First day of PTSD Group...

Sent by reader Doug J

The pastor is picking me up in a bit for the elders PTSD support group... I am scared... 

I am not gonna lie this scares me. I know a couple of the guys in the group. They are great, but they have seen and done REAL shit, then went back for more.

I had a really bad weekend compared to some of them. I am afraid they are gonna laugh at me. 

---

One of two GOOD rainbow ponies

Last night the eldest brother's second wife gave me a gift. An app her company is developing for the iPhone that translates sign to speech, that was sweet. 

Zahir went a step further and loaded a special voice personality on my phone.

Z routinely smashes gifts for me (like nine times out of ten). He was heartbroken to find this was the rare "ONE." His heart was so in the right place but... He had a voice made for my phone using audio from recordings of childhood plays and performances. 
 
MY voice, my old dead voice came out of my phone. Lets just say there were tears involved, NOT the good kind, followed by a run back to the little house.  

Kaeleb snuggled with me in my corner chair and growled at Zahir when he came in. That man puts up with a lot from me.

On the subject of my voice, looks like we made the right choice. The specialist who wanted to try a new procedure on me, just had his license suspended due to gross errors. I have a feeling that is a medical/legal euphemism for deaths. So my intermittent, little, shy, broken voice will remain. I am good.

I'll try to post an update tonight... I am scared.

 ***Update 1700ish***

(ALL NAMES CHANGED)

 I was surprised to be picked up by Baba. He saw my puffy red eyes (Yes, tears were involved in the session). I learned a lot, both about myself and my new "brothers."

 The Marine who has been "flirting" with me was there. I was still sitting back not engaging. Chris told the group how I triggered him. Ten years ago he lost a friend in Fallujah. 

 When Chris passed around his phone, I could see why. AC could have been an older beefier cousin. He went into detail about how many friends he had lost. He said the Corps kept pushing the slogan, "Suck it up, buttercup."

 It turns out a lot of soldiers choose to find their own therapy to protect their career. I was right about being the only rape victim (hate the word victim). It was Chris who got me to finally open up by asking; not about what happened, but what finally brought me to group.

 I described the nightmares, tremors and how I shredded Zahir's chest and arms in my sleep. I told them it felt like I was 14 again and fighting for my life when I woke. I added the dissociative incidents triggered by sights or smells (smells are the worst trigger). 

 It spiraled from there. I ended up speaking for more than a half an hour. When I saw how much time had passed, I told them it was silly for me to be there. That all of them experienced far more being combat veterans. 

 It was Safee, (on the National Police) who said what happened to me was combat. He pointed out that at 14, I was impaired by drugs and fighting with a man twice my age and twice my size. He said I was doing good just to survive. "Sounds like brutal form of combat to me." There were murmurs of agreement from the others.
 
 Jon (British) made a connection I hadn't. He asked if the groggy feeling from the original sedative wearing off was similar to emerging from the drug my rapist slipped me. I hadn't thought about it, it is.

 Ian (Australian) pointed to a poster, "Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long." Then he added, "You have been fighting this battle mostly alone for six years, you aren't alone mate."

 When Baba collected me Chris and Jon were trying to arrange taxis. Baba offered to drop them. We had just dropped Jon at the British Council on Rainbow Street when my tummy rumbled really LOUD. Baba laughed and stopped for comfort food.

 I laughed at the irony of the situation. An older Bedouin man, took two gay men, for hot dogs on "Rainbow Street..."

 I got the normal warm welcome. "Quiet boy! The usual?!?" 

 I shook my head emphatically. Chris looked at the preparation of my custom dog and said, "THAT looks like a Chicago dog!" I told him it was the closest he would get till November. Chris's one year tour is ending and he is going home.

 Chris showed me an app for his smart watch that helps with his PTSD. I told him I don't have one. he went on to explain the benefit. Baba was listening intently (I see what is in MY future). He said the guys in group pair off for crisis support. He asked to be my "battle buddy." Baba nodded ok and we exchanged numbers.

I am good... I see a long road ahead, but isn't that the definition of life in general?