.

I remember one day, just lying on my bed and feeling so hurtful, hateful and generally full of resentment and bitterness. I, so clearly heard the Holy Spirit whisper to me: no, this way....you must forgive him...

For years I had shook my fist at God, saying, "do you see this? Is this your plan for me? You forgive him and I will follow and it shall be done" but I had to make it my own. I had to be the one to release, to forgive for my own sake as well as his. I was becoming the bitter old hag I had tried to avoid...the mirror was before me and a decision had to be made. My mother used to tell me, If I stayed, I must stay cheerfully...Even though she had experienced his demons and some very bad behavior she admired my fervor. We went to Church together and prayed with and for each other. I ran away to her house every other month in the first twelve years of our marriage. She had a beach house and the girls and I would vacate our premise ( I would not call it a vacation) but for a few days we could experience some normal stuff, like to laugh and have fun and take our helmets of war off...we could breathe. then we would head back. Along about my firstborn's tenth year of age she said, "I'm not going" she was not necessarily in support of her father, rather banging her head in despair and the bleakness of her being. She took the brunt as we got married after finding out we were pregnant with her. She felt responsible for my having to stay. I feel responsible that she mistreats herself at age 37...having married an emotionally brutal man who furthered the abuse until she got out. I sacrificed my children, but to what end? I hope she can come back into our fold and heal. We (the youngest and fiercest) my hubby and I have battled through our crap. He has apologized to the point both the girls had to tell him to quit enough was enough. He needed to forgive himself. He has so much regret for what he put us through...but he has returned to church and I have seen the spirit overcome him and he is changed... other peole have noticed so it is not just my eyes that see. I can hardly believe it.

He cleans up pretty good, once you get all the red blood and clay off. His mom told me for 6 months after he got home the family tub (which was all they had) had a red ring in it from it seeping out of him. She is the one who told me she knew he was not the same man when he came home. She knew something was desperately wrong with him, but never lived to see him well, nor his father. They loved him, but were not the ones to greet him when he came home. The husband of his oldest sister took the day off to pick him up from the airport. No parade, no glory just a wounded veteran who would not really return home until almost 40 years later. I did not know him before and I fell in love with his quiet woundedness. Quiet HA..he could raise more hell than the devil himself. No one in the family could understand, unless they lived it. The exposure they had was minimal as he was volatile and no one wanted to be around him. People would ask me why he did what he did. Are you kidding? He seems crazy to me and he did have a nervous breakdown of sorts. He was hospitalized for 2 weeks and and we lived with his parents for another 2 weeks, upon his release.

That was only the beginning of many breakdowns, break throughs and breaking spirits. We got into some group therapy and that therapist gave me the best advice: stand up to him. Being an entire foot shorter was a disadvantage so he was the always the winner because he bullied all of us. I somehow knew this: HURTING PEOPLE, hurt people. Just repeat it slowly and understand that everything he said was coming back to rest on his own head and it was his personal hell we were seeing. As I knew that anything I did or said was also coming to rest as hot coals on my own head. Who knew? No one...We were married in 1973...PTSD was undiscovered or named until 1985...those twelve years I was talking about.