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A Late Night Knock

You’ve had a late night knock before, right?  An unexpected knocking on your door at an hour when nobody should be knocking?  Or perhaps a phone call.   At some hour of night when you initially think, “Who in the world would call now?” and then you think, “it must be an emergency to call now!”

And so you jump out of bed and rush to find your phone.  As you move, each passing second is an eternity as your brain plays its game, trying to figure out what the emergency could be, who could be hurt, “what if (loved one) died?”, and on and on, until you find your phone (hopefully it just a wrong number).Have you had this happen?

My Late Night Knock

Last night I had something similar happen with me.  While Julie and the kids watched a movie (Boss Baby), I went to bed early, around 8pm, because of a really bad nights sleep the night before.

I was vaguely aware of Julie climbing in bed and Bella jumping up near my feet.  I was sleeping soundly enough though that I was back out again just as soon as they settled down.

At some point later I had woken from a nightmare and was laying in bed.  I had started to drift though.  You know that hazy part of sleep where you think you are awake but your dreams are real to you too?  That is where I was lingering for an unknowable amount of time (this is common for me).

So I was just lingering in that haze when I thought I became aware of someone moving down the hall next to our room.   I was aware of it, but not acknowledging that it was real of course.  Then came a knock, hard and loud, on our bedroom door.

Momentary Panic

Because of that haze, my brain hadn’t fully registered someone being awake and in the hall.  So when that knock came I almost jumped out of my skin.  Bella was instantly up as well and barking as if there was an intruder.  While my brain knew it was just a child, my body didn’t care.  My heart started pounding in my chest, by fear level was amazingly high, my muscles seemed locked and frozen.

Julie, also startled by the knock, started to get out of bed to check on her child.  I wanted to scream at her not to open the door, to tell her that HE must have found us and not to let him in, that we needed to hide.   But I was too frozen even to do that.  I didn’t say a thing.

I’d like to think that it wasn’t entirely fear make made me freeze, that my brain was also acknowledging that it must be a child needing it mom, and therefore let Julie get up and leave without me saying anything.  Julie opened the door and called out.

A Sick Kid

It was Kristie.  Poor angel had knocked on our door to wake us and then ran into the bathroom to puke.  Julie found her with her head hanging over the toilet.  She had knocked just once, apparently not trusting herself to open her mouth in the hallway.  She knocked as she hurried past.

Julie tended to her for several minutes as a good mother does.  I, like a lazy father, just lay in bed.  The panic passed within 5 seconds, but it could have been 5 hours for as long as it felt.  During those minutes that Julie helped Kris, I was trying to calm down and find sleep again.

No luck though.  The panic was short lived, but the seed had been planted for nightmares to continue throughout the night.   Even falling into the hazy awareness was intimidating to me.  Having already woken from one nightmare early wherein I had been taken captive, I wasn’t eager to sleep again.

Night Time Games

So for help with nightmares I turned to one of my ‘prescription drugs’ – a video game.  I had a therapist give me a ‘prescription’ for them anytime I needed an escape from the trauma or stress.   When my thoughts turn dark or ugly, or when I have moments like last night, then they are a great way to just shut my mind down and be distracted from the trauma.

I’m not proud of telling you that I played on our XBOX from midnight until after 4am.   When most people think of the type of person who would do that it probably involves a lot of unflattering adjectives and thoughts of uselessness.  You know how they’re portrayed in TV and movies.

I like to think that I’m different though.  I’m not hooked on the game.  I don’t “have to complete that quest,” or “need to get that level,” or “I can’t get left behind,” or whatever it is that drives most ‘gamers.”

The distraction is necessary for me though.  I need an escape from mental images of my kids being tortured.  I need to escape from thoughts of hurting myself.  A distraction from the pain coursing up and down my back.   So I think I’m a bit different in my gaming.   For me it isn’t an addiction or disease, for me it is the medicine.

I guess I could have been out shopping on Black Friday instead, but honestly, that just seems like the nightmares brought to life.

Take Away

So… I guess the point is this, if you’re going to wake me at some ungodly hour with a phone call, text, or a late night knock, then someone better be dead or dying.  Anyone other than my kids doing this to me had better have a good reason, or we’re going to “have a few words”.

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PTSD and Church Attendence

My journey for mental wellness continues.  Ever since I was a young boy, church attendance has been a consistent part of my life.  Except when illness, pain, or military duty kept me away, I’ve attended every week.   I don’t remember a time when I didn’t go simply because I didn’t want to go.

PTSD and Church Attendance

I didn’t go today though.  Not because I didn’t want to, but because I don’t feel up to it.  Though not what you would normally think of when I say “illness,” my mental state (mental illness) kept me home today.   This has happened before, but today is easier for me to explain why.  Hopefully it is easier for some to understand.

With my PTSD I will often find myself having a moment of panic about the “what if’s” of a certain location.  It’s happened at football games, restaurants,  choir concerts, Thanksgiving Point, anywhere and everywhere, even at church.

What if a gunman comes running through that door? What if a car starts running people over? What if that bus explodes?  What if someone grabs one of the kids?  What if some kids come through with knives? What if… ? What if… ?  What if…?

Logic/Reason

My own thought processes tell me those thing won’t happen.  Or at least that the odds of them happening are so small that I shouldn’t be bothered by them at all.   The same thoughts that YOU have about these things are usually what I have too.  But sometimes the PTSD is stronger than that, and reason goes out the window.

Last Sunday

But sometimes those things DO happen.  The attacks with knives, cars, guns, bombs… those do happen at times, and so it makes me even more prone to the moments of panic.

And last week it did again.   I assume if you are reading this that you know about the shooting at the Texas church house.   26 dead, countless affected.  Families torn asunder.   Unimaginable pain and grief.

Because of the regularity with which I’m at church services (where as I’m almost never in restaurants or football games), church is one of the more common panic inducing thoughts/locations that I have.   So when it does happen in real life, even if its a thousand miles away, I’m not really in a good mental position to head back to my own church house.

Vulnerability

After a night filled with more nightmares, I made the conscious decision not to go to church today.   I don’t ever “know” when a moment of panic will occur, but for some reason I just felt more vulnerable than normal today.  Is that excusable?   Does that make me less faithful of a Christian?  Will my friends think less of me for admitting it?  Is it as acceptable to stay home because of mental illness as it is for a physical illness?   Would you judge me more harshly (in your opinion of me) for this slip in my church attendance?

 

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Bella

I was given a new dog, Bella.

She is a Blue Heeler/Pit Bull mix.   She is a LOT more energetic than Iris was. Where Iris was more like furniture that breaths and snores, Bella is up moving around, wanting to play, and paying attention to things going on around her.   Exploration and games keep her moving a lot more.

Service Dog?

I didn’t get Bella from CWAC, but from someone else.   So she hasn’t had any service dog training.   Working with CWAC though I could train her as my service dog.  That is the thought anyway.  I could always just keep her as a family pet if I wanted and keep looking for another service dog.  I’m going to have to see what the CWAC people recommend.  I’d like to train her.

She is already quite well behaved.  She goes on the leash really well, she is house trained, and she is just fine with all my kids.   Before I take her in public though she’ll have to pass a number of tests.

Because she didn’t come with a kennel like Iris did, she has just been loose in our bedroom as we slept.  Iris was as well and always slept on the floor next to my side of the bed.   Bella however is used to sharing the bed, so … now I have a spouse issue.   Julie isn’t a fan of this arrangement.  She isn’t up on our faces, but instead sleep ON my feet.  Technically she is just as far from Julie as Iris usually was, but just the concept of having a dog sleeping on the bed isn’t exactly pleasing to Julie.   She loves me though, so we’ve done two nights like this.

 

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Halloween: How My Depression Saved a Man’s Life

*AUTHOR’S NOTE:  I wrote this and published it as private just a few days after Halloween 2017.  That was 6 months ago today.  After reading it you’ll understand why I didn’t publish it immediately.  It is the primary event that has stopped me from writing anything in the past few months.  I tried a few times after this, but I haven’t been great, and I’ve wavered on how much I really want to share.    So if any of you have been wondering why I stopped posting anything, this is the cause.  I’m just experiencing things that I’m not ready to share, and I don’t want to write dishonestly; telling you how good things are when I’ve been having a hard time.   So I just gave it up.   Maybe it’ll come back.   Maybe this will be the last ever post.  That isn’t decided.   

Please don’t judge me too harshly for this post.  I’m better than I was at this time.   I still don’t carry.  I still avoid public places.  I’m still getting treatment.  It will probably be a lifelong journey.   I hope you are all doing well out there!

Wait, What?

Yes that title is accurate.  There isn’t a slightly confusing twist that makes the headline misleading as I’ve done in the past.  This isn’t a play on words.  My depression (potentially) saved a man’s life this Halloween.

CWP

I have a active concealed weapons permit.   This permit allows me to legally carry a concealed weapon in 36 different states.   I have and DO carry a weapon.  Given the specific nature of the serious threats made against me and my family, I have religiously carried everywhere I go for several years.

Depression’s Role

That is, I carried everywhere up until a few months ago.   A few months ago I went through some depression more serious than normal.  Fearing that my sidearm would more likely harm me than defend me, I had it locked up in a family member’s safe that I don’t have access to.   It was a hard decision to make, because I’m considerably less comfortable in public places without it,  but it was something that the depressive state demanded that I do.

The Man Whose Life Was Saved

His name is unknown to me.   I don’t even know what he looks like.  I do know that if I hadn’t had the depressive episode a few months ago, and therefore hadn’t locked my sidearm away, that this man might not be around today.

Here’s how it happened…

Halloween

Joshua had been invited to a friends house/neighborhood to go trick-or-treating.  Around 9:15 Josh texted to say that they were done and he was ready to be picked up.  I had dropped him off earlier in the day, so it was I who went to pick him up.

When I had dropped him off, it was in a quiet subdivision on Bluffdale’s western most edge of 15000 south.   The sun had still been shining on the million dollar homes that make up the area.   There weren’t any kids out running around yet.  I have friends who live there.  It is a good area full of nice people.

When I returned it was well past dark.   It appeared most kids had packed up and returned home, because there weren’t many of them visible either.  There was, however, a full grown man in a mask walking down the middle of the road.  He was wearing what appeared to be a gorilla mask, gloves made to appear as gorilla hands, and what looked like a heavy set of Carhartt coveralls.

Our Meeting

He just stood there in the road as I drove closer.  I slowed down, not knowing what his intentions were.  I didn’t want him to jump in the way in order to scare me,  and then accidentally hit him with the van.  It’s hard to anticipate him doing anything that stupid, but you never know about people.  I drove past at just 5 or so mph, passing him on the driver’s side, with him only about a foot from the side mirror.  He didn’t say anything or even move, but just looked at me as I drove by.

So far so good.  I got past the guy without any problem, so I continued down the block a couple of hundred feet to where I was getting Josh.   I pulled over and texted that I was outside.  Then I looked in my mirror to watch the guy in the road (just be make sure he didn’t come my way).  I don’t like people enough to put up with strangers who think they are funny.

Another’s Meeting

Another car passed me going the other direction, toward the man.   This smaller white car slowed down and appeared to talk to him.   Probably somebody who knew him from the neighborhood and wanted to have some laughs together.   Suddenly the guy in the mask made a grab at the car door and looked like he was trying to open the door to get in.  The driver hit the gas and the car took off as the masked man gave a short chase running after him.

At this point my reasonableness went out the window and my PTSD kicked into “Oh Shit” mode!   My heart started racing and blood started pumping.  This guy had made a physical move against someone else.  He wasn’t safe.  He was a threat.  I had seen it happen myself.  I reached for my sidearm and, “F**K!” it wasn’t there. (Bold Italics are my thoughts).

He stopped chasing the other car and turned around and started coming toward me again at a walk.  I thought of just driving away and put the van into drive, but then it hit me, “S**T, Josh!”  And this guy is getting closer!

Defend My Family

I was in full panic mode.  Because of very real threats, my nights are filled with nightmares about people torturing me or my children.  And I was in a panic that here was a man willing to carry out those nightmares.  There was no chance that I was leaving my son in an area with this guy.

With no gun, I opened the glove box looking for any other weapon, a screwdriver, a pipe, string, anything.   “I can’t turn the van around in this street before he gets here, so I can’t use it as my weapon.” 

I settled on the van keys; they’d have to do.   I pulled them from the ignition and positioned them in my palm so that they would serve as a dull knife between my fingers as I punched.  I had my hand on the door handle and was playing out in my mind the number of steps to him, how he might react, what outcomes I might expect, etc.

He was still advancing and getting close.  At any minute Josh could come out of the house and this man could be closer to him than I was.  “I have to keep him from Joshua.”  I was just about to pull on the handle and get out, when the passenger door was flung open.   Joshua, smile firmly attached and bag of candy in hand, jumped into the van.

Cool Down

“Hi, Dad.”

“Breath!  Breath Jax.”   

“Hi, Josh.  Have fun?”  I check the mirror to see how close guy is getting.  He has stopped and is looking down a sidestreet.  Threat stalled.

I put the keys in the ignition.

“Oh Yeah.  We had a blast.  Feel how heavy this bag is.”

I hope Josh can’t tell something is wrong. “I’m fine” I tell myself.  “It’s Halloween and he’s not a threat. You’re safe. Just breath dammit!” 

“Looks good son.  Did you guys stay out of trouble? Cause any problems?”

Blood pressure is going down and levelheadedness is returning.

“We were good Dad.  No problems.”

“Good.  Let’s get out of here.”

I pulled off the curb, turned the van in a neighboring driveway, and started toward home.  This takes me past the man in the mask again.

2nd Meeting

I’m calm again.  Joshua is safely next to me.  No worries.  The panic only lasted 15-30 seconds, and having family around helps it to pass.

I roll down my window to talk to the guy.

“Hey man, I’m a PTSD vet.  Don’t do that again.”  I’m not sure how he takes this.  I meant it as a request to be thoughtful of others.

He laughs, “It’s just me man, your neighbor.”

“I don’t know you at all,”  I reply.

I think about adding, “you almost got yourself shot” but I don’t want him to think I’m threatening him, so I just leave it at that and drive away from him as he laughs again.

Hindsight

Like all of my PTSD panic episodes, I know the reasoning isn’t logical.  The thought process is flawed.  I’ll lead with that.  I know my reaction wasn’t normal.  That is why it’s a mental health issue.  That’s why I go to so many therapy sessions.

He didn’t do anything outlandish or wrong.  It was Halloween and he was out trying to make the night fun for the kids.   I bet he had kids laughing and shouting all night.   I figure he was playing around with a neighbor in the white car, someone who knows him.  He was probably the highlight of several peoples night.

I, however, wasn’t out to actively participate in Halloween.   I don’t think he knows the danger he was in.   That panic attack was real, and if I’d had my sidearm I probably would have been out of the van quicker than when I realized I didn’t have it.  Thinking I’d be going hand-to-hand with someone slowed me down.

The time it took me to “think” (in quotes because it isn’t an ideal way to describe thought processes during panic attacks) gave Josh time to get to the car, and Josh getting into the car shook me from the panic and helped my head clear.   It potentially saved this guys life, or my own, even though he was only out trying to have fun on a holiday.

I’m very, very thankful that it played out like this instead of any other way that involved violence.  Though of course I wish I didn’t have these attacks at all frankly.

Justified?

I’ve been thinking.  If some violence had occurred, either with firearm or without, would it have been justified?

A legal justification for violence against another is to protect others when fearful of death or harm.   I know he was out to have fun now, but at the time I legitimately thought he was a threat.   Would it be reasonable to say I was scared for my life and the life of my son when this mans intent was obviously TO SCARE people?  If his intention is to scare someone, and it works too well, then what?

Effects

I’ve been okay during the day.  Not any more stressed than normal, but nights have been worse. I routinely have nightmares about violence anyway.  They’ve been worse in the days since this happened though.  They’ve been particularly violent and disturbing.   Lots of fighting.  A lot of torture.   Thankfully all involving me, not Julie or the kids.

Almost every night I have woken in sweats.  I try to hold Julie to calm myself, but I hate to wake her.  She works so hard anyway (here, here, and here), and the kids will be up early getting ready for school, so I try not to disturb her.  She needs rest more than I do.  So I lay next to her and listen to her breath (snore?) and try to let the stress pass.   It’s a bitter and lonely time, but it’s better than the terrors that come with sleep.

I mentioned this event during my weekly group therapy session.  I talked about the panic and my reactions and thought process.  We talked about how others have had similar reactions to events and how they dealt with it.  Everyone agreed that this man obviously had done nothing wrong, but about how nice it would be if people could understand how some innocent things create massively negative reactions for persons with PTSD.

PTSD Thoughtfulness

This guy’s attempt at fun put me into a full on panic.  His attempt at entertainment made me feel that it was quite likely that either myself, my son, or this stranger was going to die that night.   It was only 15-30 seconds, but the feelings were intense and real.  A momentary hell.

It would be completely unreasonable to expect everyone to think, “I better not do anything scary on Halloween just in case there is a PTSD vet driving by.”  That would be an odd thing, right?   Who would make a decision that way?  Nobody, right?

So I don’t blame him.  With hindsight, I see he did nothing wrong.  The consequence was terrifying for me, and could have been fatal, but there was no way to foresee that coming in order to prevent it.  And on Halloween of all days, it is almost expected.   On any other day of the year I’d be livid, but for that day…   what can I say?

And I know my reaction wasn’t normal either.  That’s why I don’t go out into very many public venues.  That’s why I avoid large groups of people.  It’s why I am seeing doctors and getting treatment.  It’s a huge reason why I wish I still had Iris around.

I wish more people were thoughtful of PTSD in moments like this; or fireworks on the 4th of July and their effect on combat vets.  It’d be nice, but there is no way to reasonably expect it.

If you happen to live in this man’s neighborhood, or know who he was, you might just share this story with him.  He might find it worth laughing over again, or he might be horrified to know how close he was to a violent conflict.  Who knows, maybe it’ll make next year’s Halloween even scarier and more entertaining for him!

Feedback

So… what are your thoughts?

Did he do anything wrong?

Did I do anything wrong?

It thankfully didn’t occur, but is there more I could have done to prevent a violent encounter?

If one had occurred, where would the moral/legal responsibility lie?

Any other thoughts you have?

 

 

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Like a Louse

That is how I feel sometimes: like a louse.

 Louse: a small usually sluggish arthropod that lives on other animals or plants and sucks their blood or juices
I’ve been feeling very sluggish, and that I’ve been living off of Julie’s efforts and work.  I feel like I’m sucking the life out of her.

Yesterday it wasn’t because of the mental issues, but the physical ones.  We’ve gotten to the point of putting down flooring in the house and bought 50 sheets of tile backer board to put down.

Those sheets are 3’x5′ and weight approximately 42lbs each.   We bought an entire pallet of them (50 sheets).  That is a weight of just over 2100lbs.  It had the trailer tires looking over taxed on the drive home.  We need 75-80 sheets, but were worried about the weight.

Being the broken louse that I am, I carried exactly ZERO of those sheets up to our work area.  My Wonder Woman wife carried all 50 of them, alone, from the trailer, across the lawn, up a flight of stairs and into the remodeled space of the house.   That is over 1 ton of material moved by her 5 foot tall, 135 lbs frame.

And not content to stop there, she proceeded to then start laying them out on the floor.

Lousy, Yes?

Gentlemen, you would feel pretty lousy too if you couldn’t help you out in such a situation, right?  I’m a big guy, broad shouldered with a fair amount of muscle on me.  I get asked if I’m a bouncer (often), a bodyguard (a few times), or played professional football (really?).  Yet I might was well be a 110lbs weakling for all the help I have to offer around here.   And knowing that I used to be able to do that precise type of thing without feeling taxed at all… well then the mental pains really begin to set in.  Watching my wife do it all in my place … well, makes me feel like a louse!