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4/365 – Honoring A.W. Schade, USMC 1965/69

January 6, 2012

The Demons of War are Persistent: A Personal Story of Prolonged PTSD

—A.W. Schade, USMC 1965/69

Forty years have passed since my deployment as a combat Marine to Vietnam. But only several years since I acknowledged my inability to continue suppressing the demons alone. Like many veterans, the “Demons” have haunted me through nightmares, altered personas, and hidden fears. Even as many veterans manage the demons’ onslaught successfully, millions survive in destitution, finding solitude and social disconnection. Scores consider themselves cowards, should they concede to the demons’ hold? Countless live in denial and loneliness, protecting their warrior’s pride. The most vulnerable— tormented by guilt and feeling forever alone — too often choose to “end” their lives.

As friends and family gather to celebrate another joyful holiday, I am melancholy, saddened by vivid memories of lost friendships and battlefield carnage that erratically seeps from a vulnerable partition of my mind. This partition is a cerebral hiding place I concocted, decades before, mechanisms to survive in society. I unwittingly clutch at a profound loneliness as I avoid searching for memories of my youthful years. If I dare to gaze into my past, I must transcend through a cloak of darkness weaved to restrain the demons from so many years before.

My pledge to God, Country, and Marine Corps was more than forty years ago. As a young, unproven warrior, I consented to the ancient rules of war. At eighteen, like many others, I was immersed in the ageless stench of death and carnage, in the mountains and jungles of Vietnam. However, my journey began much earlier, on a sixty-mile bus ride with other nervous teenagers, to New York City’s legendary Induction Center at 39 White Hall Street.

We went through lines of examinations and stood around for hours, recognizing one another’s bare asses before we could learn each other’s names. We did not realize so many of us would remain together in squads and fire teams, building deep-seeded bonds of friendships along our journey. Our initial ‘shock’ indoctrination began immediately at Parris Island; intimidating Drill Instructors scrambled our disoriented butts off the bus, organized us into a semblance of a formation, and herded us to the barracks for a night of hell! Anxiety, second-guessing our decision to join, and apprehension was our welcoming. Following what we thought would be sleep (but was actually a nap), we awoke in awe to explosive clamor, as the DIs banged on tin garbage can lids next to our bunks, yelling ‘get up you maggots.’ Even the largest recruits trembled.

We remained maggots for the next few weeks and began intense physical and mental training, slowly recognizing the importance of “the team” instead of “the individual.” In less than sixteen weeks we were proud United States Marines. It was a short celebration though, as we loaded our gear and headed, in order, to Camp Lejeune, Camp Pendleton, Okinawa and then the Philippines, where we continued to enhance our stealth and killing skills, before executing these talents on the already blood-soaked fields of Vietnam.

We argued and fought amongst ourselves as brothers often do. Still, we never lost sight of the bonds we shared: We were United States Marines with an indisputable commitment to “always cover each other’s back.” Crammed into the bowels of Navy Carrier Ships, we slept in hammocks with no more than three inches from your brother’s butt above you. The sailors laughed as these self-proclaimed “bad-ass Marines” transformed into the wimpy “Helmet Brigade.” We vomited into our skull buckets for days on our way to Okinawa, where we would engage in counter guerrilla warfare training. Aware that we were going to Vietnam, we partied hard in every port. The first of our battles were slugfests in distant bar-room brawls.

Conversely, our minds were opened to the poverty and living conditions of these famous islands in the Pacific. Their reputations preceded them, but stories about the war in Japan—John Wayne movies—were not what we found. Instead, we found overpopulated, dirty cities; we were barraged constantly by poor children seeking any morsel of food. In the fields, families lived in thatched huts with no electricity or sanitary conditions. While training I experienced the horror of being chased by a two ton water buffalo (with only blanks in my rifle). Moments before, this same beast was led around by a ring in its nose by a five-year old boy. Worse than the chasing was hearing the laughter of brother Marines watching me run at full speed, trying to find something to climb.

In the tree, I felt as though I was losing the “macho” in Marine, and we were still thousands of miles from Vietnam.

In confidence, we spoke as brothers about our fears, hardships growing-up, family, girl friends, times of humiliation, prejudice, and what we planned to do in our lifetime once our tour of duty in Vietnam was over. We knew each other’s thoughts and spoke as though we would all return home alive, never considering the thought of death or defeat. We had not learned that lesson, yet. Moreover, we dreamed of going home as respected American warriors who defended democracy in a remote foreign land, standing proud, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and experiencing life, as none of our friends at home would understand. Our country had called and we answered.

We transferred to a converted WWII aircraft carrier that carried helicopters and Marines instead of jet planes. We were to traverse the coast of Vietnam and deploy by helicopter into combat zones from the Demilitarized Zone, the imaginary line separating North and South Vietnam, to the provinces and cities of Chu Lai and Da Nang. Then further South, to the outer fringes of Vietnam’s largest city, which was, at that time, Saigon.

Within sight of land, we heard the roar of artillery, mortars and the familiar crackling of small-arms fire. These were sounds we were accustomed to because of months of preparing ourselves for battle. However, for the first time, we understood the sounds were not from playing war games. Someone was likely dead. Anxiety, adrenaline highs, and fear of the unknown swirled within my mind. Was I prepared? Could I kill another man? Would another man kill me? From that point forward, death was part of my life. We would eventually load into helicopters, descending into confrontations ambivalent, yet assured we were young, invincible warriors. We were convinced the South Vietnamese people needed us; many of them did. Thus, our mission was simple: save the innocent and banish the enemy to Hell!

The first time we touched down on Vietnam soil, we mechanically spread out in combat formation. Immediately, everything I was taught to watch out for rushed through my mind: “Was the enemy around us?” “Was I standing near an enemy grenade trap, or stepping toward a punji pit filled with sharpened bamboo spikes?” Seeing our company walking through the low brush gave me comfort, until an unexpected explosion deafened our senses. We immediately hit the ground and went into combat mode, establishing our zones of fire. There was nothing to think about except engaging the enemy. We were ready for battle.

We waited, but heard no gunfire or rockets exploding, only a few Marines speaking several hundred feet away. One yelled, “I can’t F’N” believe it!” We learned our first meeting with death was due to one of our brother’s grenade pins not being secured; we assumed it was pulled out by the underbrush. Regardless, he was dead. Staring at his lifeless body, I felt the loss of youthful innocence gush away.

One engagement began with us being plunged into chaos from helicopters hovering a few feet off the ground. We anxiously leapt—some fell—into the midst of an already heated battle. The enemy sprung a deadly assault upon us. I became engrossed in the shock, fear, and adrenaline rush of battle. It was surreal! It was also not the time to ponder the killing of another human being, recall the rationale behind the ethics of war, or become absorbed in the horror of men slaughtering each other. Thoughts of war’s demons certainly were not on my mind.

When the killing ceased and the enemy withdrew, I remained motionless, exhausted from the fighting. With only a moment to think about what had just occurred, the shock, hate, and anger were buried under the gratitude of being alive. I had to find out which brothers did or did not survive, and as I turned to view the combat zone, I witnessed the reality of war: dreams, friendships, and future plans vanished. We knelt beside our brothers, some dead, many wounded, and others screaming in pain. A few lay there dying silently.

As I moved about the carnage, I noticed a lifeless body, face down, twisted abnormally in jungle debris. I pulled him gently from the tangled lair, unaware of the warrior I had found. Masked in blood and shattered bones, I was overwhelmed with disgust and a primal obsession for revenge as I realized the warrior was my mentor, hero, and friend. I shouted at him as if he were alive: “Gunny, you can’t be dead! You fought in WWII and Korea. Wake up! Wake up Marine! I need you to fight beside me!” Tears flowed down my face as I held him close and whispered that he would not be forgotten. I placed him gently in a body bag, slowly pulling the zipper closed over his face, engulfing him in darkness.

Navy Corpsmen—our extraordinary brothers—worked frantically to salvage traumatized bodies. We did our best to ease the pain of the wounded as they prayed to God Almighty. “With all my heart I love you, man,” I told each friend I encountered. However, some never heard the words I said, unless they were listening from Heaven. I was unaware of the survivor’s guilt brewing deep inside me.  In two or three weeks our mission was completed; we flew by helicopter from the jungle to the safety of the ship. None of us rested, instead remembering faces and staring at the empty bunks of the friends who were not there. I prayed for the sun to rise slowly, in order to delay the forthcoming ceremony for the dead.

Early the next morning, we stood in a military formation on the aircraft carrier’s deck. I temporarily suppressed my emotions as I stared upon the dead. Rows of military caskets, identical in design, with an American flag meticulously draped over the top, made it impossible to distinguish which crates encased my closest friends. As taps played, tears descended. For the first time I understood, that in war, you never have a chance to say goodbye. I pledged speechlessly to each of my friends that they would never be forgotten:  A solemn promise I regretfully only kept through years of nightmares or hallucinations.

Combat is vicious; rest is brief; destroying the enemy was our mission. We fought our skillful foes in many battles, until they or we were dead, wounded, or overwhelmed. Engaging enemy troops was horrific in both jungles and villages. We had to either accept or build psychological boundaries around the terror. Nonexistent were the lines of demarcation; we constantly struggled to identify which Vietnamese was a friend and which was a foe. The tormenting acknowledgement that a woman or child might be an enemy combatant had to be confronted; it was often an overwhelming decision to make.

I was not aware of the change in my demeanor. In time, I realized that I had adjusted emotionally to contend with the atrocities and finality of war. I acquired stamina, could endure the stench of death, eliminate enemy combatants with little or no remorse, suppress memories of fallen companions, and avoid forming new, deep-rooted friendships. I struggled to accept the feasibility of a loving Lord. I never detected the nameless demons embedding themselves inside of me.

At the end of my tour, I packed minimal gear and left the jungle battlefields of Vietnam for America, never turning to bid farewell or ever wanting to smell the pungent stench of death and fear again. Within seventy-two hours, I was on the street I left fourteen months prior, a street untouched by war, poverty, genocide, hunger, or fear. I was home. I was alone. Aged well beyond my chronological age of nineteen, I was psychologically and emotionally confused. I had to transform from a slayer back into a (so-called) civilized man

Except for family members and several high-school friends, returning home from Vietnam was demeaning for most of us. There were no bands or cheers of appreciation or feelings of accomplishment. Instead, we were shunned and ridiculed for fighting in a war that our government assured us was crucial and for an honorable cause. I soon found that family, friends, and co-workers could never truly understand the events that transformed me in those fourteen months.

I changed from a teenage boy to a battle hardened man. I was not able to engage in trivial conversations or take part in the adolescent games many of my friends still played. For them, life did not change and “struggle” was a job or the “unbearable” pressure of college they had to endure. It did not take me long to realize that they would never understand; there is no comparison between homework and carrying a dead companion.

The media played their biased games by criticizing the military, never illuminating the thousands of Vietnamese saved from mass execution, rape, torture, or other atrocities of a brutal northern regime. They never showed the stories of American “heroes” who gave their lives, bodies, and minds to save innocent people caught in the clutches of a “controversial” war. For years, my transition back to society was uncertain. I struggled against unknown demons and perplexing social fears. I abandoned searching for surviving comrades or ever engaging in conversations of Vietnam.

Worse, I fought alone to manage recurring nightmares. I locked it all away in a chamber of my mind labeled, “Do not open, horrors, chaos and lost friends from Vietnam.” However, suppressing dark memories is almost impossible. Random sounds, smells, or even words unleash nightmares, depression, anxiety and the seepages of bitterness I alluded to before. I still fight to keep these emotions locked away inside me.

Today, my youth has long since passed and middle age is drifting progressively behind me. Still, unwelcome metaphors and echoes of lost souls seep through the decomposing barriers fabricated in my mind. Vivid memories of old friends, death, guilt, and anger sporadically persevere. There may be no end, resolution, or limitations to the demons’ voices. They began as whispers and have since intensified—over decades—in my mind. “Help me buddy!” I still hear them scream. Nightmares jolt me from my slumber. I wake and shout, “I’m here! I’m here my friend,” and envision their ghostly, blood-soaked bodies. Even today, I wonder if more Marines would be alive if I had fought more fiercely. “I had to kill!” I tell myself. Visions of lost friends and foes hauntingly reappear at inappropriate times.

Guilt consumes my consciousness as I wonder why I did the things I did as well as the question: Why did they not survive? More dreadful, however, is the conflicting torment I feel when I acknowledge that I am thankful it was others instead of me.

Regardless of which war a person fought, I am sure many of their memories are similar to mine, as many of mine are to theirs. I never recognized the persistency of the demons. I did not notice as they matured each time I thought I had beat them. No, they were simply hiding deep within my soul. Disguised and deep-rooted, these demons caused anxiety, loneliness, depression, alcohol abuse, nightmares, and suicidal thoughts, traits that haunted most men from the war. For thirty-five years, I would not admit to these demons in my mind, believing medical assistance was a weakness among man.

When the first Gulf War began in 1990, I sensed the demons bursting from within. No matter how hard I tried to avoid them, I saw vivid images and news coverage of every aspect of the war. The bodies and faces in the media were not strangers anymore. Instead, they were my brothers from a much older and forgotten war. I sought refuge with VA and began attending group therapy.

During my third or fourth group therapy session at the VA, the psychologist leading the meeting persuaded me to speak about myself; starting with my overall thoughts of my tour in Vietnam, but only to focus on what I accomplished; instead of what I lost of myself.  After a long hesitation, I told them the greatest accomplishment in Vietnam was the hundreds of people our teams personally saved from rape, torture, or savage death. We did not give a damn about the politicians and college students back home arguing, or running off to Canada to avoid the draft. We were enlisted Marines, on the front lines, protecting innocent people caught up in a horrific war.

My most positive moment, I continued, was when I lifted a three-year-old girl from the rubble that separated her from her parents, who were slaughtered by the Viet Cong for giving us rice the day before. Though traumatized and trembling in fear, she reached up to me, and I cradled her gently in my arms and made her smile for only a moment. I handed her to one of our extraordinary corpsman, and continued to seek out the enemy who committed these atrocious murders. It was then I understood why I was in Vietnam.

However, as with all things I masked in my subconscious, I obscured that moment of compassion for decades until this small therapy group encouraged me to glance back and look for positive events which I buried within the worst of war’s memories.

Moving on to questions regarding my post-war years, the doctor asked me to focus on my career, an area where he knew I had some success. I explained when I left the Marines, after four years, I was youthful and confident in myself. I had no clue as to what depression and anxiety were, and I thought the nightmares were personal and temporary. I was determined to look forward, and in no way backwards to the war. Unfortunately, today I realize that while constantly looking forward helped me avoid chaotic memories of war, it also cloaked the memories of my formative younger years, and positive events throughout my life.

I never relished talking about myself, and thought it would be a good time to stop. However, the group asked me to continue. As peers, they knew I needed to feel a purpose, and not think my life was a second-rate existence. I was reluctant; as I looked around the room and knew many of the Vets succumbed to PTSD early in life and did not fare as well as I did. I felt I was about to sound like a wimp, or worse, a self-centered ass.

Awkwardly, I began to tell them – with many gaps – about my career after Vietnam. My first recollection was one they all understood; I went through eleven or twelve jobs feeling totally out of place. Watching sales managers gather their teams, and with fanatical enthusiasm tell them how great we were, and together would attain the highest sales revenue, beating all other regions. To me this was a game, compared to combat in the jungles of Vietnam.

Feeling extremely frustrated within this environment of man-games, I was ready to head back to the military. However, before reenlistment happened, I got married to my current wife of 42 years-who will be the first to tell you that living with a type-A personality with PTSD is often a living hell, especially when she had no idea what I was battling. But, neither did I. Like millions of warriors before me, I never spoke to anyone about the war, or the nightmares that abruptly woke me; soaked in sweat and tears.

I decided not to reenlist and pursued a career in business, receiving an offer from a very large computer company to join their company as a collection administrator. Within about eight years I was selected to attend Syracuse University to attain a degree in Management – paid by the company at full salary. I accepted challenging positions in finance, marketing, business development, world travel, and sales. Yet, the nightmares, depression, anger, and anxiety were increasing beyond my control.

Traveling to a country once was great, but after the second or third twenty-one hour flight to Bangkok or Singapore got old quickly. I began to realize boredom and repetition were major catalysts for my emotional setbacks; having too much time to think was a recipe for falling hard into the bowels of PTSD. Anger, frustrations, mood swings, and depression were common events affecting my family and career. I had stopped moving forward, and spent more time battling the memories of the past. It was at that time I understood the demons never leave; they simply wait for a sliver of weakness to overwhelm you; they are persistent.

Then, around the time of the First Gulf War in 1990, everywhere I turned were vivid pictures of death, battles and impoverished families, and no way to escape the memories of Vietnam. At that time I still did not accept I had PTSD, but my brother-in-law, who has been treated with it for years, was persistent and talked me into getting a quick check up. Three psychiatrists later, I was not only diagnosed with PTSD, but for the first time understood about the demons I had been fighting alone for forty years.

Today, I have not fully won the battle against the demons, but, with the help of medications, therapy, outside physical activities and writing, I look ahead. The demons continue to haunt me with nightmares, depression, memory loss, anxiety and need for solitude. Because of these conditions, as well as road-rage, quick to anger, or sometimes not able to carry on a coherent conversation, I retired early from my job.

Although I am not able to sit down with a Vet and talk about war, I have taken on a cause through writing stories, such as this one, to reach out to young and senior Veterans to break the stigma of PTSD and seek assistance. It took me over three years to write this story.

Wishing someone had mentioned the following suggestions to me earlier in my life, although being macho I probably would not have listened, following are a few suggestions from one old warrior to others of all ages:

  • Break through the stigma of PTSD and get medical assistance – it is real!
  • Unless you are in a high-risk job, you will probably not experience the adrenaline rush and finality of your decisions as you did in combat. For me, I lived playing business games – never finding the ultimate adrenaline rush again. It is a void within me, I think about often.
  • The longer you wait for treatment, the harder it will be to handle the demons. They do not go away and can lay dormant in your soul for decades.
  • Understand it is never too late in your life to begin looking forward and achieving new objectives.
  • If you do not want to speak about PTSD with your family or friends, then hand them a brochure from the VA that explains what to look for, and why you need their support. You do not have to go into detail about the tragedies of war, but without your loved ones understanding your internal battle, your thoughts can lead to divorce, loss of family relationship, or suicide – a terrible waste of a hero.
  • Silence and solitude is not the answer! If you have PTSD you may not be able to beat it alone.
  • If you are concerned about your military or civilian job, seek help from peer resources. They have experienced what you have been through, and will help keep you living in the present, instead of the past.
  • Or call a person in a peer support group anonymously. They will not know you, but will talk for as long as you wish.
  • You cannot explain the horrors of war to someone, except maybe a PTSD psychologist, that has not experienced it.
  • Get up off your ass and take a serious look into yourself! Accept the fact that if you have continuous nightmares, flashbacks, depression, bursts of anger, anxiety, or thoughts of suicide, you have PTSD. If so, talk to someone who can help.
  • There is also financial assistance through the VA, which may help you avoid living a life of destitution.

Finally, let your ego and macho image go. There are too many individuals and groups today wanting to help you. If you do not, you may find yourself alone and bitter for a lifetime. The demons are not going away, but with help, you can learn to fight them and win one battle at a time.  Semper Fi!

[AW Schade; a Marine, Vietnam 1966/67, retired corporate executive and author of the award winning book, “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion.” A captivating, comparative, and enlightening tale that seeks to comprehend the doctrines and discord between and within Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and Secularism. What the seeker discovers, transforms his life forever!]   

Visit A.W. Schade online at http://awschade.com

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31 Comments leave one →
  1. January 27, 2012 7:31 pm

    John, your comments are greatly appreciated and I’m glad you’re enjoying the story. I think, based on your journey, you may find the ending very interesting. It took me almost three years to research, write, re-write and re-publish [self] to bring the story “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion” together. It’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a long time, especially since Vietnam. As a matter of fact, I started the book long before I was able to write “The Demons of War are Persistent.”

    I sincerely look forward to your thoughts on how it ends. Enjoy the journey through Judaism, and the rest of the book!

    Semper Fi

    Art

  2. January 26, 2012 1:11 pm

    Tina,

    WordPress’s increasingly narrow branching “Reply” feature turned my carefully written reply to A.W.’s request above into a long, skinny, annoying column. Please delete the indented-thread reply as I will repeat what I wrote here (outside of the nested thread).

    –John

    A.W.,

    Concerning your book, “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion,” I am just ready to accompany your traveler on “The Road to Judaism.” (I’m working full time and don’t get time to read every day.) I am astounded how you have turned your personal quest into a mythic journey where the traveler seeks out and learns from spiritual leaders who are excellent spokespersons for the tenets of their particular religion or faith.

    Your portrayal of these encounters and conversations is as honest as it is balanced. Even though your traveler still hasn’t gotten his “Answer” (a certainty of faith), he has gotten a wealth of answers from very believable, impassioned, yet reasonable experts. Both your major and minor characters are extremely well drawn. and the events along the Path(s) draw the reader into the narrative in an intimate way.

    Someone could read your book simply to get a good understanding of the beliefs of the world’s religions, as you traveler seeks out a learned proponent of each faith, asks all the hard questions, and leaves (as does the reader) with a renewed appreciation of each religion or spiritual viewpoint. I find myself admiring the intellectual honesty of everyone your traveler meets (even the Atheist).

    What really astounds me is the amount of research you had to do to have the people your traveler encounters speak so knowledgeably and eloquently about their faith.

    I look forward to the rest of the journey, and I will put all of this in a review and post it on Amazon when I’m done.

    –John

    P.S. My journey? I spent my first two decades as a Roman Catholic, the next decade as an agnostic, and the last three decades as something of an oddity–a liberal Evangelical Protestant.

    • January 26, 2012 2:02 pm

      John I deleted the other, and sorry the nesting smashes it all up. I am not sure there is anything I can do to fix it. I will look into it. =)

  3. January 14, 2012 8:55 am

    A.W.: The first thing I did after reading your account above is search for a description of your book Looking for God . . . . Why? Because I wanted to see if it contained any of the account you have shared here.

    It does not. What you have written here is a gripping read. It’s honest and real, pulls no punches, yet reveals a nobility of character in wanting to help others confront/deal with the PTSD you have lived with. It’s one of the finest first-person-narratives I have read in a long time.

    If you’re willing to revisit your demons long enough–to write about your experiences from enlistment through the hell of war to the present day, exactly as you have above, with chapters and subheadings and maybe photos, you would have a dynamite book (one that might destroy some of your demons and help other veterans do the same).

    Please give it some thought. You are an outstanding writer.

    John Robinson

    • January 14, 2012 8:58 am

      I agree 100% with John.

    • January 14, 2012 10:27 am

      John, I can’t tell you how much your comments help me to continue the struggle with PTSD. Please feel free to pass it on with your review, which may be the spark just one warrior needs to recognize and seek help for PTSD. I also appreciate your comments on writing a new book on my life, and have thought of it many times. However, the most I could write, reaching back into the abyss of forgotten memories, is under the tab on my site: “Positives” http://bit.ly/prVDkn. It picks up where “Demons” leaves off and brings my story from post-war to where I am today. It has been combined [streamlined] into one story on other blogs, but not on my site. I kept them separate because I wanted to keep “Demons” to make the point to Vets who may not be interested in my life. Please read “Positives” http://bit.ly/prVDkn and share your comments; they will be greatly appreciated, as will your review of my book; “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion”, should you decide to read it.
      I have also registered on your site, and look forward to reading your book; “More Later: Lyle’s Letters from the University.” Sharing your humor is great therapy for me, and I’m sure for many others.

      Semper Fi
      Art Schade

      • January 14, 2012 12:40 pm

        I am enjoying the comments and the connections being made through them as much the blog. Thank you for putting yourself out there with your story Art, and for reaching out to others. I think this is necessary for healing and I hope that there will be a lot of that happening here and beyond. Tina

        • January 14, 2012 2:33 pm

          And thank you Tina and the others at Proj365 for allowing this very important channel of communications to be open … So many veterans, have so much to tell! Semper Fi! Art

      • Anonymous permalink
        January 16, 2012 12:19 pm

        Art,

        I have just read your accounts on both your “Demons” and “Positives” sites, and I have just purchased the Kindle edition of your book. I look forward to reading it! You are doing a great service by “putting yourself out there,” with all your demons and positives for the world to see.

        Countless war vets are going to see themselves and realize that they are not crazy or alone.

        –John

        • January 16, 2012 5:12 pm

          John, thank you if my story “Demons of War…” can help one person at a time I will be most greatfulll! Please let me know your thoughts about my book, Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion.” I believe the answers I seek also stem from the aftermaths of War. Semper Fi!

        • January 26, 2012 10:19 am

          Hi John,

          I was wondering if you had the chance to read my book; “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion,” and what your thoughts were on the story?

          Semper Fi

  4. January 9, 2012 6:51 pm

    Thanks for your service, Art.
    Semper Fi.

  5. Jennifer permalink
    January 8, 2012 9:30 pm

    I can’t thank you enough for being so honest about PTSD and sharing your story here. I have a very good friend who suffers from it and I’m sure if he reads your piece here that it will help him if he follows your advice. PTSD can be devastating and not many civilians have the capacity to understand it and as you said, none who have not experienced war can fully understand what a combat veteran has dealt with in his life during and after service. I pray for peace for my friend daily. I pray for peace for all our combat vets. God bless you for your sacrifice to our country.

    • January 9, 2012 8:11 am

      Jennifer,

      I hope my story will help your friend at least seek a “peer support group” to help him with his problems. The VA is also there for assistance but many veterans are turned off by the long process. However, the bureacracy comes in when seeking compensation, which he may deserve and groups are available to help. The medical treatment process is not that cumbersome.

      But I think peer groups are easier to deal with. You don’t have to explain what you’ve been through, and every get together is not talking about the truama’s of war [which is what occurs at the VA]. At the end of the story [“demons” tab], on my website, http://www.awschade.com, is a list of support groups he can simple call to talk to.

      I too, wish there could be no further wars. However, it will unfortunately only remain a “wish” for generations to come. Until then, there is no cure for PTSD, but there are many new techniques for treatment, and people stepping forward to support our Veterans with post war trauma-and that is powerful!

      Thank you,

      Art Schade [Author: “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion”]

  6. January 8, 2012 2:33 pm

    I don’t what kind of debriefing, if any, our military personnel receive when they return from combat, but I hope they have the opportunity to read this kind of material and/or talk with someone like Schade, who has been there and understands.

    • January 9, 2012 7:57 am

      Thank you for your comments and concern. You’ll be glad to know since 1980 timeframe when PTSD was accepted by the VA, they have done tremendous work in working with our young Veterans to understand the symptoms and help available. In addition, Peer support groups are numerous. A compete 360 from older wars. However, there continues to be a significant hesitation in young veterans to break the stima of PTSD. I for one wouldn’t accept it for 30+ years. Afterall, I was as a brainwashed “warrior”, and PTSD was for the weak. But we’ve come a long way to “debrief” our male and female warriors.

      Thank you,

      Art Schade [Author: “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion”]

  7. Lauren permalink
    January 7, 2012 8:23 pm

    Thank you for sharing your story. My respect to you and other soldiers increases as I read about your experiences. I hope you find a way to have peace in your soul and overcome those demons.

    • January 7, 2012 9:30 pm

      Thank you Lauren. I feel the same. I already had tremendous love and respect for our veterans before I started this project, but it continues to increase. I feel my life is being enriched with every individual I meet through this project. Thank you for reading and commenting. It is appreciated.

    • January 9, 2012 7:44 am

      Thank you Lauren for your comments about my story,

      Continued support and spreading the word to others about PTSD will help greatly. I hope it also helps people in my generation understand our fathers from WWII, Korea, etc., many of whom were grumpy, moody and depressed, suffered secretly from PTSD too. Writing my story gave me time to look back and understand them, as well as myself, a little more.

      Thank you,

      Art Schade [Author: “Looking for God within the Kingdom of Religious Confusion”]

  8. Jackie Paulson permalink
    January 7, 2012 6:28 pm

    It’s so important to have “lessons learned in life” loved it. Could you tell me how to do a Trackback?

  9. January 7, 2012 8:34 am

    Until you read what someone has actually been through..you don’t realise the severity of how traumatic an experience it can be. I applaud you for being able to realise that you could help yourself by writing about it..even though I know it must not have been an easy choice for you..I know I can’t even compare what I’ve been through to what you have..but writing for me is one of the only realises that I know can soothe my troubles and “battles” that seem meagre in comparison to what you have been through.
    I’m delighted in the fact that it’s getting better for you..and that as well as being inspirational, your post is also direct in the encouragement of people to seek help before it consumes them..
    The respect I hold for all Veterans is unfathomable..as you continue to move forward..however hard it may seem..remember you are a success, not only to others..but first and foremost to yourself.

    • January 7, 2012 8:35 am

      line 6: *only releases

    • January 7, 2012 5:56 pm

      Your comments are so appreciated! And there is no comparison as to what each of us have been through. Your challenges are as significant as mine, because they impact you for the rest of your life. Thanks for your respect, and continue to face your challenges head-on … It’s when we give up that the demons win. Semper Fi!

  10. January 6, 2012 10:40 pm

    Thank you for sharing your story with us A.W. Your beautifully written story paints a vivid picture of the hell of battle and the struggles of becoming re-acclimated to civilization. Your story shows the reality of life for many veterans and the dark times that many, including yourself face. All the while you remain a light in the darkness for your brothers through your writing and work. You bring them hope, by winning the war against PTSD one battle at a time.

    • January 7, 2012 5:51 pm

      Thank you for the opportunity to share my story, but more important for the what you do to help Veterans. Semper Fi! Art

Trackbacks

  1. Remember – A poem by Randy Cribbs « Project 365 Vets
  2. Honoring a hero a day, every day of 2012 Home Contact Us 5/365 – Honoring A.W. Schade, USMC 1965/69 | Four Blue Hills (A repository, of sorts)
  3. 365 Veterans day 5 | Boudica BPI Weblog

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