Healing Combat Trauma

An American Veteran -- After Combat, Unlucky in Love

"Ann," Eddie Livingston, the subject of our "An American Veteran" series writes to Ann Landers in the summer of '65, "you cannot possibly know how the help and comfort your column brings to people like myself. Many times I have found things in your column that seemed to apply to me, specifically." In characteristic Eddie fashion he adds, "I hope you are never alone, or lonely, Ann."

(Click on the photo to read the letter in its entirety.)

A comment like that stands out because being alone and loneliness are clearly important to Eddie as well.

His niece, who's brought his writings to light, comments that Eddie believed "because of all of his problems stemming from the war and his POW experience [both creating his PTSD] that no one could ever love him."

Fortunately he found someone later who did, but in this letter you can clearly read the pain and frustration of the 41-year-old Eddie at striking out too many times in the same way, where other men with less baggage from the war are clearly succeeding. Eddie was 41 at the time but a recent combat veteran I ran into the other day, in his 30s, was able to use the experience of having several women break up with him in a row as his "wake-up call" -- that it was no longer all of their problems but it was his PTSD as the common denominator, and he started to go get help so that he could change his future. I commend his efforts but also Eddie's plaintive authenticity on this front. I'm no "Robert Taylor," he bemoans, citing a celebrity of the day, but knows that he's still worth loving. Veterans with PTSD may have rocky relationships (see the divorce rates) and plenty of alone time (see the series on living in the bunker), and these problems with others may stem from the difficulty they find in loving or accepting themselves. It's certainly true that I've recently seen spouses not have the easiest time with the experience, either. Difficult or hard to love? Yes, probably. Worth the effort? We believe so. Stay tuned for a very positive story on just this topic...

Editor's note: For a set of articles about the fuller topic of sexuality and intimacy in the combat veteran with PTSD's life, click here.

Quotable Quotes -- The Dalai Lama on Life Purpose and Satisfaction

That Dalai Lama -- he's amazing! If "personal outlook" were a software package, I'd ask for the Dalai Lama upgrade: because I like how he thinks. So compassionate and kind and reasonable, but not afraid of science. A fascinating, compelling combination. 

Some of his great quotes lately:

"We can't be useful to ourselves unless we're useful to others. Whether we like it or not, we're all connected, and it is unthinkable to be happy all by oneself. Anyone concerned only with his own well-being will suffer eventually. Anyone concerned with the well-being of others takes care of himself without even thinking about it. Even if we decide to remain selfish, let us be intelligently selfish -- let us help others." -- The Dalai Lama.

And another:

"Once you shift your focus from yourself to others and extend your concern to others, this will have the immediate effect of opening up your life and helping you to reach out. The practice of cultivating altruism has a beneficial effect not only from a religious point of view but also from a mundane point of view; not only for long-term spiritual development but even in terms of immediate rewards."

And another:

"The world's major religious traditions all give the development of compassion a key role. Because it is both the source and the result of patience, tolerance, forgiveness and all good qualities, its importance is felt to extend from the beginning to the end of spiritual practice. Even without a religious perspective, love and compassion are clearly of fundamental importance to us all."

And another:

"Satisfaction is characterized by inner peace. It arises from generosity, honesty and what I call ethical conduct, a way of behaving that respects others' rights to be happy."

---

Bringing this all back around to veterans with combat-based PTSD and their families, think how crucial what he's expressing are. Eighteen veterans a day kill themselves -- a shocking statistic -- and we seem to be at the beginning, not the middle or the end -- of that particular trend. Army and Marine suicides -- they see the bulk of the action, after all, in these wars -- are both up, despite the "best of intentions" on the part of the services to bring down the numbers. Pep talks on prevention and more prescriptions aren't solving the problem, nor are they likely to. Because, as one combat vet with PTSD said, "pep talks are hard to take seriously because that is for the normal life of a normal person, not for a veteran contemplating suicide because of combat trauma." True, that.

It's coming up on two years, shortly, of my first phone conversation with the combat vet, a Vietnam vet, Marine, with 40 years(!) of severe, chronic PTSD, which plagued his life, despite "all the best" of what the VA threw at him (his words, not mine), including an inpatient, residential PTSD program that was cutting-edge at the time. (Would it surprise you to know that most of his classmates in that program, according to him, are now dead, also from suicide?) After our first conversation, which seemed relatively pleasant and positive, he followed up with an email about wanting to drink and put a gun in his mouth to end it all, because he was sure God hated him; after all, he himself did. Sparkly stuff. Lots of unicorns and rainbows and fluffy clouds there...not one bit.

Of course, the end of his story is quite a bit more positive, mostly because it didn't end. He's made the transition from bleak, grim and grisly to mostly inspirational and awesome. And it took a while, a solid footing, a hand reaching across the abyss and pulling him up and out -- a hand which he importantly grabbed (it doesn't work if you don't ;-). It took some specific therapeutic treatments to help remove trauma from the body. We tried a few, intentionally, and they worked; there are others that might as well. And it took a huge motivation on his part to reach out -- however ugly his mess at the time -- to get some help and be real about where he was really at. For years, decades really, he'd been the one other vets' wives called to take the gun out of the mouths of their husbands. Now he finally had some hope to offer others. But it took commitment on his part, believing that the hope was out there, and going after it with all he had. Not always pretty, but effective :-)

(He's the veteran in the "Eyewitness to Combat" series on the site. Here are two items about his turnaround, linked here and here. The second is in his own words.)

Anyway, the upshot of the whole experience is wanting to build a program to bring other combat veterans with PTSD through, and help their families as well, who are often left holding the bag (of misery) but not really getting the help they need either. Combat veterans with PTSD have often lost their life purpose completely, and as we've been talking about lately, purpose is key.

The "eyewitness to combat" veteran, described above -- he and I share a purpose. It's helping others overcome. It's possible. And as the Dalai Lama says, that's being intelligently selfish -- taking care of those 18 vets a day who'll be killing themselves, BEFORE it happens. So it doesn't HAVE to happen. That's the best use that you and I could put our time and energy and compassion to. Please join in helping others so that they don't have to suffer so intensely, when there is a way out.

Editor's Note: A California-based psychology grad student is doing a Ph.D. thesis on Iraq vets with PTSD and life purpose. If you qualify based on the above criteria, he'd like to talk to you, and will pay you $50 for your efforts if you participate. Here's the link to his study. His brother is a combat vet. 

Additionally, you can "follow" the Dalai Lama on Twitter -- @DalaiLama -- and you can follow us on Twitter as well @HealingPTSD.

An American Veteran -- Eddie Writes a Moving Letter about Four of His Other Shell-Shocked WWII Veterans

Eddie Livingston was a teenage paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne who participated in five European campaigns, was a Prisoner of War for a year in Germany, and returned home with a slew of medals, honors...and a lifetime wracked by PTSD and abject poverty. Read more about him in the  "An American Veteran" series we've been bringing to light, here. In this very interesting letter, Eddie takes on the persona of a friend, "Willie," to write to a battle buddy named "Ben," about his own fears and concerns; but also, so importantly, about the bravery of the other, equally "unknown" soldiers who have succumbed to PTSD. With writing that's plain-spoken, deeply emotional, and straight from the heart, the unschooled Eddie Livingston is a match for any of the war writers out there, whose names are far more famous than his. Read on:

"Dear Ben:

Tomorrow is the big day. The day they open the old bean. And what they don't find, will probably worry them more than anything they do find. Ben, I would be the biggest liar in the world if I said I wasn't scared. It started -- the fear did -- the minute I said, "Yes, you can operate." The doctors leave the decision up to you. And that's what makes it so hard, Ben. And scary. And so different from Venafro. Or the other places. It hit me all at once, Ben, that I would be ALONE for this one. Completely, utterly alone.

Ben, I wrote you a letter a while back, and in trying to be funny, I may have left you with some wrong impressions about a wonderful bunch of people. I am speaking of the psychiatrists and related personall -- from ward boy right on up to specialist. These people are rendering incalculable service, Ben.

Because in the case of our mentally and emotionally disturbed veterans, Ben, psychiatry is their best bet, the only bet for many. The tragedy, Ben, in too many cases, that I have aseen is that "My world and your world" is lost to them. Irretrievably lost. Modern medicine with its miracle drugs can relieve their physical suffering. The psychiatrist can snatch one back -- briefly -- from that netherworld. But all too often, Ben, there is simply nothing that can be done, for too many of them.

I do not understand the problem. Nor do I know what needs to be done, or what can be done, even. But, Ben, I do know that we cannot afford the disgrace of apathy. For no group of Americans ever served our country more valiantly, and at greater cost to themselves, than did these men.

Let me tell you about four of them. Their stories are probably typical of most.

Just across from my bunk is a young fellow. Except for his eyes, which remind you of dark windows in an empty house, he looks no different than you or I, Ben. But on that shell-torn purgatory called Anzio, something went wrong with this kid, and he will never be right again. The guns of that inferno blaze and thunder in his mind, today, just as real and vividly, as on those terrifying days when the beachhead was active. Ben, this kid will never know even the make-believe peace of the Cold War.

Right down the aisle from this kid is another young fellow. His eyes are sky-blue, but there is no sunshine in them. There never will be again. The life has burned out of them, leaving two employ blue holes. He was a farmer. He was a farmer until 1940, when he joined the Army. He still had the dreams and visions of a farmer, Ben, until one bleak morning in June '44. It happened at Normandy. On Omaha Beach. The Germans swept in on the unprotected right flank of his outfit, and wiped them out, killing them all, except for him. He doesn't remember green fields. The harvest. Not even his dog, Bozo. But you should see his eyes when he tells you, 'I kept telling them the right flank was open! I kept telling them! I kept telling them!'" When you look into those empty blue holes, Ben, you have a feeling that freedom's right flank is now securet. That, because of the price he paid, the right flank is now secure -- perhaps forever. Thanks to the price he paid -- we can't forget.

The third kid is a youngster you will never forget. He's always in a rush, Ben. If you to stop to chat with him, even for a minute, he is fidgety. Pretty soon he will say, 'Please come back later. I am expecting my wife and two sons.' He will tell you that they come every single day. And, although he expects them momentarily, he will take time to show you their picture.

The picture, Ben, is just a landscape on a postcard. A winding country road and a sunny sky, by some forgotten artist. There are no people in the picture. Oh, yes, he had a wife and two sons. HE HAD THEM RIGHT UP TO IWO JIMA.

The last fellow is one you would understand, Ben. He was in North Africa, at Kassarine Pass. He was with Patton in Sicliy. With Mark Clark at Salerno and Anzio. He was with the first wave in Normandy. He helped to liberate Saint Lo and Paris. He marched clear across France. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge. He knew war long enough and well enough to write a book about it. And Ben, that's what he's done, he tells everybody. WROTE A BOOK ABOUT WAR.

He smiles shyly when he shows you his book. He tells you he is very sorry that he can't offer you a copy. But he has only ONE COPY at present.

"Here!" he hands you the book. "Look at it! Read a page! Like it?" he smiles.

"S-U-R-E," he will promise, eyes aglow with pleasure. "An autographed copy -- just for you! And very soon, now, too!"

The book, Ben, that he clutches to him so desperately, the book he shows you with such eager pride, is just an ordinary copy of the Bible. One a Red Cross lady gave to him a long time ago. So it's really a little more tattered and worn than most Bibles.

Ben, perhaps he did, well, help to write HIS BOOK. It doesn't seem at all impossible when you look into his eyes. Eyes a world from your own. Eyes that are always looking back ONE WAR. Eyes that are a world, a war, from your own, and always will be. Eyes that make you feel strongly that maybe he did at least help to write HIS BOOK.

Perhaps he researched HIS BOOK at Kassarine, amid the despair of defeat. Then wrought a first draft from the fury that was Sicily. Edited this for feeling in the agony of Salerno. Rewrote for effect in the fear that was Anzio. Illustrated for clarity -- and hope -- in the early dawn that was Normandy. Dedicated it to show the futility of war in the Battle of the Bulge. And prays now that all of us will join him in a rededication to end the need for war, in the Halls of Peace at the United Nations, and in our hearts.

Pray for me, Ben. And with warmest regards and best wishes, I am, your friend and buddy, Willie."

An American Veteran -- "The Only Happiness I Have Ever Known"

It's undeniable what a hard life Eddie Livingston had: 30 years of living in squalor, without electricity or running water, despite being an American hero, a seven-time Purple Heart winner, and a former P.O.W. in a brutal German camp. We've been reading about his life lately in the "An American Veteran" series, linked here. And we're so grateful to Eddie's niece, Pam Baker, for sharing Eddie's writings with a larger audience. He lives on in what he wrote so plainly from his large and broken  heart. And yet there is real wisdom, too, and surprisingly -- though not surprisingly for veterans, who sometimes truly brim over with it -- there is true compassion for others, and sage thinking about how we can interact together in the world, for the benefit of all.

In lines that could have come straight from Max Ehrmann's 1952 masterpiece, "Desiderata," reminiscent of sayings like "You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here," we find simple, plain yet profound truths in what Eddie wrote. And deep love for his fellow human being, despite all he personally had been through:

"The strong help the weak, the rich help the poor, the well help the sick, the intelligent help the ignorant, the good help the bad, the fortunate help the unfortunate.

Our nation is rich and strong, therefore we have a great responsibility to help those less blessed than ourselves.

It is not necessary that those people thank us or even appreciate our help. Let our reward be the good satisfaction that comes from helping others.

We cannot limit ourselves to helping those who we deem deserving of our help. We would run into controversy trying to decide who deserves our help, but all of us can see and define need.

A young enemy girl gave her life to save mine in POW Stalag. She did not even know my name, she only knew I needed help.

The only happiness I have ever known is the satisfaction that comes from helping another human being." -- Eddie Livingston, 1966.

An American Veteran -- Who Eddie Livingston Was, a Decorated War Hero with PTSD

Finally, a newspaper documents Eddie Livingston's struggle on its editorial pages. They write, giving him his due but was it too little, too late?

"Eddie's life must spur change."

If people noticed Eddie Livingston, they saw a small, shabby man with a white beard wearing tattered clothes and a soiled bucket hat. They may have smelled him before they saw him, as Eddie's clothing was always in need of a good washing. They wouldn't know that Eddie and his wife lived in a decaying house without water or electricity.

They wouldn't know that by anyone's definition, Eddie Livingston was one of our nation's most esteemed war heroes. They only saw a man who appeared as a vagrant, who shunned other people, who trusted no one, and stuttered badly on the rare occasions when he would talk with others.

They wouldn't know that Eddie Livingston had been among our nation's bravest soldiers in World War II, that he was a teenaged paratrooper dropped into Normandy as part of an advance team for an initiative that would become known as D-Day, that he was captured by the Germans on that mission and held in a prison camp for almost a year, that he was awarded seven Purple Hearts, three Bronze Stars, a Distinguished Service Cross, and two Presidential Unit citations.

People he encountered may have never guessed that the harrowing experience of war, particularly life as a prisoner of war, was what took a psychological toll on Eddie. They could not have known.

But plenty of people in the network of services our nation provides for veterans knew. Eddie struggled for years to get his benefits, then lived with his wife in heartrending surroundings that suggest he felt unfit for the world.

A story featured in the May 31 Eagle chronicles Eddie Livingston's tormented post-war life, particularly how he never received the help he needed for his post-traumatic stress disorder.

The system failed this decorated war hero and, in doing so, fails every American. Our nation must do a better job of supporting the men and women who have contributed their time, their sanity, their health, and their lives to the service of their country." 

An American Veteran -- A Sad and Painful Homecoming: "Loneliness and Peace Was Breaking My Heart into Little Pieces."

There are a lot of disappointing homecomings that veterans talk about. I remember reading Claude Anshin Thomas' in "At Hell's Gate: A Soldier's Journey from War to Peace," about how uneventful and dissatisfying and not like he thought it would be, when he came back injured from Vietnam. Then I remember reading Pat, the protagonist here of "Eyewitness to Combat" share about his in the same way, in the piece called "Winners Go to Harvard, Losers Go to Vietnam," linked here. But Eddie's is the one that currently rips my heart out. Listen to the plainness and the plaintiveness of his language, and think about a man who went from being a teenage paratrooper from Alabama, jumping with the 82nd Airborne, to being a veteran with an astounding seven Purple Hearts, three Bronze Stars, a Distinguished Service Cross, and two Presidential Unit citations after his five European campaigns and year as a prisoner of war. Read his remarkable retelling of his own homecoming. Sad to say, it only got worse.

---

"My homecoming was understandably sad. All the real friends I ever had were the Jokers; all dead now at Anzio, and dozens of other bloody battlefields.

My first night in the states I was in Washington, D.C. It was a rainy night. The rain was a thick mist really, with just enough breeze to give it life and the myriad of lights did many beautiful things to the mist. If Washington had ever looked prettier it must have been very long ago.

The unaccustomed lights dazzled me with an awesome foreboding. I was sure the bombers would come. I thought peace was all a gigantic hoax! And that war like some evil spirit was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to pounce on me again. I walked the streets with a sad loneliness that was as absolute as creation's first dawn. Loneliness and peace was breaking my heart into little pieces. I had not the capability to cope with my loneliness, nor the ability to cope with or comprehend peace -- an incredible, awesome thing to me.

As I walked I instinctively surveyed my surroundings with the practical curiosity of the combat infantryman. Manholes became foxholes, unobstructed streets would afford good fields of fire, car parks became tank parks, etc.

As I walked, lonely and broken-hearted for my comrades forever lost to me, every awesome noise of war just echoed, reechoed in my mind and heart. I cried, wept. Every once in a while I would lift my head and catch a full face of rain to hid the fact that I was crying." -- Eddie Livingston, decorated war hero, World War II veteran, former P.O.W. The illustration is by his niece, Pam Baker, with whom he went to live, shortly before he died.

An American Veteran -- Begging Would Desecrate the Memory of My Fallen Brothers

"That VA psychiatrist was right: I can get in the street and beg, or I can take my gun and do as the VA told me and blow my disordered brains out. I will not get in the streets and beg and thus desecrate beyond redemption the service of every man who ever served our great nation. And I am thinking particularly of the brave men in the 82dn Airborne Division, whom I soldiered with, "I" Company, 3rd battalion, 504 parachute infantry regiment, most of whom are dead, as I wish I were." -- Letter of WWII veteran and former P.O.W. Eddie Livingston, who had survived five European campaigns, to Alabama Senator John Sparkman, April 22, 1962.

Editor's note: This display of Eddie's medals was photographed by his niece, Pam Baker, who found the medals under a pile of trash in Eddie's squalid living conditions. He and his wife Helen had lived for 30 years without electricity or running water, though he had served his country with valor and endured great personal hardship because of his service. The grand total of Eddie's war medals and honors is staggering: He was awarded seven Purple Hearts, three Bronze Stars, a Distinguished Service Cross, and two Presidential Unit citations.

An American Veteran -- The Long, Never-ending, Tiring Struggle of PTSD

"I do not think I will ever find any peace or happiness; probably I would be better off dead. It does not matter one way or the other. I just get so tired of things at times." -- Eddie Livingston, WWII veteran, former P.O.W., PTSD sufferer, in a letter to his wife, Helen, August 1, 1966. 

Editor's note: The graphic illustration is of the house where Eddie and his wife Helen lived in squalor, without lights or running water, for 30 years. The illustration is from Pam Baker, Eddie's niece, with whom Eddie went to live right before he died.

An American Veteran on Neglect -- "Compensation for the Scars, Nothing for the Wounds"

Jim Tabb, who writes the wonderful occasional blog post at OldTimer, has an exceptional article about the history of the American veteran as abused and discarded, after he'd served his usefulness. 

Here's just one excerpt about how difficult the conditions World War II veterans returned to at home:

"In 1946, the VA had beds for about 82,000 patients but the VA rolls swelled to 15 million in just a few months and the hospitals were virtually all swamped.  There were 26,000 non service related cases also on the waiting list. The VA was building new hospitals but had money for only 12,000 more beds.  They came too few, too late."

Eddie Livingston, pictured at left, was an American hero, but you've probably never heard his name. A World War II veteran and former P.O.W., he was with the 82nd Airborne 504, 3rd Battalion, I Company. He fought in five European campaigns. When he came home, he felt abandoned by his government, and lived with his wife, Helen, without lights or running water for 30 years. Periodically he wrote his thoughts down and shared those with others, in letters to elected officials. He also told his story to family members, such as his loving niece, Pam Baker, with whom he came to live right before he died. Pam has since shared parts of his painful story with others. The snippets that emerge are of an amazing "everyman" veteran, who speaks from his heart about the agony and very little ecstasy after combat. Eddie Livingston's story is very much consistent with what Jim Tabb writes about, in the tradition of the American veteran being abused and discarded after war.

The Greatest Generation didn't talk about PTSD, though many, like Eddie Livingston, endured it. In another excerpt from a letter he speaks pointedly, though obliquely, about his PTSD:

"I have just one question: How callous and uncaring can one's government get? I understand Germany -- West Germany -- has made a remarkable recovery thanks to billions in American aid. But I have not done so well and am getting worse. All I have ever received from my government has been insults and abuse and 10% ($19.00) service-connected compensation per month for the scars, multiple of wounds (7) suffered in action. $19.00 for the scars; nothing for the wounds."

An American Veteran on the Aftermath of Combat -- "Many of Us Were Abandoned to a Fate Worse Than War"

World War II veteran Eddie Livingston came back from five European campaigns, seven wounds, and a year of being a P.O.W. who barely survived, to abject neglect from his own government and countrymen. Livingston and his wife lived for 30 years with no lights and no running water, in a home overrun by filth and in complete disrepair -- but also, truly off the radar of anyone's concern. No one knew the extent of their suffering, and from Livingston's perspective, his government turned a blind eye and a deaf ear. 

Livingston wrote: "'Government' used us, and when the war was over...'government' declared war on us. Our 'usefulness' was over...many of us were 'abandoned' to a fate worse than war." "I came out of service with my health shattered," he wrote. "I had no 'job skills' had I been able to work. My folks took care of me...or I would (have been) dead. I only how to 'soldier.' (And) there was no demand for my services. A V.A. doctor told me to go home and 'shoot myself' as a relief to my government. Perhaps I should (have)," he wrote.

Editor's note: To read more of Eddie's writings, click on the "An American Veteran" link, here.