The combat veteran, one with decades of severe PTSD, asks himself that question, and the answer that comes back isn't pretty. "What's your biggest problem right now?" he was asked, and then handed some implements with which to draw his answer. Describe what you've drawn, he was asked. "My biggest problem?" he said, "It's that I'm 'an exploding ball of hate'...on the inside." (Comment and drawing, used with permission.)
Now, on the one hand, this doesn't tend to give you a lot of hope. Forty years out, still thinking about life this way. Ugh. That's intense. And so, so very tragic.
On the other hand, the story has a "happier" ending -- or at least, progress report. The same person who said that is doing much better now (and has the drawings to prove it.)
But I was reminded of this story again today when I read of the terrible story of Marcus Luttrell, the former Navy SEAL, awarded a Navy Cross for his heroism, whose entire team was wiped out in a horrendous firefight in Afghanistan, and who suffered greatly because of that experience. (Luttrell is also the author of "Lone Survivor," about that experience.) This past week, his lovely yellow Labrador retriever therapy dog -- who he named DASY, after a combination of the initials of his SEAL team buddies who were killed and himself, who, parenthetically, says he also died on that mountain, with his team that day -- was shot in cold blood outside his house, apparently in a pointless thrill-killing by some heartless local punks.
From articles about the incident in the Houston Chronicle and on MSNBC, which described the 40 mile high-speed chase an injured (he was recently hospitalized) Luttrell went on to capture the perpetrators, assisted by the police:
"I did everything right; I didn’t do anything wrong," (Luttrell) said. "Make sure everyone knows they cold-bloodily murdered."
In other words, he was heavily provoked. (It's remarkable the self-control he exercised, just helping to capture, but not kill, the jerks who shot and killed his beloved therapy dog.)
The saddest part for me, after reading and hearing about this story, were these poignant lines from Luttrell, after the incident, no doubt disillusioned, despondent, as well as totally triggered. Reportage said that Luttrell "said he had left his Huntsville home and [like Vietnam veterans before him, who took themselves out into the woods rather than deal with society that was hard for them to navigate anymore] was in "the middle of nowhere," adding that Dasy's killing -- of course! -- was a "huge setback" in his life. (A huge and completely unfair setback, too...cruel beyond cruel, and so completely pointless.)
Here are the heartbreaking lines of Luttrell's, as he's trying to come to terms with what just happened, not that he had any fault in the matter:
"I was trying to talk myself out of being who I am," he told the Chronicle. "Talking to myself about not doing the one thing I am good at."
Those are the words that should stick with people on this, who care about the topic of healing combat trauma, that is. War -- and even training for war -- breaks people down and builds them back up in the mode of the warrior, in which they have a new, and very authentic skill set -- but one which they won't find much use for in civilian life, or are basically constrained by society from using. Nobody wants to talk about it much, but the ability to kill, and the confidence and esteem that gets created by being "good at what you do," even if it's very much relegated to the combat experience, is a very hard thing to shake afterwards.
I can come back later and supplement this with references, but read the literature, watch the interviews with people who have combat-based PTSD. There's a very uncomfortable relationship with killing: it's a high that's hard to deny, but also hard to live with, about yourself (no pun intended). And that dilemma is at the basis of the combat veteran's, above, remark about what his biggest problem is: being "an exploding ball of hate," on the inside.
It's very hard to get a grip on that, particularly when killing has become a significant skill set, and very hard to unwind from. In many cases, veterans covertly mention, mostly to one another, it's become an addiction of its own. Perhaps just the feeling of being amped up and in command of the situation, not necessarily the killing part, but whatever: it's a way they say they felt truly alive for the moment, and hard to replace in civilian life, which operates according to completely different rules, and is often ridiculously boring and unfair, by comparison.
No judgment intended: far from it. It's the reality of the situation. And it's part of why, as much as the military concentrates on breaking someone down to become the perfect warrior, there needs to be an equal and opposite side of the coin -- how to help someone reintegrate, so they can keep their skills, but become a whole person again who, most importantly, can look at himself or herself with appreciation and respect, for every aspect of their personalities.
Editor's note: For a video of Marcus Luttrell being interviewed by Matt Lauer, several years ago, about his book and the incident fighting the Taliban that inspired it, click here.
(Also, the second drawing, above, is done by the same combat vet mentioned in the first illustration, but it's not the one that shows improvement. It's another from the same day, where he answers the question about drawing himself "as I am now" -- in other words, with two very distinct sides to himself, darkness and light.
