To buhdydharma… I DO understand…

Buhdydharma has asked for our help.  Some of us are unable to help financially, others are able.  But, after reading his essay, this part of it struck me:

I cannot express to you the psychological blow it was for me, after decades of taking perhaps excessive pride in having worked my way up from nothing to a position of relative success, to be suddenly crippled and unable to support myself.

I can fully understand, and buhdy, you aren’t the only one who has found themselves in this situation…

There are actually three factors at work here; 1) Having once been successful, 2) Finding yourself disabled, and 3) Pride.

When you are in the military, you don’t expect a big paycheck.  But, when your skill is as a bomb technician, you can make serious money in the civilian world.  At one time, I was making up to 150k/yr doing bomb disposal work as a contractor.

When you are military, a bomb tech, and later, in law enforcement, your entire existence depends on your health.  So, when you lose that, and find yourself disabled, you lose everything you knew.  I have had to deal with that knowledge since 2003 when I blew out two disks in my spine.

When you were part of an elite specialty in the military, you have pride in that.  When you are part of law enforcement, you have pride in that.  For many years, I thrived on that pride.  Pride is a dangerous thing, however.

When I was blogging regularly at Daily Kos, I wrote this diary, “Suicide Isn’t Painless.”  Many never read it.  But, I stated in it:

I am a veteran of our armed forces.  I was active-duty military and I deployed to Iraq in 1991.  In 2006, I returned to Iraq as a civilian contractor.  I have attempted to commit suicide.  It is not painless.  In my attempt, I harmed my spouse when she found out; not physically, but, emotionally.

In fact, I have attempted suicide twice.  It was just the second time, my spouse wasn’t aware of it.  When I got the job in 2006 as a civilian contractor in Iraq doing bomb disposal work, I was making $150k/yr.  I also kept a journal when I left.  I will transcribe the first diary entry I made as I left for Ft. Bliss, Texas, before I went to Iraq in 2006.

The first thought I had was of death.  Didn’t matter as long as the family was taken care of.  I arrived on Ft. Bliss 4 Aug 2006, Friday.  Saturday and Sunday were spent processing medical and dental.  Monday we began CRC.  We cleared on Thursday.  Four days of hurry-up-and-wait.  Friday was a down day and we flew out Saturday.  El Paso to Denver, Denver to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Kuwait.  The flights were long and uneventful.

During this time I accepted that I could die in Iraq.  I thought of how; bullet, kidnapping, IED.  My goal is to make enough money to send my step-daughter to college, pay off the loans, truck, and house.  It would be easier to die, not likely to happen.

That was my very first journal entry when I left for Iraq in 2006, transcribed word for word.

Buhdydharma isn’t alone.  There are others that, like him, rose to be successful, then became disabled.  Who found that their pride, that which goaded us to reach the heights we did, suddenly became an obstacle in and of itself.

I fought the workers compensation laws for two years because I was injured in Hawaii, but, went home to South Carolina to get treatment.  I never got that treatment under workers compensation.  In fact, I had to go two years of not being able to get treated before the insurance company finally settled (a meager settlement) and I had to go off of my wife’s insurance in conjunction with the insurance company that agreed to help pay for further treatment.

When I finally found a surgeon willing to see me, he told me flat out that if he did the surgery on my spine I would never be a bomb tech or cop again.  That my body simply would never be able to handle it.  He was right.  

When I was diagnosed with chronic depression, the psychologist prescribed me an anti-depressant that gave me horrendous headaches.  They were so bad that my wife would catch me literally bashing my head into, and through, the walls.  It was after some months of being on this drug that I tried to commit suicide the first time.  I overdosed.  For two days, I made my wife sit with me instead of taking me to the hospital.  Obviously, it didn’t work, as I am still here.  For days I was sick from the drug I overdosed on, but, like many other things, it simply wasn’t enough to kill me.

So, yes, I fully understand it when a person gets to the point where they feel they have no choices — no choice — but to do something, even if that something is to ask for help.

If you can help buhdydharma, do so.  I wish I could.