Tough Shit – PTSD : Chapter 4

In the last Chapter we covered the aftermath of me downshifting from fun yet crazy SWAT nonsense to the boring admin world, and how that gave me the space to finally seek out more in-depth help. In the pursuit of such help, I descended into the bureaucracy that is the VA. Dealing with them seemed to hurt more than help, and before this part of the story is wrapped up it will get worse. But just like that song about going through hell to get to heaven, shit does get better….

There I was, starting the VA trauma program, specifically called Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT). 12 weeks of constant sessions and oodles of homework to complete. Long story short, it was good, but sucked and things got worse before they equalized. 

The two main objectives of this CPT seemed to be to 1. determine stuck points 2. logically look at each stuck point’s fallacy while processing the emotions associated with each one. 

What the fuck is a stuck point you ask? Basically something that you tell yourself as a result of trauma, which your mind gets hung up on. Each stuck point has a bunch of emotions associated with it, that due to the trauma, your mind has buried deep and you’ve made a habit of not experiencing. 

From my layman’s understanding, refusing to experience emotions is the root cause of PTSD. So what happens is you go through something traumatic, the brain or whatever has a survival mechanism where it immediately deals with the physical incident while shoving the emotion into some box in the back of your brain. In a perfect world, sometime shortly after the traumatic event occurred and safety has returned, you’d sit down and process the emotions associated with it. 

That was a bit academic, so let’s take an example from me. Remember that whole human trafficking situation I described in a chapter 2 of this series? In a perfect world, I would have waited until we were on a secure base, then told my fellow soldiers I needed to process some emotions. We would then talk about the situation, and I would describe how I was angry at the traffickers, angry at our leader for refusing to let me light them fuckers up, and angry with the situation where we were forced to put the payment of proxy soldeirs ahead of the safety of children. I’d describe the grief I felt for the kids who were on their way to a horrific future, how sad I was for all parties involved, and how helpless I felt to do anything to protect those children. My fellow soldiers and I would talk about this, tears would be shed, and we’d hug it out at the end. 

Does that actually happen? Fuuuucccckkkk no. We could go into the various cultural reasons for why an emotional post trauma incident debrief doesn’t happen, but we’ll pass on that. What actually happened is I was pissed for the minute or two the whole incident occurred, then I immediately focused my attention back to looking for threats. I took those emotions, boxed them up, and shoved them deep into the back of mind where I refused to ever think about them for years. I didn’t do that consciously, but rather because that’s just the way we do things. We don’t talk about our feelings, especially not in the macho environment that has been my home as both a soldier and a cop. Those boxed up emotions festered deep in my mind, and I subconsciously created what I would later learn to call stuck points in CPT. These stuck points were stuff like “if I can’t protect everyone I’m worthless”, “it’s my job to protect everyone”, “I’m a horrible person because I couldn’t protect those kids”, among others. 

Shoving down those emotions became a big load on my system, especially as more and more traumatic incidents piled up, both in Afghanistan and later as a Cop. My mind became like that endless warehouse in Indiana Jones, where they stashed the Ark of Covenant (not the one from Crystal Skull; like my emotions, we don’t talk about the fourth installment and will pretend it doesn’t exist). Containing these emotions was a lot of work, which led to all of the symptoms I experienced like constant irritability, hypervigilance, panic attacks, emotional outbursts, nightmares, flashbacks, etc. 

CPT’s first job was to identify the stuck points. After identifying them, my therapist would lead me to rationally think about how each stuck point was illogical. For example “if I can’t protect everyone I’m worthless” doesn’t make sense because of things like 1. it’s impractical for me to protect everyone I run into; I’m just a fallabile human and not fucking superman 2. shit happens outside my control, that will prevent me from protecting people even when I try to. I can’t control everything. 

With that, my rational brain now knows that this stuck point is bullshit. 

The next part of the CPT is the harder step. My therapist would then help me identify all of the emotions associated with the stuck point. For the above, I would find if I actually opened up myself to feeling emotions when thinking about it, I would feel grief, sadness, and fear of not being able to protect people. While thinking about this, I would habitually do what I’ve been doing for years-shove the feelings down and not think about it. Or worse, get angry to mask the underlying emotions. My therapist would then remind me to actually sit with the emotion and not keep shoving them down. Because shoving them down led to the symptoms which kept popping up. This was where the work was. For someone who took pride in not feeling emotions, actually experiencing them was tough. My therapist was amazing, she kept pushing me to do so, and I finally got to the point where I could experience them. This meant I cried. Alot. Manly as fuck; yeah I’m evolving past stupid all or nothing masculinty!

She also taught me to try and feel emotions as they popped up in everyday life, instead of falling back on my habit of shoving them down. Another problem with the traumatic incidents was that once my mind got used to repressing emotions caused by crazy shit, it started doing that for everything. Because if I let myself experience one, I subconsciously assumed they’d all come pouring out. This meant I rarely felt any emotion for years. I recall thinking at one point that there must be something wrong with me because I never felt anything, good or bad. 

The only emotion that I consciously felt was anger, and that’s because anger is great at masking all other emotions. Feeling the underlying emotions as they occurred was a bitch, but I kept pushing through due to the CPT. As the floodgates opened, I realized I was feeling them all of the time. I’d see a sappy commercial and run off to the bathroom to cry. My kid would would do something cute, and I’d want to curl up into a ball and cry. Lots of crying, I felt like a mess.

My therapist said this was the process. I’d feel worse as I started feeling all of these emotions, but once I processed all of the old ones and stopped shoving down new ones, my symptoms would improve. Maybe not go away, but at least not last as long. So it went. She kept pushing at something though, as was her job to do.

There are some pretty well documented risk factors for sustained PTSD. Big ones include low intelligence, substance addiction, multiple traumas, and a history of childhood abuse. Data suggests everyone will experience PTSD following a traumatic incident, but it will normally go away within six months as long as the person doesn’t have those risk factors. I’d had symptoms for over a decade, so obviously there was some risk factor keeping that stuff to stick around. Having seen this research, I always figured my main risk factor that led to my long term PTSD was the multiple traumas I’d experienced. 

I was right, but I was also wrong.

My therapist revisited the information on the risk factors. She described that if I didn’t emotionally process whatever had caused a risk factor, my improvement was limited. She kept at this, and I would always say, “duh, I’ve got multiple traumas, isn’t that what we’re addressing here?”, to which she would follow up with a more delicately worded version of “there’s another risk factor you’re not dealing with”. 

My rational mind didn’t get it. I don’t think I’m of low intelligence. Yes, my ego wants to think I’m more intelligent than average, but my understanding of probability and distributions suggest that I’m likely somewhere in the average range. So that one’s out. 

Substance abuse? Nope. Due to being on call for SWAT forever, I rarely drank. Hadn’t smoked weed since before enlisting, and never done anything else. So that risk factor was out too..  

As I worked through that, my therapist would suggest via her verbal jiu jitsu that perhaps I had some childhood abuse which I was not dealing with. Perhaps this was the underlying risk factor that occurred before all of the multiple traumas, and was why I had long term PTSD. I scoffed at this. 

My childhood was good. 

Everything was fine. 

And still she pushed. Finally, 9 weeks into the 12 week CPT program we had a breakthrough. 

Sooooo….turns out there was some childhood abuse. 

Stuck point led to deeper stuck point, which led to deeper and deeper emotions. This all led to some stuff that happened as a kid. Nothing like what Tim Ferriss so bravely described, but still not great. 

In an effort to toughen me up, a caregiver would choke me or inflict painful joint manipulation moves on a near daily basis from when I was 4 years old until I was finally able to defeat them when I was 16. If I fought back hard, the caregiver would release me, if I gave up too soon the pain or choke would continue.

In my own messed up perception of this, I’d always looked fondly on these battles, as I learned a lot about fighting and not giving up. I actually taught myself to look forward to them; an adaptive way of processing an inevitable event that as a kid I knew I would have to survive constantly. 

I’d long ago repressed the terror assoicated with the attacks when I was younger. 

In addition to the attacks, another traumatic incident occurred when I was 8 years old. The same caregiver also emotionally cut off another caregiver because of a disagreement, and refused to allow me to see them for years. My young brain interpreted this to mean that love and support from any caregiver was conditional, and always subject to loss. This led me to become fiercely independent, as I’d learned I couldn’t depend on anyone. 

When I finally admitted to my therapist what had happened, this unearthed a lot of rage. I was angry with the caregiver for a lot of reasons, and it took me months to process. Fuck, I still am. But as a part of processing this, I’ve tried to see things from their point of view. Yes, I don’t agree with their methods. Not one fucking bit.

But I think I understand why they did what they did. Besides being influnced by their own screwed up childhood, I think they were trying to prepare me for what they saw as a violent, fucked up world. Also this person is still alive, and I’m at a point where I’m trying to not hold constant animosity towards them. Selfishly, that ain’t great for my mental well being. 

You’ve probably noticed that I’m not naming the caregiver or my relationship to them.

Though this blog is anonymous (for now), I’m paranoid by nature, and I’m not at the point where I want to name my relationship with this caregiver. If this post somehow made it to said caregiver, it would make things worse for the people that still have to live with them. I’m actively working to get those people out of the situation, but it’s an uphill slog, despite me enlisting a shit ton of resources.

Anyways. Where were we?

Oh yeah. 9 weeks deep into this 12 week program I finally admitted to myself that I’d survived some childhood abuse, which was a root cause of my long term PTSD. Sure, since I’d experienced over a dozen traumatic events since joining the Army, the multiple traumas risk factor still held and I would have probably still caused the long term version. 

But the child abuse sure as fuck didn’t help. As I realized this, and finally admittited to myself how fucked up shit was when I was a kid, I felt like the tectonic plates that encompassed my life were shifting under my feet. I began to feel adrift. I realized that many of my life choices were a direct response to the abuse I’d survived. Out of a need to learn to protect myself and become independent, I became a soldier. I did this so I could become tougher, harder to kill, harder to fuck with. 

So I wouldn’t be a victim, ever again.

Along the way I felt it was my responsibility to protect everyone from abuse like I’d survived. 

When I failed to protect those innocent kids in Afghanistan, my guilt over the inability to protect others, to include my childhood self, grew exponentially. Part of the reason I became a cop was to atone for my failure to protect those kids. Another reason was because I wanted a secure job, because I was scared of not being able to provide for myself. 

This fear of not having a secure source of income was directly caused by seeing one caregiver emotionally and financially cutting off the other one. I never wanted to be in that position, and a secure government job was a good ticket out of that situation. I even pursued FIRE for the same reason. Sure, a job and a pension were nice. But I still had the somewhat irrational fear they could be taken away at any minute, despite generous union and legal protections. 

So I doubled down on creating my own source of passive income to try and fill that hole of insecurity and fear. 

Realizing that much of my life choices were a reaction to early childhood trauma raised one major question. Who the fuck am I actually? What the hell did I actually want to do with my life? Was there any part of me that truly wanted to be a soldier and a cop, or was that a reaction to the trauma?

Unfortunately,  my time with CPT was coming to a close. We spent the last three weeks of the program dealing with the realization that I’d been abused as a kid. I’d barely begun to process it, and registered the above questions. These questions and the underlying realizations left me feeling adrift. 

My therapist said that in the CPT process, breakthroughs were made earlier in the program as they typically weren’t as deeply buried as mine. This normally led to more time to process them, but in the event that wasn’t enough time, the CPT process could be extended another month or so. Unfortunately, my therapist was quite pregnant at the end of these 12 weeks and about to start her maternity leave. Such an extension wasn’t possible with her. 

I was cool with this, as I was just thankful she’d pushed me to get to this point. All the emotional processing work during the program had taken its toll, and I was getting majorly depressed after each session. I wanted a break anyway. Instead of extending the CPT program, we decided I should take a break. Normally I’d be able to pick back up with her, but she’d be unavailable while on maternity leave. Having seen my wife go through the maternity leave process a couple of times, I totally understood. My therapist introduced me to a colleague of hers that she thought I’d click with. We all planned for me to start up with her colleague after a month or so break, and begin to work on processing these life shifting questions.

The month break from CPT was nice. I felt adrift, but it was also a relief to not deliberately be seeking out emotions to process. Depression still lingered, so I looked forward to restarting therapy, and I was also really looking forward to figuring out who the hell I was underneath my reactions to early trauma.

After the break, I started up with the new therapist. She was cool as shit. Right as we started, one of my parents started exhibiting signs of dementia, so we shifted focus to working through that issue and made a deliberate plan to deal with the greater existential crisis I was having at the end of last summer. Her input on the dementia my parent was dealing with was an immense help to my family, but due to her overbooked schedule, we had a month break before starting on the long term stuff, slated for last August.

The month-long break wasn’t horrible, but I was starting to feel increasingly depressed. I felt like I was white knuckling it until my next scheduled appointment. I kept looking at my calendar, and counting the days until it was set. The depression was like a slowly building dark fog, and it became harder and harder to see the light. At the root of it was the lingering question of who I was if much of my life had been a reaction to a fucked up childhood. Where did I go from here? What was the point of it all, if much of my life was just a reaction to the will of others?

A few days before the August appointment where we would start working through these issues, a scheduler from the VA called. They said the therapist I was working with had just separated from the VA, and asked if I would like to reschedule with a new therapist. 

This was a nice punch in the gut.

I told the scheduler I absolutely wanted to reschedule with a new therapist. They told me it would be at least 4 months until I could get on anyone’s schedule.

And like that, I sunk into the deepest depression I’d ever felt. This led to the sweltering summer night I described in Chapter 1, with thoughts of suicide as I scratched by dog’s ear. As I said, shit got worse before it got better. 

But it did get better. I called the VA back the next day, and pleaded with them to get me an appointment as soon as motherfucking possible. They’d been trying to schedule me with a local therapist, and I asked them to get me a remote appointment with any therapist, anywhere. The scheduler said that was not normal, but was super helpful. They got me an appointment for the next week instead of months away. My new therapist was a hundred miles away, but hell, after 2020 I was plenty used to doing everything remote anyways.

Looking back, I probably should have called the veterans crisis line (1-800-273-8255, press 1); I was in a bad spot, and closer to descending into the abyss than I’d ever been in. I’ve promised myself if it ever gets that bad again, I’m making that crisis line call. 

After doing everything I could to distract myself from the murky darkness, I made it to my new appointment. We met remotely every week for months. Long story short, I put in the work. This led to me coming to terms with who I was, which ultimately helped me decide to pull the trigger on my long overdue early retirement from the cop life.

Things are better now; not perfect, but what is? I’m down to monthly therapy appointments. The PTSD symptoms are still there. They don’t last as long, but since I’ve stopped repressing them they seem more frequent. Almost a wash, really. Some days I miss not feeling anything, as all of the emotions can get pretty heavy. I realize now that I used to go through my days ranging from moderate irritation to full blown rage that I would ignore, along with all of the underlying emotions I’m now open to. There are times where I wish I had taken the blue pill, but when I’m honest with myself I know that would have led to a much worse spot. 

It’s been a bitch. I could probably write a whole other chapter about the work I did in therapy since last August, but fuck, this story has gone on for what seems like forever. 

The high point of this journey may seem like my early retirement, enabling me to embark on an uncharterd journey absent the influence of (or at least acknowledging) my fucked up past. But the best part is actually the impact all of this has had on my family. My wife says I don’t seem angry all of the time, and when I do get angry, I admit it and work through it. I know I’m not dad of the year, but I think coming to terms with my emotions has made me a better father. 

Yeah, there are days where I miss feeling nothing. 

Not every day is rainbows and unicorns. 

But I have more good days than bad now, and I think I’m a better husband and father. 

If you’re going through something similar or worse, I hope this series of posts gives you some motivation to seek help. If you’re in the middle of getting help and it feels like it’s only getting worse, I get it. I was there too. 

Please keep going. 

It’s worth it; it will get better. 

The proof is in a smile I never saw before, the one in the mirror. It’s also in the tears of joy I now cry sometimes, when I realize how happy I am to be alive, to watch my kids play, to dance with my wife. 

Hope may not be a plan, but it can be a beautiful result of coming to terms with who we are and not being afraid to fight to build a better version of ourselves.

Thanks for reading this. I would love to be completely intrinsically motivated, but absent my best efforts I still have an ego. To that end, I’d love to hear about your experiences that may parallel mine, however slightly.