A Love Letter From Current Me to Past Me About PTSD

DEP Veteran’s Day Contest

We are a military family. Long in tradition, both my dad and older brother retired from military service. I made it six years before trying to rejoin civilian life.

We would speak amongst ourselves about our adventures and tasks, our triumphs, and our letdowns. We spoke in loving support of each other. We never spoke of being haunted by our military past.

Until me.

I have PTSD.

In many ways, our missions were uniquely different. But as in all military missions, the oath we took was simple — to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

We clearly understood that the oath could include giving our own lives in defense of the Constitution. There was never any doubt that we would defend the country we loved with our last dying breath.

Dad’s service was in World War 2 and in the Korean Conflict. His enemies were clear.

My older brother’s service was in Southeast Asia. The enemy had often become hidden as mothers and children being used as offensive weapons against U.S. troops.

Many former and current military personnel still struggle with trying to make sense of all of that.

My enemy was within, literally.

There is a brotherhood (generic) amongst all military members, current and former. This includes all that served in any capacity, in any branch of the armed services. We were all in defense of the country we love.

At least I thought so until I found out my enemy was members of the same branch of service and in the same career field as me.

I was a United States Air Force Security Policeman.

I became aware of a serious drug problem at our installation in Germany. It would eventually unfold into a full investigation of a network of dealers, suppliers, and facilitators that would rival the Mob.

As our investigation continued I was made aware by a friend, of a contract put out on my life.

My life was suddenly worth 10,000 DM.

I bypassed my OSI (Office of Special Investigations) contacts and went to my Commanding Officer, our Chief of Police. After briefly explaining our operation and telling of the contract on my life I was told to get lost in the Black Forest for a few days. My schedule was cleared so that it could happen.

I was also told to park my van in the impound lot and that if it was blown off the face of the earth, the government would buy me a new van. Off to the Black Forest, I went.

The OP in a nutshell.

Here’s what we know so far. Military personnel were prepped for abdominal and other surgeries in Turkey and Greece. They lacked the proper medical facilities to successfully do those procedures.

The personnel were then loaded onto C-9 Nightengale Med Evac birds and flown to our airbase where they were offloaded, They were then transported by ground transportation to the nearby military hospital where the procedure would take place.

One twist to the whole scenario — the young soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines were carrying black opiated hash in sterile surgical bags within their body cavities. This without their knowledge or of course, their consent.

There were suppliers of the hash in Turkey and Greece, schedulers and organizers getting the personnel onto the aircraft. There were medics and corpsmen at both ends of the flight to continue the ruse.

At our end, again there were schedulers and facilitators to get the drugs in the bodies transported to the hospital. At that point, there were distributors that sent the drugs out to different bases, and onto the local black market.

All of these positions were typically senior-ranking military personnel.

A massive criminal organization, well executed. Until it wasn’t.

Morale is described as faith in the guy at the top.

I believe that phrase. I have used that phrase. I wish I could have had better morale in Germany.

As the investigation continued, it was time for me to rotate out to my next duty station. I was flown out in the middle of the night on a Lufthansa flight, something described in the military as a “CAT Y,” in extreme circumstances.

It wasn’t until about 8 months into my new duty assignment did I found out what the outcome of the investigation was.

The head of the criminal organization was my Commanding Officer, our Chief of Police. He was busted down from Captain to E-1, and forced to resign without any benefits or retirement.

Six additional personnel were convicted in our organization, mostly senior enlisted personnel. They were sentenced to making little rocks out of big rocks at Leavenworth.

There is little closure.

I wish I could find closure in all this.

I so wish I could feel like a part of the veterans I associate with. While they were fighting the enemy out there, I was fighting the very people charged with taking me into battle and bringing me back out, alive.

After being unable to keep back the tears when I attended military functions, I sought a counselor at the local VET Center. It is helping.

So to answer the challenge for this writing exercise of what I would say directly to a veteran with a disability, I would give this letter to my younger self. (I’m going to try really hard to not cry while I write this.)

********************

My Dearest Gibby,

You can come out now.

The bad guys are gone, you made sure they can’t hurt your buddies anymore.

There are a bunch of military folks just like you who are glad you stopped their bodies from being used as Guinea Pigs.

You did the right thing. Maybe one of these days someone will remember you and say, thank you.

I know I would.

I love you.

Your future self.

P.S: Cool name.