I’ve been in a 40-year struggle with many peaks and valleys. I moved a few steps forward, only to be set back to deal with my problem myself. I became used to the fact and adapted. Most of the time, my actions could have been more optimal, and I put myself into unfavorable situations. While serving in the Navy at 19, I have hidden that a fellow service member sexually assaulted me. That singular event has run my life since then. It was brutal and nothing short of torture. My primary coping mechanism was the bottle. I was ashamed, humiliated, angry, and full of guilt. I did not know how to cope. I threw insults at other people. I pushed everyone away. My shame and embarrassment took over. I blamed myself for the assault. Until recently, I never sought help. I compensated for my guilt and grief by lashing out at people. I offer my humble apologies. I can’t ask for forgiveness that I do not deserve.

I have used the Veterans Administration for help for the last two years. I filed a claim and received a disability rating. The rating gave me access to health care, allowing me to seek alcohol abuse treatment and treatment for MST (Military Sexual Trauma) from the VA.

I have attempted suicide twice. The second time I ended up in the East Orange, NJ, VA Hospital emergency room. I was committed to a psychiatric ward at a VA hospital in the Bronx, where I spent over a week. At the Bronx, the VA discovered that MST was the reason for the suicide attempts. They recommended alcohol treatment first, so I started that. To date, I have been through two separate in-patient substance abuse treatment programs. The first was 56 days, and the second was 30 days. After each substance abuse program, I attended a follow-on PTSD in-patient program to help me with PTSD/MST. Those were both about two months each. I have spent significant time in residential treatment for the last two years.

Am I better? I can’t say totally. I can say I better know how to deal with my trauma. I have a toolbox to help when I have frequent problems. I have people I can call. I still have relapses. I still go to counseling several times a week and attend AA meetings. I practice mindfulness and meditation. I lost most of my friends. Perhaps I can build a new group. I’ve met a lot of veterans with huge problems who have made big mistakes but are just trying to be better men. Each day is a struggle not to commit suicide, not drink and not just cry over the assault. It has been a difficult 40 years. Very few people knew (until now) about the assault. I don’t blame it for my actions toward others.

I look forward to my new life without the burden of that horrible experience ruling my days. Counseling is good. I recommend mental health help to everyone. Talking through problems helps.

Hi there. It has been 21 years. You were supposed to be 82 coming up on 83 today. However, you are not here anymore. I often think about my childhood leading to my adulthood with you and your boys. The battalion of the four of us. You really did a great job abiding by your military life and the path you demanded we boys take. I have come to understand that we were soldiers long before most of us became actual defenders, soldiers, sailors and protectors. The boy bond lasted until John left to get better. He is back, at lease in talking a bit.

You experienced negative events. Your life in general changed after John came back. Stan’s death hit you harder then I could ever have imagined. I stepped in for his funeral arrangements because you asked. Just the two boys were left, Fred Jr and I. I missed the weekend visits I had in those following years. We got a bit closer. I was also deep into my career and it was keeping me stable. I had a flourishing life but sometimes I missed things. I noticed a change in you before Stan’s passing. You had anger combating remorse. Guilt battling shame. The immense grief. Your views became jumbled. I continued to step in regulary to help out and to fix things so you cound stay in your house. You were blessed to meet Dan. That visit meant a lot to me and Dan. He got to meet my family.

Mr. Fixit. That was you. It did not matter what project we were working on, your were there by our side. We built pinewood derby cars and you were there win or lose. We could leave pretty much anything on your desk and it would appear in our rooms a few days later. Always repaired. In life you and mom taught us all the basics. Changing the oil in the car, doing laundry and your monthy calendars on the fridge to guide us in the evening meal for the night. Sometimes you cooked, mostly that fell to us. We learned life skills that prepared us for adult life.

You had mystery in your job. We knew that your were active duty Army but never did we see you in uniform. You vanished to places world wide and returned with some trinket that we gathered around to look at in awe. You impressed us with your adventures and we stood in amazement. The Great Wall story will always be firmly planted in my head.

My wearing glassing very young always bothered me. I did not need yet another thing for the local kids to find fault with me. You brought me to the eye glass shop and tried your best to convey to the doctor that I was a normal kid who just did not have that superfan view of most sports. I played violin. Sorry I was not the jock you got with the other boys.

When I went to high school the family life changed. I saw very little of you and mom even though we lived in the same house. Our teenage lives, the bickering with you, the brotherly arguements all led to a rift that was never solved. Plenty of blame goes a round. There is simply too much terrain to cover before I can have a relation with one brother.

You chose to take your life. I understand feeling so bad that you think that is the only solution. I have attempted and failed twice. I have been in the care of residential care at the VA for three quarters of the last two years. The VA saved me. The VA helped me look ahead instead of to the past.

I wish I knew that the Veterans Administration could have helped you in life as they helped me in my counseling and recovery.

Today is Father’s Day. Your day. I miss you old man. I have so much to say that I never got to say. I pray. I will pray that your understand how much you meant to me.

Your loving son,

Donald (DJ)

On Thursday, May 29th, my aunt Connie passed. She meant quite a lot to me because she and my father were very close. As children, my brothers and I cherished the moments she visited because it told us it was time for fun. My cousin Wayne and Connie would come, and Connie would make fun of how my father treated his children, just like his only little platoon. We had reveille, breakfast, chores, lunch, more chores, dinner, baths, and bedtime schedules. Connie would do her best to interrupt our day to make our father livid. It was all fun, and we boys loved it. Wayne and I were similar in age and tried our best to get into trouble.

My father was very disciplined. He posted a monthly menu on the refrigerator for dinner every night. No deviation was allowed because the weekly commissary shopping procured the meal ingredients. Initially, the meals were cooked by either of my parents. As we got older, that duty fell to the children. No deviation was allowed. When Connie and her son would visit, those rules remained. One regular item on the menu was liver and onions. Connie detested liver. Connie would not eat liver and onions, which generally gave us kids the go-ahead to dislike it. The playful arguments the two had were pleasant memories of deep love between siblings. When Mom and Dad were not around, Connie would visit to care for us. She taught us to cook, which usually meant a trip to the excellent McDonalds. A treat we very rarely were given. She sang us a song that I thought for years was her composition. I don’t remember if these lyrics are accurate.

…Gobs and Gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts

Mutilated monkey meat

Pints and pints of irdy birdy turtle feet

All you need’s a straw

Pints and pints of putrified pelican puss

blah blah blah…

I can’t recall the rest, but it’s close

Officially, the lyrics are from Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Green_Gobs_of_Greasy,_Grimy_Gopher_Guts

“Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,

Mutilated monkey meat.

Dirty little birdie feet.

Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,

And me, without my spoon”

Connie always made things fun when they often were not. She was that kind of woman. Motherly, but not so motherly as not to be a cool older sister.  

She had a hard life as a single mom but always had the smile and laugh I look forward to. When my father was dying, We kept him alive until she could drive to the hospital in Maryland.

I spoke with my cousin at length today. Wayne is a strong man, a father, and a family protector. Connie was a single parent of a single child; she raised a good son and provided for her family. She brought fun to the table like no one I have ever seen. Wayne is putting together a memorial to be had in the future. The family will primarily attend it to remember her. Her urn will rest alongside her father, a request she made well-known to the family. 

Rest in peace Connie

All my love, DJ

and Dan says “Nothing”.

Visiting Yosemite was always a dream of mine. Not just a visit to Half Dome or the Yosemite Valley. I wanted to go to places where tourists did not flood the area. It was around 1996. I planned to visit in June after the snow melt was more advanced.

My goal was a 10-mile backcountry solo hike. I would carry everything with me. I spent weeks researching my course, laying out my equipment, and shopping at REI for supplies. Once I had the logistics done, I needed to pick a date. I want to go when there is snow, but the trail would be passable. I prefer a date in mid-June, so I cleared the trip with my boss and set out to buy tickets. Yosemite was my first vacation as an adult. I was 33. It was also where I planned to die.

I worked for a wireless engineering firm, and one of our four biggest clients was just south of Los Angeles in Cerritos. Two events threw my plans into disarray. My friend Bonnie was marrying her long-time beau in San Francisco that May. I was able to change my flights to accommodate the wedding. I was looking forward to seeing her. However, about a week before the trip, my supervisor called me into his office and said I needed to be in LA the week before the wedding. I reminded him about my vacation plans, and he said I needed to work around my personal goals and that he would pay for the tickets to get me out there and back when I wanted to go. Win-win for me.

I attended the wedding. It was terrific, and Bonnie and Don started on a beautiful new life. They adopted a child. It was a fairy tale story until years later when Don suddenly passed away while surfing. RIP brother.

I entered the park at the Hetch Hetchy entrance in the northwest corner. It was earlier than planned, so the snow melt could have been better. The park ranger at the station suggested I hike it with someone. Who, I did not have a hiking partner. I explained to him my hiking experience, including 500 miles of the Appalachian Trail. I had great equipment. I was a former Boy Scout with lots of expertise. I was ready to do it. The first bit of advice I received was from the park ranger. “Why are you going into the bear country alone?” I needed this hike. It was not that many years after the Navy and not after a personal trauma that I still found difficult to process. I wanted to go, and I wanted to litterally go.

I bearproofed myself, gear, and rental car and headed out. I was a bit hungover from the partying at the wedding before, so I wanted to find shelter within a mile of the trailhead to make camp and crash. At least, that was the plan.

As I head on the trail, it is rock, a bit covered with snow, and the temperature is in the 50s, but it looks like an easy, pretty crossing. I wear a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and the weather is brisk in the 50-degree range. I start my trek.

I get about a mile into the hike and feel pretty burned out from the day before, but I push on. I come upon what my map showed me to be a stream. Stream my ass. This stream was far more of a small raging river. I can’t say I was not a little scared. I knew I had no choice but to cross. It was five feet across, and I figured I could quickly jump that. I could not do it with my backpack, so I tossed it over and jumped. No problem. I threw the pack, which landed on the bank and slowly rolled into the stream. I panicked and jumped in after it. I was swept down the creek right behind the pack but was able to grab hold pretty quickly. I then grabbed the long grass hanging over the edge, put my pack closer to the bank where I could grab sturdier roots, and pulled myself and the backpack out of the water. I lost an opportunity.

Once I was in dryland, I changed out of the wet clothes. Thankfully, my boots and pack were waterproof, so there was no problem. I still needed to be a mile from the trailhead, and I figured I was only about half of a mile, so I trudged along. When I hit the one-mile mark, I wanted to pitch the tent, bearproof my food, and crawl into my sleeping bag. I did just that.

Part II is coming soon.

A good night of sleep clears the head. I was 33, single, not dating, and I had just gone to an emotional wedding. My failure in relationships was entirely my fault. I struggled with a traumatic event that happened to me when I was 19. Yosemite allowed me to go through with a plan if I could bring myself to it. I was miserable. I was angry and depressed. I did not want to go on. I knew I should seek outside help, but I was too embarrassed to talk about my problems. I was hoping the solo hike would give me some clarity. So I hiked. I climbed. Up I went to 11500 feet. I was alone most of the time. This older day hiker passed me so fast that he practically knocked me over.
I also ran into a “Glamping” group. They come in on horseback with all their fancy tents set up for them and a chef to cook their meals. How precious. The mountain was on fire, and signs warned not to report it. The views and the air were fabulous. I felt like I was in an element I felt comfortable in. My stressful job was still there, but I was away from it, if ever so briefly. This journey was a 10-day hike. I planned for months. I shopped at REI and a local camping store. I had the boots, the pack, food, water treatment, etc. I was not a novice hiker. I spent years in the Boy Scouts, camping and hiking darn near every weekend. I have also hiked several hundred miles of the Appalachian Trail.
What I should have prepared for was the altitude. I hiked slower each day than I trained for and, therefore, less distance each day. Fortunately, I built in a shortcut/cutoff. That cut my trip short by a day and gave me time to drive to the basin. I am so glad I did not plan that as my vacation spot. It was mobbed with tourists. I tried to get a shower, but the lines were epic. I could drive to some typical must-see places like Half Dome. So I did just that. All in all, I had a fantastic time away.
One morning, I was down by a river, heating some water. I look up, and a bear is across the river. It is not a deep river, perhaps 3-4 inches deep, but relatively broad. I sat there and watched it and remained still, quiet and calm. I don’t think it ever noticed me. It was a stunning sight to watch. Nature was out for me to see the whole trip. Animals, trees, and little creatures were abundant.
Maybe connecting with nature helped me at that time steer away from suicide. I’ve made two attempts since then. I am new to sobriety, so that will help as well. I thank the Veterans Administration for being there for me when I most needed them. They saved my life. They got me sober. I also want to thank Dan, who was there through thick and thin when no one else was. I burned too many bridges and lost too many friends to expect anything else. Being persona non grata is tough. I don’t recommend it.

Coatesville, PA. Veterans Hospital.

What is PTSD?

From the National Institutes of Mental Health

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a disorder that develops in some people who have experienced a shocking, scary, or dangerous event.”

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sing

I am four weeks into my second residential inpatient treatment program for PTSD. Round one last year was from September through November at the VA Hospital in Montrose NY. I learned much about myself in NY and I am learning even more here in PA. My PTSD originates from when a traumatic event occurring while serving in the US Navy. It fundamentally changed my life.

I write this to help me. When my trauma happened I did not even know what PTSD was. I also write “impact statements” as part of my treatment following Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) with a specific focus on Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT). There are references below.

I stopped working in the fall of 2019. A hand problem became too much to perform my job. I had a heart attack in January 2021. A lonely recovery from triple bypass surgery and a fair amount of free time brought me to the understanding that I was miserable. COVID made not seeing people easy. I has been isolating for years but the pandemic encouraged more.

I felt sorry for myself with the hand issues. Four surgeries largely repaired the problem but also prevented me from continuing my chosen career path. I was not dealing with the trauma. I had almost no friends. I was ready to end it all. I honestly wished the heart attack had killed me.

I had suicide attempts in January and March of 2022. After the second one I was committed to a psychiatric ward where was I diagnosed with PTSD and depression. Like many, I associated PTSD generally with soldiers like my father. Vietnam veterans. He suffered from it and never got treatment. He committed suicide in 2002.

I spent years in pain. From age 19 on. I suffered through guilt, shame, embarrassment and especially anger. I disliked myself and most people. Making friends was difficult and the ones I made lasted until I ruined the relationship. I could not keep inappropriate and obnoxious comments to myself. I was very angry so I lashed out all the time. I disrespected myself and everyone else, primarily my closer acquaintances. I kept busy by engaging in a heavy work schedule. I took out my pain on the people around me. I took stressful jobs and I tried to move on from my trauma by isolation and alcohol. I suffered through the losses of my brother, father and mother. I became estranged from my remaining brother.

I reached out to the Veterans Administration. The VA provided the help I needed. They set me on the path to understand my pain and where it originated. I was finally helped in putting events together and to understand better what I had gone through. I was broken but they could help fix me. It was more than 30 years late. I have been resilient but I knew it was time to go back into the VA.

Through therapy I am working on recovery. Both alcohol recovery and my trauma. I am learning to understand that the trauma was not my fault. It was unforeseeable. The therapy I committed to is CPT. It requires readdressing the trauma. This therapy is the hardest thing I have ever done. I felt forward movement with the first PTSD program and more with the current one. I still have several weeks but will stay as long as I need. I am confident I will achieve success. I will never recapture all that I have lost but I am learning to be a better husband and a better human. It will be a lifetime of working on my pain. I will pay it forward to other vets that are suffering through substance abuse and PTSD. I want to let my fellow vets know I have your six. Let’s move forward because the real work starts now..

Are you a Veteran in crisis or concerned about one? You’re not alone—the Veterans Crisis Line is here for you. You don’t have to be enrolled in VA benefits or health care to call. Dial 988 and press #1

Text to 838255

Please read up at this link.

https://deploymentpsych.org/blog/staff-voices-pe-or-cpt…that-question

Below are some some slides the VA provided regarding PTSD. I have started with PE and moved to CPT. Both fall under CBT.

To all the people I treated horribly with insults and jabs, with lies and deception, with anger and contempt, I am so sorry. I have an illness. I promise that I will work on me. I will go to meetings and I will continue my therapy. I promise, there is a good man somewhere in me.

Don

I left the substance abuse residential recovery treatment program (SARRTP) at the Lyons NJ veteran hospital today. The VA is sending me to PTSD in Coatesville PA, for another round of treatment. I have been sober for the past 30 days so it is time to hopefully learn how to deal with PTSD without the use of alcohol. I will be in program for a minimum of four weeks. Although I’ve attended SARRTP previously, I have great confidence the help I needed I have received. Looking forward, moving forward.

If interested please read the article “How PTSD affects the brain” at http://www.brainline.org/article/how-ptsd-affects-brain.

On Super Bowl Sunday I relapsed. Seven months of sobriety are gone. I can’t make any excuses. The VA has been adjusting my medicines. I have a new bipolar disorder medicine, my mood stabilizer meds have been adjusted as well as the depression meds. None of that is the crux of my picking up a drink. Simply saying, I screwed up. On Monday I will re-enter inpatient rehab at the VA. I need to nip this relapse in the bud and get myself back on track. The VA is the place I can go to do that. Being a veteran has its benefits since the VA would rather you come back to rehab than not be around. See you in 30 days.

Eleven years ago my dear friend Fernando passed away. We lost him after a battle against cancer. He was just 46. Fernando had a wry sense of humor, a warm heart and was a great friend. He was loved by all, one of those teddybear types of men. I’ll post more about him later.

I met Fernando through our running club, the Mount Vernon Hash House Harriers or just “The Hash”). I will always remember him, I could never forget him. Fernando was a true friend who would drop it all for you. Our running club honors him by keeping with his Pièce de résistance annually. The Mount Vernon Poop Deck Annual Chili cook off is a remembrance of our lost friend who started the cook off back in either the late 90’s or maybe early 2000. The Hash has a fun run every Saturday morning. The run is usually 3-5 miles plus a walker trail. Fernando (aka Poop Deck) once brought a theme to the otherwise normal hash. The chili cook off was born. Simple rules. Make your interpretation of chili and submit for prizes, notoriety and bragging rights. Over the years we have had some stellar entries. Hot, vegetarian, beef, pork, turkey, keto, beans (not real chili) and no beans, canned chili disguised as home made (Hasher B.S.P). You name it, we have had it. Even a dessert chili (a box of either Brownies or Oreo cookies in a crockpot from Hasher LateCummer)

Since Fernando’s death, four of his friends have kept that tradition alive. Those friends are Tia, Nancy, Barbara and myself. This coming weekend (February 18, 2023) we bring on the chili cook off once again to celebrate and remember our dear friend. We let newer club members know about Fernando. We are keeping his name and spirit alive.

Donald (aka Harddrive)

If you are a veteran and thinking about suicide, I can personally vouch for this, https://www.veteranscrisisline.net. Dial 888, then press one.

In January 2022, I had my first suicide attempt. I tried drowning by walking into the bay. I failed. A woman walking her dog talked me back to shore, comforted me, and provided me heat. In March of 2022, I attempted again. I was close, but the rubber exercise bands I used to hang myself broke. I ended up sitting in my underwear in a pile of despair. I was broke. Dan found me.

I called the Veterans Crisis Line, and they sent me to the emergency room. I was committed to a psychiatric ward for a week. Shortly after the suicide attempt, I spent four months (July-Nov) in the care of the Veterans Administration. Inpatient ward. I needed help. I received a great deal of personal and group counseling. I entered the program to reach out for help with alcohol and PTSD. The VA spent time to get me on the right path. I knew I had a problem with alcohol. I was awful to my friends when I drank. I have lost all of them. I found out that I suffered from PTSD from an event when I was in the Navy. That event rattled me and controlled me for the next 40 years. It still rattles me. I felt so bad for myself that I simply wanted to go, end it, and commit suicide. I suffer from depression and stressful situations. I self-medicated with alcohol to hide my pain. I tried being someone who I was not. I carried on like nothing was wrong. None of that worked.

I had been in a very dark place for 40 years. I did not know how or who to talk to. I felt no one understood my pain, shame, or embarrassment. My closest friend passed away while I was in treatment in October. Gut punch, to say the least. I was hurt and crushed. I was hurt because he died so suddenly. I again contemplated suicide. Two friends told me then that they did not want me in their lives. My path in life has been difficult at times. However, I’ve held on. I learned to accept my losses. I accepted that I ruined far too much during my 20s through my 50s. I tried hard to get over things in the past. I guess there is too much damage. I am a good man. I am a successful man. “Ex Inhilo.” I will always realize that I have much to give and offer and be a helpful person to other people. My past will not predicate my future. I ask for forgiveness and understanding.

Next time…..

February 14th, Valentines Day. I’ve been with my husband for almost 21 years. I was thinking about that today when he gave me a kiss before he went to work. He is such a sweet and understanding man. I am truly lucky and very much blessed. Frankly, I don’t deserve him. Music is a shared experience to us even if the genre’s are not on the same plate all the time. We have a large vinyl collection that we enjoy on our vintage Pioneer turntable. Vinyl has this sound that I can’t help but to love. I am a huge fan of music in general. I go in phases of what I am listening to at any given moment.

I use music to help with PTSD and my other mental illness issues. The most recent update will always be found on the website https://www.ohdrat.com/digital

Enjoy perusing. We can discuss, ask questions. I am fairly knowledgeable. I am open to discussion.