The Bi-Polar Drummer Boy!

Well, I might. Maybe not. (I am BiPolar you know.) Maybe I just lured you here under false pretenses! You never know!(Oh c'mon! You know how those Mentally Ill people are!)

Naw,...... Just mesinwithyuh!

But I would like to talk about a subject that is very near and dear to my heart. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, (Well, that's the new fancy name for it.) and PTSD is the even fancier term for something that has been around a while. Ask a Vietnam Vet. The term for Korean Vets is Battle Fatigue. (But many thought BF was BS!)

Oh! You've heard of it?

Cool! So for those of you who have, go down and look at the picture while I explain this to some of the others who have no idea what it is. Perhaps you will notice a vague reference to it again, later, as in certain factions of individuals in the capital who keep their head in the sand about PTSD. (Okay, I'll be putting away my soap box now.)

Anyway, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has been around for years. This little character shows up and jumps on folks who have been through icredibly stressful events. The more stressful, the more likely it is to appear. Life threatening events are particular triggers. However, something less stressful to one may be all another can tolerate.

Typical sufferers of PTSD are survivors of large natural, (or un-natural, for that matter) disasters, like Hurricane Katrina, for example. Those who have been in combat situations are prime targets for this little parasitic syndrome. (I say parisitic because it can suck the love of life right out of you.)

Like i said, it has been around for a very long time. It has been around since men starting fignting wars and experiencing disasters. It probably has been around since the first cave man threw a rock at another cave man. (Pretty traumatic especially if you were the caveman on the receiving end!)

In some folks the syndrome can be triggered by witnessing the horror around in a particularly stressfull situation. (A polite way of saying -when all hell brakes loose- which I shouldn't say because this is a family Website, but I can because there are no sensors. -- Eat your heart out Craig Ferguson, no bleeps here!) For others, it maybe the shock of actually hurting another human being. (I believe the dictionary offers the word Remorse to fill that emotion. And a strong one it is.)

Remorse is an extremely flamable fuel that feeds the fires of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for many.

Ever heard of the term, -Shell Shocked-? That is what they used to call some soldiers who came home from WWI and WWII, just a little different then when they went away. Well, here's a news flash!

Attention!

***********************************News Flash!************************************

Read all about it!

The two are pretty much the same thing!

ReallY?!

You mean Grandpa wasn't just a nut after all? He really does have nightmares! And the time he squatted down behind the Thanksgiving table and pretended his false teeth were handgrenades wasn't just a joke?

(Guess I went a bit far there, but you get the picture.)

PTSD is basically, in laymens terms, brain overload. (All your Zippities got Doodahdayed!) Your eyes suck in so much that your brain just gets all plugged up! (No, a mental enema won't help.)

Worse, this stuff gets stuck in there, and the more you suck in, the worse it gets. What really sucks, is it just builds up and never seems to go away!

Akee! What in the hell are you talkin about?

Okay Okay! Lets do this another way. I'll give you an example. Hmmm.

I know. How about this?

I'm going to tell you about this guy.

He was no-one special. Just a guy. Well, not just a guy, but a guy who was Bi-Polar, but didn't know it. But that isn't important at the moment. Just bare it in mind as you follow along.

So, this guy graduated from high school, and since he enlisted before he graduated, he knew that soon he would be in boot camp about the time a lot of his friends were showing up at their new college dorms. He kind of wanted to go too, but being a military man was what had been drummed into him, and he felt this was his destiny. It's amazing what a military school can do to a young mind. (Especially a Bi-Polar mind exposed to one for four years.) There were other pressures as well, to fill family traditions and junk like that!

Off he went. To make a bit of a long story short, he found himself in the position of being a thing called a Field Medical Technician. (Man people love to put fancey names on crappy jobs. The crappier the job, the fancier the title to get people interested.) Don't get me wrong, it was an important job, and one he was proud to fulfill. Proud because those in his care had become close friends. Further, he depended on these men as much as they depended on him. He attended to their health and well being and they returned the favor by insuring, what ever the situation, that he continued to breath and avoided severe and traumatic lead poisoning. (They covered his back.) That is, if they ever were to have to go into a combat situation.

Along with his other duties, he trained his friends in basic first aid, so he knew in a pinch, they could take care of one another should he be injured himself. To his delight, there were a couple who showed interest in what he did for them, and they learned a few things that were probably out of their comfort zones, but he taught them none the less.

Again, just to shorten a really boring story just a bit, the day came when this guy found himself in a situation that was, well, let it suffice it to say a bit less desirable then smearing honey all over yourself and jumping into the bear pit at your local zoo.

Some of his friends died. Some in his arms. Their blood was all over him, but there wasn't time to clean up because it seemed there were people calling for a medic everywhere.

He would just look around him, and it was chaos. He found himself along side another friend, and began stuffing bandages in the whole in the guys chest, the size of his own fist. looking up he saw someone. Then a flash. He heard the bullet pass and picked up a weapon. He shot. He continued with what he could do for his friend, while his friend politely died with out another sound.

The guns on the ships ended the chaos, For a while, and eventually the area cooled down. (People tend to get out of the way when those planes come screaming by dropping tons of ordinance!)

So anyway, blah...blah...blah, this guy gets up one night to go, um, well, to the bathroom. Of course, his timing was a bit off. (Or right on if you happen to be the guy that launched the rocket attack that caught him by suprise.) That pretty much ended this guys vacation in Shangri La!

He woke up a month or so later in a military hospital, far from home, and full of the horrors he had seen. Those few days haunt him from time to time, still. His significant other demands a helmet at night. Yes, to this day those things still visit him when his defenses are down. To this day, a certain noise makes him flinch at times. To this day, certain smells on the air make the hairs stand on end on his arms and the back of his neck. To this day a certain look appears on his face when a flash hits him, that know one else can understand. He is aflicted with these memories, off-and-on, and probably will be for the rest of his life.

Others like him don't know what they feel inside. They can't voice it, can't relay it in words, but unfortunately, don't have a problem relaying their anger and frustration and fear, physically. Some just try to flush them away with alcohol and drugs. Some just give up. Many can't admit they have PTSD, and some do, but they have been denied treatment or have not sought any.

Really! I am glad to say, outside of a restless night every now and then, the guy isn't doing too bad these days. He's in a good place, both in his mind as well as body, and he has found a place where he has been not only accepted, but loved by friend and family enough to heal the burdens his mind has carried for so long.

He has learned not to judge a person by what you see, but by what you see in them. He has learned that survival is only half of the fight, the other half is taking the positive things you have learned and putting them to good use. He has learned to embrace life with passion, because it passionately embraces you back.

And I have learned a few things along the way too. I have learned when it is time to end a Hub.

Happy Bipolaring!

PS: Oh yah, and the guy found out he was Bi-Polar, but that's another story. Bye Now.