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Return to forever: upon return from The Wall II, The Monument, it was time to stop drinking booze and get on what I thought would be the cure. Quitting the booze was hard, but not as hard as dealing with the explosive emotions that followed. I fell into a deep depression; I had feelings of suicide that drove me to a breakdown. My therapist told me that checking into to a psyche unit would be an option to consider. I was already diagnosed by a VA Psychiatrist, that I had PTSD. So I checked into a VA psyche unit for severe depression and PTSD treatment. I stayed for 6 weeks; it was before they had real PTSD units. It was quite an experience being in group therapy sessions with all types of psychiatric patients. I think out of 40 patients, 4 were being treated for PTSD. It was my first time being in such a place. To cut it to the quick, I faked my way out. The one positive event I can recall from this experience was the authorization of outpatient treatment for a private psychiatrist. He started me on the medicine I needed, and in a month my depression started to lift. Little by little I was able to function, and get back to working hard in group therapy. Now I had the medication, the group, 2 one on one counselors, and The Organization of Vietnam Veterans. My cup was full, and little by little things started looking a lot better.
The OVV was strong in those years and is still in existence today. Most are a great bunch of guys. We had parades, picnic's, reunions, and camaraderie was at an all time high. This went on for a few years, everyone's families were all involved, the kids all played together, and everything seamed to be flowing like a river.
Another turning point: I was really getting burned out on everything being focused on Vietnam, but I hung in there for about ten years. The New York City Welcome Home Parade. It was the big one, and as it turns out it was my last one. The energy of the crowd was of celebration at it's highest, and for some it was the beginning of their journey on the long road home.
We started in Brooklyn, at the beginning of the bridge. They closed the bridge, the city stopped for a couple hours and I went on the parade of my life. At the beginning an active duty Army Captain said no wheelchairs over the bridge. There was a bunch of us in chairs, we looked at him an exchanged some Vietnam sayings and gestures, and off we went on the ride of a lifetime. I knew as soon as I hit the bridge why no wheelchairs were aloud, but it was always the thrill of challenges like The Brooklyn Bridge, that have kept me going all these years. The bridge has expansion joints that are steel fingers with sharp edges about one inch apart. If your wheel happened to get stuck you would be in a world of hurt, but there were enough able bodied men that were just as psyched, and if there were a problem they would have carried my chair to the end of the parade route. The bridge also has steel spikes for traction; each spike is about one half to three quarters inches in length. I had a new pair of tires on my chair and by the time we hit Manhattan I must have worn six months of life off the tread.
The canyon of hero's is the name given to the street we were on. There was so much ticker tape coming down I would get a four foot high ball of paper in front of my chair. The guys from OVV that went with me would help me get cleaned off so we could keep going. I kept looking up and hoping that no one would throw a computer or something else heavy out of the windows of the giant buildings. On we went people cheering, police blockades, police on horses. It was at that time I wish every veteran that went to Vietnam could be there to feel the energy and the empathy from the crowds of people. Just imagine how sweet it would have been if the politicians would have let us finish winning the war, instead of making us withdraw and feel like losers. But History is history and we must continue no mater how much pain is involved.
By the time we reached the New York City Vietnam Veteran Memorial, "The Wall of Letters", my butt was dragging, but I made it to the end. The Wall was at end of a parade that made me feel life, feel pain, but most of all it made me feel whole again, a human being, not just some expendable damaged U.S. Government number.
The memorial is at the end of Wall St. and Water St.. The message is so powerful you that must go with a group or your family. The letters are from veterans written home while serving in Vietnam. Every letter on the monument is so full of Vietnam emotions that it brings you to tears. I could finally cry again, something I could never do until that moment. I had tears before at the Washington D.C. Wall, but not like this. It was like I was finally home. I made a promise to myself that this was my last parade, and it was time to start to learn how to live life again.
I still have flash backs, fits of rage, bad nightmares, but most of all the guilt. Perhaps that is the one symptom that will never go away. I still get all of the symptoms, but through all the years of therapy, I have learned to live with my PTSD, and not let it take over my soul like it did when I didn't have the tools to fight back. I said it before and I will say it again, stop the drinking and the substance abuse, get on the right medication, and go to therapy, so you too, can learn how to exist with the demons of war. I have to say, if it weren't for my loving wife of 23 years, and my children, I probably wouldn't be sitting here writing this text. That perhaps, is my ace in the hole. I know there are many men who are homeless, single, divorced, and just alone out there going through this process. There are trained professionals out there that can help, the VA has special PTSD treatment centers that are excellent, but you must be willing to take the first step: To the long journey home.
This is dedicated to my wife and children for helping me learn to live life again.
