P. T. S. Don’t be a Douche Bag

“Why did you show up late and stoned for duty?” asked the First Sergeant.

“I have P.T.S.D. First Sergeant,” Pudge replied.

“Well welcome to the party! Everyone in this building has P.T.S.D. and you don’t see us getting high or showing up whenever we want to!”

Touché, First Sergeant…. Toooooouché.

P.T.S.D. is a sensitive subject for thousands of veterans.  After my first tour of 15 months, we were all evaluated and most of us lied about how we felt towards the events of the tour.  At the time we thought talking about the situations we were in was a sign of weakness.  Then things started happening, which I won't get into now.  I made it a point to encourage guys not to lie when they were evaluated and be as honest as possible, especially since the meetings were confidential and not going on their permanent records.

            I never thought I had any issues and felt confident that I could handle any situation with ease.  After being evaluated following my second tour as I began to out process the military to the joys of civilian life, I was humbled.  Typically you talk for about 5 minutes with a military doctor and they check a bunch of boxes nobody cares about and off you go.  When you transition to the civilian world, you talk to a civilian doctor.  This lady got me good.

            After 2 hours of her digging as deep into my mind as she could go, we were both in tears.  I was like, “What the hell just happened in here?”  I felt Jedi-mind tricked into talking about my feelings and shit.  Then we laughed.  And you know what?  It felt great.  After that day I was an open book to who ever wanted to know anything about my adventures.  I won't start off any conversation with “Hey, so this one time, in Iraq, I stuck a flute….” You get the picture.  I only talk about things when people ask.  The only time I might initiate a conversation about it is if I have a funny story.  Anybody can relate to funny stories, right?!

Even though I fought it and disagreed with her, she diagnosed me with P.T.S.D.  It’s strange to me to be “diagnosed” with something like that.  I never saw my experiences as THAT traumatizing and I actually felt more comfortable and alive during a firefight than I did in a room full of familiar faces at my own house party… wait a minute… yep, that’s probably not normal.  That’s the mentality of a lot of combatants though.  It’s a sense of detachment from what’s normal that we all lack.  I didn’t figure it out until that doctor lady told me, and yes, I like saying the name “doctor lady” like a Neanderthal.

Every time the national anthem plays… waterworks.

“Mat, are you OK?” a civilian friend would ask.

“Yeah, fuck off, I’m good,” I’d reply as we both laughed.

            There’s nothing worse than a guy trying to get free drinks or a girl’s number by volunteering “war stories.”  News flash gentlemen; when you’re out in public and everyone is having a good time, NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR PAST.  People just want to relax and have fun.  If they ask, then that’s their problem.  Otherwise, chill out and enjoy the company.

“I like what you did with that shirt,” I said to a woman at Jazz Bones in Tacoma.

“Thank you! Oh geez, you’re a soldier aren’t you?” she questioned.

“Did the haircut give it away?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to talk to any soldiers.”

“Ha! Did one leave a sour taste in your mouth or something?”

“Well, that one over there bought me a drink and started bitching about war. I’m like, ‘It was voluntary,’ right?”

At this point I realized I was dealing with an airhead. She was wearing a designer shirt that told everyone “I love army guys,” but didn’t “want to talk to any soldiers.” Time to play.

“Wow, what a baby. I don’t like to talk about work so we should be good, right?”

“Umm, yeah! But, like, I just don’t like your military look with the hair and everything.”

“Ha! Fair enough, you have a good night.”

“So you don’t wanna buy me a drink or ask for my number?”

“Well one soldier already left a figurative sour taste in your mouth, I wouldn’t want to leave a physical one.”

“Wait! Come back!”

I walked off.

            I currently work as an independent contractor overseas, but while I’m at home I pick up shifts working at a local bar serving tables for extra cash and to pass the time with entertaining characters.  One such character sits at the bar on most nights and drinks until he gets this creepy look in his eye.  That’s when I know he’s about to inappropriately hit on a chick.

            He’s a veteran that thinks his sob stories will get him laid.  Pathetic.  I’ve never seen him succeed, yet on and on he goes every night.  It drives me nuts.  Sometimes I’ll get behind the bar just to hear his latest lies.  He’ll look at me as I pass, having no idea I know he’s a lying sack of shit.

“It’s tough, ya know? No, you sure wouldn’t know. You gotta be a man to serve like me,” he says often.

“Yes, sir. I could never be a man like you,” I humbly reply.

            People ask why I don’t call him out.  The simple answer is that I’m at work, but since I usually do call people out when I’m off work, I find this case kind of entertaining.  How far can I go with pulling fake stories out of this guy before the girl next to him realizes he’s not telling the truth as I get him tongue-tied?

            P.T.S.D. just means we’ve experienced something different and unnatural to the typical American environment.  I heard a quote that best captures it, “It’s the body's natural reaction to an unnatural event.”  You don’t have to go war to have it.  It could happen if you lose someone close to you, if you’re in a horrific car accident, if you’re involved in a drive by... anything traumatizing.  For those reasons, it drives me up a wall when people use it as an excuse to act instinctual instead of intelligently.  We’re not the world’s first traumatized group of people!  No matter what the circumstance, find someone that has experienced what you have and vent.  Don’t be “that guy” at the bar.  Besides... it was like, voluntary, riiiiight?