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2:53 p.m. - 2002-01-21
Me as I saw myself in 2000

More housekeeping. This is a previous attempt at writing my story. Think of it as me in 2000. Today, I am a very different person, but more of that later.

More than you want to know?�

Who I am Today

I'm a 50 year old guy, living on the gulf coast of Mississippi. You wouldn't know I was so ancient if you met me though. I'm still a kid inside, as are we all.

I've put my working days behind me, for reasons that might be clear later. So now I spend my days tracking down books and other things to sell at auction, fixing my beat-up truck and riding my bicycle. If you've ever bought from me, chances are it went to the post office inside my back-pack on my bicycle.

I also like to go to the local casinos. Oh.. not to gamble! In case you didn't know... it's not gambling. It's statistics. No, I like to go for the all-you-can-eat crab legs and other goodies. On rare occassions, I might stop by the poker room and play Texas Hold 'em for an hour or so. Unlike the slots and other casino games, Hold 'em is a game of skill and psychology. I never win much and never lose much. I never play a hand that isn't a winner, so I spend a lot of time folding and watching the other players. It's fascinating to watch the experts!

Another great place to watch minds in action, beleive it or not, is in the boxing ring. I hate violence and yet, I can't quit watching the fights. With all due respect to the growing number of women boxers, boxing looks to me like the epitome of testosterone-drenched manhood. It's what society would ultimately want all of its men to be. Aggressive, strong, quick, wary and completely competitive. Men compete ruthlessly every day, but in the boxing ring, the veneer of so-called civilization is all but stripped away.

I have a Boston Terrier named Gumbo and a fiance named Ann, I love 'em both... and not necessarily in that order. And of course my grand-daughter Avia, who lives in Alaska. I try to get up there to see her, but on a fixed income it's not easy. The last time I went, I drove the 4500 miles up and back. It took ten days each way. When I got home, I found the air conditioner burned out and the toilet running over onto the floor. Ouch.

Where I Came� From

I was born a mormon boy in Utah. I had a great childhood. My dad was a sportsman and took me fishing, hunting and waterskiing a great deal. He also did his best to instill the best values of mormon people... honesty, hard work and education. I like to think some of it took. Although in later years I came to reject the doctrines of the church, I'll always be indebted to its teachings for the positive influence they've had on my life.

Sadly, my parents divorced when I was 13. It came as a real shock to me, and it affected my view of the world from then on. I got to be what the church would call 'rebellious'. I'd call it delinquent. Eventually, I wound up joining the army at age 17 1/2 to avoid a stay in reform school. I never did anything terribly bad. Just kid-stuff mostly. But it seems like I was just always calling one parent or the other to come get me from city hall.

How I got from There to Here

As luck would have it, I joined the army just when the war in Vietnam was heating up. My dad was smart... he had the recruiter sign me up for training in missiles, knowing that I would be more likely to wind up in Germany or somewhere other than Vietnam. Unfortunately, while I was at boot camp in Texas, some totally impressive sergeants from airborne school came and gave us a hard-sell on the glory and excitement of being a paratrooper. Of course, they left out the part about how the airborne units always get the hardest jobs and take the most casualties.

Anyway.. they kept calling them 'devils in baggy pants'. That sounded to me (at 17) like something I needed to experience, so I trashed the missile school and signed up for jump school.

Within six months... right after my 18th birthday, I was in the jungles of Vietnam with the 101st Airborne Division. Boy! Talk about turning my world upside down. Those guys were seriously trying to kill me. So were the viet cong! I don't need to bore you with the details, except to say that I was seriously wounded in a firefight and sent back to Denver, where I spent a year recovering from my wounds.

My year in the hospital was as hard, in some ways, as my time in Vietnam. I was on my back with my leg in traction for six months in a crowded, understaffed hospital ward. They had a hard time saving my leg, but another six months in a body cast finally did the trick. I was scheduled to have my leg taken off when the Dr. sent me for a final x-ray. At last... some would say miraculously, they found signs that my leg was healing.

Rather than retire me, they sent me to Ft. Lewis in Washington State to finish out the last few months of my enlistment. I didn't realize at the time just how much money Uncle Sam saved with that move. Once I was released, I did go to the VA and apply for a disability. They awarded me 84.00 a month for a shattered thigh that left me with few thigh muscles and one leg shorter than the other. Nice guys.

Well, as it turns out, the damage to my leg was nothing compared to the psychic damage of the war. I married a young woman and raised two children with her. At first I didn't realize, then later I didn't beleive that I had changed as a result of my army experience. I never could put the war behind me. Anyone who remembers the late 60s and 70s will know that I wasn't encouraged to come forward and talk to anyone, but inside I was a mess. I couldn't get to sleep. If I started to doze off, my body would shoot some adrenalin and I would jump half out of the bed. When I did fall asleep, I would have the most awful and disturbing dreams. And yet, I thought it was just me and that eventually it would go away. I never even woke my wife or tried to talk to her about it. I was working harder and harder to just keep it bottled up inside.

I also had some issues with anger. I was seething inside. I had a couple of violent episodes that left me shaken and ashamed. Over the years, I learned that I was better off to run away before my anger surfaced. You wouldn't know it to look at me. I'm a gentle, peace-loving guy. But I have to go to great lengths to keep the anger in.

Of course, that caused me a lot of problems in daily life. I never could give myself in friendship. I had a lot of guilt over the fact that my best friend was killed, and that I had not been there for him.

I had problems settling down. Over the next 25 years, I jumped from place to place, each time trying to get my life started and then re-started.. until I finally wound up in Alaska.

Just like they had before in WA, UT, FL, and WA again, things started out real well in Alaska. But as my problems with personal relationships and feeling closed-in got worse, I eventually had a breakdown of sorts. With no notice, I just walked away from my life up there, taking only the clothing I could fit in a suitcase. I felt very much at the end of my rope... drinking an awful lot and considering suicide. It was a terrible thing to do to my wife, but at the time, I simply couldn't go on any longer.

The one thing that did help was the internet. I had built a computer out of second hand parts and discovered the online chat rooms. For the first time, I could begin to talk about some of my feelings without exposing myself too badly. It's� hard to explain, but somehow, meeting and talking to people online made it a little 'safer' than in real life.

Anyway, I didn't form any real friendships until I met Ann in the Alaska room on AOL. She was smart and funny, and she made me comfortable to talk about what was going on inside of me. Things I had refused to share with my wife... indeed, things I refused to share with myself.� I know this all sounds very sordid, but my marriage had suffered terribly. There's no question that my wife cared about me, but the communication was just gone from our relationship.

So, when I left Alaska, it was to come to Ann. It was an awful shock to my family. It was an awful shock to my wife. It left me feeling like a terrible heel, yet I couldn't stay where I was any longer. In spite of the pain for everyone involved, Ann saved my life.

I would have left anyway. I just don't know where I would have gone.

I spent several years here in MS trying to rebuild my life. It was difficult, considering the way I had left my job in Alaska, to get work. I'd spent my life jumping from place to place and job to job until my resume just lost its luster. It was easy to see that I wouldn't be a long term employee. And now my age was a factor. Most employers were looking for a� younger guy. So I signed up for real-estate school and gave that a shot. But with my crummy people-skills, that was doomed from the start.

The whole time, Ann was watching me. She worked at a VA hospital and was aware of the symptoms of PTSD. I had heard of it, but refused to consider it as a source for my problems. She started talking about it and showing me how many of the symptoms I had. I got angry with her, but she persisted until I finally agreed to go in to the vet center for help.

Well, when I went in there, the guy asked if he could help me. I just looked at him for a second and then broke out in tears. I hadn't cried since I left you-know- where, but now I couldn't stop. It was awful. I couldn't even talk.

That was in 1998. Since then, I've done a lot of talking and learning. I wish I had done it sooner. It doesn't make the symptoms much better, but it helps to be able to accept the fact that there's a good reason for the craziness in my life. Before, I just thought I was a bad person, you know?

Social Security took a look at me and put me on disability right away. The VA even gave me a raise, although we're still fussing about percentages. They send me a lot of pills and help me break out of my shell a little bit.

And so there we are... the full circle of my life. I sell books at giveaway prices as a way to pass the time and to communicate with real people on a short-term and superficial basis. It's not a bad life altogether. I'm freed from the necessity of working nine-to-five, but the price for that is further isolation from a world I never felt a part of anyway.

Like I said..... more than you want to know, eh?

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