Sharing a Painful Secret Can Relieve Some of the Pain

Sharing a Painful Secret Can Relieve Some of the Pain

By: Susan McKenzie   Photo Credit: Self-Harm Support

He walked into our hotel this afternoon, toting a black plastic bag. He asked me for help to get to the Hot Springs State Park. His eyes suddenly watered, as tears began to spill and his story poured out in short, almost incoherent splutters.

He was dressed in blue jeans with a red plaid Western shirt. Probably in his thirties, he seemed very young to me, although wrinkles creased his eyes. A Texan rancher, he said he used to be.

He told me he had just come off the Greyhound bus, where he had been making his way south to Casper. But the noise of the crowded bus was too much for him. Having just arrived back from Afghanistan, he was not quite prepared to re-enter normal life. A head trauma had induced a recent grand-mal seizure and he needed to sleep it off.

We sat down together on a nearby bench so I could try to determine how to help him, and even now my own tears well up as I recall his story.

  

I don't believe in wars, but I believe in helping and supporting soldiers, if you can. This young man had only encountered hatred from his home country, as people yelled at him, calling him a murderer, a child-killer. He was just doing his job… from Afghanistan to Bosnia to Czechoslovakia.

We gave him a complimentary room and later, after he'd had some sleep, I got some food, mostly soups, as his mouth was numb and swollen. He hadn't eaten in the past 3 days. He was so bone-tired he could barely stand.

I knew of a friend who helps vets, so I dialed and handed the phone over. Not able to leave the office, I had no choice but to listen. The soldier, a sergeant, first class, began to cry.

The nightmares start as soon as he closes his eyes. He can't take his clothes off, not even his boots. He can't stand loud noises. But worst of all, he has no one to talk to about all that he experienced. Not many in the "normal" world understand him. He's a sniper, special forces.

They talked about psychiatric care, and he agreed with the speaker – it's like being committed to prison. He's supposed to be taking drugs, but for some reason he isn't.  A medicine bottle is stuffed in a shirt pocket.

I asked for ID to help him get checked in. He had none. He emptied his wallet and showed me pictures of 3 beautiful girls, his daughters. He said he's divorced.

I don't know what else I can do. The police didn't want to help, without photo identification. He wasn't their responsibility, they said.

So I took him back to the hotel and got him safely back into his room. I watched as he checked that the room was secure before settling down. He was so full of anxiety that the sweat just poured off his skin.

I asked him if he had any family we could call. His wife divorced him, he said. His mother was always drunk and his father was dead, he replied. His sister was on meth and his brother was something, I can't remember what.

With him safely tucked in for the night, I grabbed my bathing suit and headed for the hot springs. The hotel owner was already there, soaking the stress away in the hottest tub. We chatted for quite some time under a clear back sky, bathed in luminescent glory.

We talked about wars and soldiers coming home to hatred and condemnation. Of little boys in mens bodies wanting a safe bed to sleep in and a decent night's sleep.

How many places in the world tonight are there soldiers far from home, either in body or in their minds, going to sleep only to discover the nightmare never ends.

For me the war seemed so far away until the sniper entered town. Why he chose to come to me, I don't know, except that this was my morning's meditation, recorded in Facebook:

 

Just what you need comes not when you expect it but it comes right on time. It comes as you are walking on the path of life and love, not caring for yourself, but looking out for others…. not struggling to get what you need, but instead giving your all.

As you care for and love others, your own needs are met.

One other thing I've noticed is that what is given to you measures exactly to the level of your expectations or your vision, whether positive or negative. Little vision = little provision. Big expectations = big answers.

Tagged as: Choosing Love Today, Deborah White Dove, Getting Your Life Back, PTSD - post-traumatic stress disorder, True Religion Speaks