I am REALLY happy this thread has gotten traction and I hope the OP gets some strength and feelings of solidarity from our community.
I will offer a short version of my story because I found reading through others above me, I found more things in common with you fellas, and I am humbled by the vulnerability AND stories or redemption and strength being shared here.
I am not an expert on recovery, trauma, or otherwise a teacher for much anything. I am, however, an expert in suffering I feel. This is my story:
I was born an Army brat. Moved around a lot. My dad was a professional warrior and drinker. I don't know what caused what, but the drinking and the Army lifestyle destroyed my family and my dad. My folks got divorced when I was little. My dad bounced between sober and violently drunk, suicidal, murderous, etc. After the Army, he became a cop in a big city with a lot of his other Army buddies. The drinking was part of the culture. Sadly, so was divorce and broken families were all around us. I was not special in that regard. I was the subject of my father's angst, frustration, ptsd from Vietnam, and feelings of shame and failure often.
He was a beautiful man in many ways. Taught me how to hunt/fish/camp/track/drive a truck/smoke a cigar/guns/bows/etc etc. He was my hero despite the violence. But I vowed to never be like him.
Fast forward: I served our country for 10 years. Put my life in harms way to make a difference hopefully. I believed. September 11 happened and I turned 18 right after. I was a warrior and wanted nothing else than to live high speed, low drag. And I did cool shit all over the place, have the t-shirts and stickers and scars to show for it. I didn't believe I could get or experience PTSD because I was a hard M'F***er. My whole team believed the same. That stuff was reserved for "others" not me bro.
Well, I was humbled and hit my bottom couple years back. Alcohol also was a prerequisite for us guys. That, and being shi**y husbands. I found myself crying, panic attack, collapsed in a corner of my bedroom, holding one of my handguns and figuring out when to eat it. I decided I would wait until my wife would leave the house and then I would. She was pregnant. I had/have been suffering nightmares for oh, probably 9 years or so. Images of extreme violence seared into my brain, feeling powerless,. I didn't know what was happening other than I was out of control. I was a stranger to my wife, my family. My work buddies whom I trusted my life with were just as effed up as me. I felt alone, in a hole, with no way out. And i used alcohol all the time to numb sensations of anxiety, boredom, and yes, even fear. I felt AFRAID. At work, I was afraid. At home, I would be afraid. I couldn't turn off my hyper-vigilance. I had to drink to numb that crap. I believed if God did exist, he had no love or want for me. If God did exist, I never saw him fighting my wars. I was truly alone.
My baby girl was born and that wonderful moment as I held my first child, I felt God's love and presence in our lives. I KNEW HE was with me, with us, with my baby girl. I wept uncontrollably feeling the holy spirit wrap around my family like a warm blanket. That day, my baby girl's birthday, I made several decisions, commitments: I was quitting, I submitted my papers soon thereafter. And I was not going to use booze as a crutch. Most importantly, I needed HELP. I told my wife all these things.
Those decisions didn't save my marriage but it did save my life. My ex-wife and I are loving parents and partners in life, no longer married, but we have a much better relationship now. My daughter has a much healthier father. I am present with her, enjoying my civvie life as much as I can. And I have been working on my relationship between God and I. I have a long road ahead of me but I am so thankful.
Thanks for reading, thanks for sharing. I get renewed strength and hope reading through all of your stories.
