Positive releases of anger.

Over the years I have communicated with many who had been taught that anger was a sin or evil, that at every moment you needed to be in any other emotional state, other than anger. You could feel guilty, you could be sad, happy, content, the list goes on and on, but not angry. I was not brought up that way, so the concept of anger being bad never crossed my mind. I know there is righteous anger, but the way we release it, and it needs to be released, determines whether it is positive or negative.

It seems everyone knows the tale of the parent getting yelled at work for something they did not do and kept  in that anger until they got home and release it on the child who then releases it on the dog. The downward spiral of anger is very harmful, and it usually is not circular, it ends on the bottom, but the process can repeat over and over again. Or it can just be that one release of an angry burst toward someone who did not have anything to do with the cause.

I have been the target, many times, of displaced anger. Most times I would like to lash out and just pummel (verbally or written) them, especially when the anger was mix with an intent to inflict personal emotional injury. That has been a very difficult skill to continually exercise, but I am thankful that I have gotten much better.

So what can be a positive release of anger? I hate to even write the word but, exercise. Thankfully that is not the only positive way, or I would be seriously in trouble. You can scream, just out loud, not words, just the scream. I would caution you as to when to use this; you do not want to be in one of the next “People of Walmart” emails, or Youtube hits. There are hundreds of thousands of articles and websites which list a cornucopia (just really like to use that word at times) of ways. What is helpful for one does nothing for another. What works one time, might not the next.  Find many that work for you.

You can talk it out. This one has never worked for me. Although I see myself more on the rational side, I can talk myself into rational ways to negatively deal with anger. Some can use exercise, I swear, I am an oddity, (liked the word better than freak, plus it was the first to come up when I clicked for the synonym) when I exercise I just get even more angry and angry, that is if I begin exercising while I am angry. It seems the more negative energy that I release in that way builds more up. I can be totally exhausted and completely ticked off. I write and usually get distracted on a word in a sentence that I want to use but cannot think of it, so I look for it, then find another one, then wonder if that word would be good in another piece that I am writing, then think about the other piece, then… I get can get totally lost in writing, so much so that I must continually read what the topic is, or the past few paragraphs to remind myself what it was that I had begun to try and communicate in the first place. I also tend to get very calm doing very intricate work, like beading (I normally use size 15s in the seed beads and 1 – 1.8 in bicones and other beads), taking a toothpick and cleaning out the little spaces that can get dirt and grime into them (on the stove, the microwave, around the sink, even the push buttons on our cordless phone) take a paint brush to the edges of the trim (we are remodeling our house, as well as have added an addition).  I also like to think of new crafts, and ways to make the craft using items normally not used that way. Or I take out the propane torch and do a little “art.” But that’s me.

There are many ways to positively release anger, and having it is not bad, remember Jesus became quite angry in the temple area at the money exchangers, and he gave up his spirit sinless, so the emotion of anger is not a sin.

One final note, if you find that writing something out to release that anger helps, before sending it (if that is your thought), think about it, what will it actually accomplish, was that person even involved, or are you transferring the anger onto an innocent bystander who happened to wander into your sight at the time?

How the truth was changed without my realization.

How the truth was changed without my realization.

It happens to many, and I would not have even thought about it unless I had looked back at my journal entries to help with my healing. After I had been sexually assaulted, I had known it. I had written in my journal that night that I knew I had been sexually assaulted; my supervisor had tried to rape me. I was righteously infuriated by the response of not only my fellow comrades, but also the Captain, who was our compound commander, especially considering we were Security Police. I had gone straight to the desk, straight to tell what had happened; only to learn the perp, my supervisor, was already there and saying that it was a joke. During the assault his own Military Working Dog also knew what was going on and attacked him. So he tried to say that he was tickling me and that is when his MWD bit him, the “joke” that he said was that his dog did not want to lose an “easy piece of ass.” I could not believe the others were not only buying the lie but laughing at it, at me, at the sexual assault. I read on through the next months to see the change in the truth, the change that I was now buying into. So many had continually told me that I had just “misunderstood” the assault, it was just that he was tickling me.  Because of the continual harassment and further horrors I went through from his doing, eventually I began to question myself, did I really misunderstand? Did it really happen the way that I knew it had? Under extreme stress I started to say that I had been tickled, that even though the “joke” I knew was still sexual harassment, that is what it became. The truth had changed; they had been successful in changing what was a sexual assault to sexual harassment, even in my own statements that I made, I could see how torn I was. I wasn’t torn that night of the assault, I knew what happened when I wrote about it, yet even with the complete understanding that it was a sexual assault, where had I began to question my own truth?

            Did your truth change because of what others told you? Did you ever question what you had known was right, known what happened, what it was, to something else? It is the ploy of the perp as well as others to do this, to change the truth to protect themselves, to make something horrible not so. Most understand the perp’s reasons, but why the others? There are many reasons. In the military, one of them is that you do not turn on your own. Even though the victim has been the one who was turned on, it is easier to go along with the perp, to discount the abuse, discount it was sexual, discount that your unit is not cohesive, discount that dishonor runs rampant through the services. Since the majority of perps are higher in rank than the victim, many just see the stripes, the shiny pieces of metal on the shoulders and that is all they see, rank vs rank, and in the majority of the cases that means the victim loses before she or he even opens their mouths.

            One of the hard parts in this path of healing has been to look over what I have accepted because of the want of others to replace the truth with something else. I do not blame myself for their brainwashing. I am not of weak character for it to have occurred. Just as they wanted what happened to be something else, I had also, for different reasons though. I really wanted it to have never happened; I wanted it to be a “misunderstanding.” I wanted to accept their lies because it was easier, it was less horrible than the truth. Now I know that although I still would love the truth to not be what it is, that is not healthy for myself or others. What happened did, it was sexual assault, it was attempted rape, his MWD did attack him (even his own dog knew), I was betrayed. As hard as it was to accept what I knew as the truth, what I had written, it is so much better.

           

Evil choice

The words that were used.

There have been times that I have been stuck in the investigation and understanding of what has happened to me. My thoughts were that if I only could figure out the red flags that I missed, or the “why me” I could prevent being sexually assaulted again. But that is so not true. It is yet another way to try and control the chaos that we call life. It has nothing to do with the “why” from me, it had everything to do with the “why” in his mind, and that cannot be figured out. You cannot read another mind, you cannot truly know what they are thinking, what they are scheming, or what they are planning to do.

Sure looking back some see the “red flags” they assume they missed, or they pushed out of their minds with “oh that’s not what he meant,” but is it really necessary to try and figure it all out? For keeping yourself safe, listening to what your feelings were at the time can be helpful, but sometimes there were no red flags, you look back and cannot see what “you did” that would have caused it, what “you did” that would keep it from happening again. The horror of it all is that it wasn’t what “you did,” (or did not do) you cannot make yourself completely safe. Because evil exists in this world, there truly is no “safe” place. I challenge any therapist to tell me where this “safe place” is, and I will give them a scenario that makes it not safe. But just because the world is not safe does not mean that we try and hide ourselves away from everyone hoping the less contact with others, the less possibility to be hurt. That is not healthy. We are social and made to be with one another, to help one another, to love one another, and at times while we are doing this, bad things will happen. Bad things happen to good people all the time. It is not what has happened to you, but how you perceived what happened.

I thought back to when I had been first assaulted in the military. The perp told me that I wanted what was happening to happen, that I liked it, that it was me that caused this to happen. That’s a load of bull that we need to get rid of. It is these words that were used by the perps and by others to have us wondering what it was that we did. To try and shift the blame back on us. The perps do it to get out of what they did, to rationalize to themselves, to put blame somewhere else, and even to help turn your own mind against you. Others use these words to make their seemly safe world stay that way, to block that there is true evil in this world, that another can take pleasure in the humiliation and torture of another human. That is why so many people want to associate some type of mental illness with someone who commits these acts, they do not want to really know that there is nothing mentally ill about these people; they have just chosen evil. They did not just sit back and let things happen, they acted upon the evil, they made a choice to do it. And you cannot understand the reasons why they choose that evil, it just is.

So why do we choose to use words that would give some responsibility to what happened back on us? Because we are bombarded with them. Our bodies knew what was happening, our minds just tried to rationalize something that is not rational, give meaning to something that is meaningless, find the red flags so that it does not happen again. Evil will still happen. We need to know that, accept that, and move to live in a world with that knowledge. All those words are used to protect others, not ourselves. To protect the perp from the responsibility (and rightful consequences) of their choices, to protect the rest from taking their heads out of the sand and admitting there is evil, there is not true understanding of it, we cannot put some diagnosis on it, it is not a mental illness, it was a mental choice, an evil mental choice.  

Leaving the Bubble 21 February 2012

Left my Bubble for the annual Texas Veterans Commission Summit earlier this month, and am just being able to feel my normal.

I had a table there, to set up information about MST and my books. It went well, all except having to recoup from leaving my bubble. What is my bubble? Well it is the places that I have considered, not safe, there is no where on earth that truly is safe, but where I am familiar with, I have scanned the area, I know the exits, I know the layout. Also I can get home in a reasonable amount of time if I cannot deal with the noise, smells, sounds or people. Away in Austin, there is so much to be anxious about, and I was. This was the first time that I was "public" (in person) and talking about MST to people I was not familiar with; the first time after being dumped by the National Organization of Women because I did not fit into their agenda (1992). That was a hard lesson to learn. I truly thought they wanted to help me out, to bring light to what had happened to me, what was happening to other women in the military. They knew my story and right before I got in front of the media I was asked to leave out certain parts, parts which did not politically run in line with their agenda. I did not, I was there to tell what happened, not to be censored by an organization that was supposed to care about what was happening. NOW victimized me, they betrayed me and left me. I would not use the words "fetus" and "miscarriage," that is not what happened, I used "murder" and "baby" because that was what happened. They knew my political views, they knew the story, they just wanted media for their own agenda, and it was NOT to help women, it was to further their own political presence. So I closed up, publicly, and it took years to work through that revicitimzation that they knowingly caused.
Austin was different. I was not the same person standing behind the table that had sat in front of the live cameras. Even though I am much older (and hopefully wiser) I had a new since of anxiety, than I had back in 1992. Back then I did not know that I no longer was able to comprehend and absorb information as I had done prior to my concussion.  At the time I knew there were gaps in my memory, but I had kept meticulous journals, so even without being able to mentally recall events, I had evidence they happened. As I said, I did not know this new me, I did not realize that just trying to learn something new was now going to be a chore, as it was so easy before. I have taken classes over and over on the same subjects hoping with each additional class, each additional book that I read, something would stay.  My new anxiety was forgetting what I knew. Forgetting what I had written in my book about MST. That is the worst. For the past 20 years I have been educating myself as much as possible, but my ability to keep that information is limited. I once read a quote on line, thought "that's good, I need to quote this person" only to realize the quote was from what I had written. I wanted to quote myself. Not only an annoyance, but serious anxiety when you are talking about the subject without the comfort of a manual to follow. Then there are the days that my brain just wants to stop working, where I can think for hours on how to spell the word "if." I know what it is, at least I have the feeling that I know the word, used it millions of times, but when words are gone, simple words, it's hard to answer questions when you know at any moment the conversation could change to Latin, and I don't know Latin. Not that the other person has any idea that what is coming out of their mouth seems to be %**&&^E*, but they are still talking English.

My English teachers would have a field day with me. I can go from complex psychological jargon, sentences that are the entire paragraph to first grade and "see me write," and not realize that my mind has once again misplaces a whole book full of words.

I know, I digress. Back to the bubble. So I am out of my bubble, out of the area that I know, with anxiety levels off the charts, which lowers my already compromised immune system (thank you toxic chemicals from Saudi, as well as the others that were shot into me - Air Force). After I get back, it's about a week later that I can get out of bed and do a little around the house. Two weeks later and I am back to just about where I was before I left. Now as long as nothing else attacks my immune system, and I stay away from stress (I have teenagers, this is almost an impossibility) I will function at my normal again in three weeks.

Many do not understand the toll that stress (anxiety, hypervigilance, negative thoughts - PTSD) can have on a person's ability to keep their immune system working to keep away the simplest viruses that are an everyday attack.
Back to finishing up the 200 promotional necklaces that I am doing for the next VWise program.

I don't feel my age, I feel dead

I turned, but my knee did not and now I sit thinking that life would be nice without pain. I injured myself, well was injured in the service, and those injuries are compounded on the fact that my body is older than it was. I am in an exercise program and the 70 year olds are asking if I am ok. Having been seriously active all my life, then the military, multiple injuries and life is not the same. I am not saying things could not be worse, oh they could, but I watch my 17 year old daughter, the same age that I signed up for the military, and see how she just spurts around, leaping here and there. I was like that, I had that ability. Just as I was, she has a thin frame, but very strong, and I miss it. I am waiting for her to come to my side while we are on the mat and say, "mom, maybe you need to just take it easy."
I have to laugh since my instructors now tell me that if it hurts to slow down or stop, so different from the screaming in your face if your leg isn't blown off, it better be moving. The suck it up, suck up the pain, deal with the swollen joints, the multiple bruises, the cuts, the bites, the whole lot of it and all the time thinking that I was being "strong" and "tough." At the same time that this strong and tough thought was going through my head, the damage to my body, the damage that cannot be undone was being compounded upon.
I remember the pull off the 10 foot cliff in the jungles of Panama, the log that stopped my decent and split. The rocks which were plucked out of the side of my face and forehead, the pain of my neck and knee and shoulder. The pounding in my head for days. I was taken to the ER, no x-rays, just the go back to the barracks and if you are still hurting tomorrow, come in. I had been knocked unconscious, my head was throbbing, I had little holes in the side of my face and forehead from where the rocks were plucked out by a syringe. I did go back the next day, had all the complaints (only thing they decided to list on my medical charts was my knee because it was completely swollen). So I get one day to recuperate and  back to the long hours of walking around all night, catching dogs by the arm (with a rap of course) and training, and working and thinking that I was being strong. I was told to suck it up and I had. Even when the tears began to fall, I did not return to the ER, you only are allowed there once, I already had been the next day and that was looked down on. I mean, hey I should have just sucked it all up, instead of going to the ER just took out my knife and plucked the rocks out myself, yes a little sarcastic.
So now that the curve of my neck is backwards, I have arthritis, degenerative disc disease, bulging disk, pain, pain that i am not about to suck up. Pain that I had put a claim in for, and the VA did x-rays (a few months after I was out) sure enough in the x-rays the curve going the wrong way, but a denial stating there was no record of treatment for cervical injury. You know, neck pain, that could just be about anything, like maybe the fact that I was pulled off a 10 foot cliff, hit my head on a log, my face buried into the dirt enough for rocks to get imbedded in my face, then another accident and again no x-rays, sure that's not why when I went into the military my neck was fine and now its just always in pain, different levels of pain, but pain none the less.
That is one of the frustrations being a veteran. You are told to suck it up, that you cannot go to the ER, that you need to get back out on the flightline, or in the jungle, you suck it up to be a tough solider and when you are crippled and in pain, the VA says there is no treatment for the condition. So as medical personnel they did a terrible job, doing the same thing, telling us to suck it up, only putting one listed complaint in our medical records, and now we pay again.
Constant pain has a way of making you a little irritable, and I guess this is my venting for some of it.

If my head wasn't attached...03 December 2011

It is another horrible triggered anniversary time for me. I would say that it was just one date, but it is not this whole time from about September until about April, ok, yea, it's a long time. But there were so many things that happened one after another and so I begin to spiral around this time. It's even worse thanks to the VA.

It was 2007 or 2008 and this guy had broken into our house, into my daughter's room she was about 13 and he stated to the cops that he had just "fallen though the screen" into her room. I had my car window smashed in and my purse taken out while I was just running into the church for a second. I did not have it even on the seat, it was buried in the back. So I was not doing well and told this to my VA social worker. Because of the clinic that I was near they did not have a pharmacy so it would be seven days for a new prescription, and if that did not work then it would be another seven days at the least to get another. I was anxious and not functioning really at all.  So my social worker's idea is to go to the Waco VA hospital and be there for a day or two to see what med combination will work.

I get there and it seems ok. They know that I am just there to have a medication adjustment. So my husband leaves while I am taken up to the floor to be checked into the ward. I get there and I am told that I have to strip, that I need to take everything off except my underwear and a see-through gown is waiting for me. After I put it on and about froze I asked for another. The next one they gave me had a blood stain on it on the chest when you closed it. So there was a lady who gave me the gown, but she is gone and this guy comes in and I am escorted to a locked down mental ward...yes, you are reading this correctly. Not only is this a lock down unit, there are no women in there, except me. There are no other women patients, there are no women staff! I am locked up with about four other patients. My room cannot be locked and neither can my bathroom. The view of the staff does not include the bathroom, even on the monitors so if I was attacked in there I would have to just defend myself.

As I sat in the middle of the ward not wanting to move, in comes a police officer who had another patient, this patient is a huge male, with chains from his handcuffs to his ankle cuffs, that go through the metal loops on his leather belt. He is not happy about being there and tells them all when he is let out of his cuffs he's going to kill someone. So what do they do? The let him out of his cuffs and leave the ward.

I quickly went over to the closed in staff area and got the attention of one of the guys and asked if I could use the phone. I called my husband who was on his way home and told him to turn around and get me the heck out of there. I did not say it loud and I was more cryptic because I did not want anyone to know what I was up to at the time. I had just described the all male unit and there was another patient that had just arrived in cuffs and was let go. I smiled at the staff and handed back the phone, went back to the table and continued to write in my journal to keep my mind off what was happening to me. I was disassociating, I blocked where I was, I was not mentally there and I did not respond to my surroundings. My husband arrived and on his way into the building he came across a Chaplin, who he befriended and told him that he needed to get his wife out of there, now. So with him working on the other side and me on the inside and in an interview where I was telling them that I felt much better and that I think my meds had not kicked in when I arrived. I talked long enough that a phone call came and it was the Chaplin and I was finally released a few hours later.

As I got into the car I lost it, I sobbed uncontrollably and just shook. This was the VA's help to a person who was having a medication adjustment for anxiety because of her PTSD from MILITARY SEXUAL TRAUMA!!!! That was what was on my file. That was what I had told the intake person. That I was there to adjust meds from being triggered from my PTSD due to MST. So now when I get to the time where I cannot remember things, cannot concentrate, it is back to the time when I was in the middle of it in the military. I freak out. I do not want to ask for help because help was just another trauma added to what I have already been through thanks to the military.

This is what I go through. I do not ever get to forget what happened, I get reminded ever time I go into the VA clinic. I get reminded every time they ask if I was sexually assaulted and then check it on the check list they ask, year after year after year. I have medical problems which when I am discussing them I have to think back to Saudi back to the last assault that happened to me, back to the horrific torture and the murder of my unborn child, all on purpose, all caused by "my brother in arms." I get exams to figure out what is wrong with me (Gulf War syndrome) and then the questions come. Every time I go in for a "women's clinic" annual, or see someone differently I am asked how many times I have been pregnant, and how many of those were "live births"? Many women have had miscarriages and that is a trauma all it's own. Mine was not spontaneous it was forced by my superior and commander.

When I became pregnant, my commander would not accept the urine test, I was made to have 5, one of them with someone standing over me while I peed, like a drug test. He disregarded my physical wavier that is Air Force Regulations when someone is pregnant. I was posted out where the entire area was surrounded by permanent cross bones and skull signs with writing in Arabic (the Saudi government had put them up long before the Air Force decided it was a good idea to put our bomb dump, and for SP's to be posted there). I was attacked, I was forced to work and when I threw up and was coughing up blood I was told that if I went to the hospital that it would just delay me getting out of the country. I was still in the country 13 days after my squadron had been told that I needed to be sent back to the states.

When I went into the tent hospital because of bleeding, I was visited by my supervisor who thought at the time I had had a miscarriage who stated that he was glad he "killed the bastard." While I was on complete bed rest and fighting for the life of my unborn child my commander came in and gave me paperwork for nonjudicial punishment. And when I stated that I was on complete bed rest, the only phone in the hospital was all the way across the tent hospital and that ADC was in Rihad, I was told that was my problem. My first sergeant actually had the gall when he came in to announce that my commander was coming in, that because of my condition I would not be required to stand at attention by my cot, but that I instead would have to sit at attention until I was given permission to be at ease.

By the way, my commander thought it so necessary to make sure that I was given the paperwork for nonjudicial punishment, and the "crime" was so bad, that it was the 15th of January 1991, the day the President had given as a final date. The day that the whole place went into lock down ready for war mode. He took the time away from presumptive war to give me the paperwork. So what was this crime that I was accused of? Not watering and cleaning my dogs side of the kennel on or about 11 January 1991 (I was admitted into the hospital the early morning of 11 January 1991!). Yea, and yes, even though I had witnesses that one was with me when I did it, and the other happened to be a guard who was by the gate and also gave a written statement, and I gave about a dozen names of others who could account for all the days from the time that my dog moved into that kennel, none of them were called in and asked any questions. Even though the commander, Lt Col Sandy Edge put in his statement of my rebuttal to the Article 15, that he had personally called in every witness and talked with them. He lied. He lied on a official document and I had two of my witnesses write up notarized statements saying that they were never talked to from anyone about me watering or cleaning my dogs side of the kennel. He got away with lying and he got away with murder! The Air Force discharged me, he got to retire with full benefits and move into other supervisory positions of grandor. This man, this perpetrator who when i first arrived stated in a guard mount briefing that all women and reservists needed to stay in the states where they belonged. This jerk who was so arrogant that he demanded that he be saluted when our compound sat with buildings which were under construction, full sight of the entire compound, while he wore shinny rank on his desert cammies, and his shinny rank targeted right on his head.

Of course I also that when I was released from the hospital and they had murdered my unborn child, I stated that I did not want to carry a weapon. I was not afraid that I would kill them, I was afraid that I would shoot someone who was innocent. I was very homosidal and he (because I said that I wasn't going to carry a weapon) ordered me to carry one! But the look on my face after he said that, he changed his mind about me being armed. The one intelligent decision that he made. But I would come in and report to him for the decision on the nonjudical punishment on my only day of convelesent leave. When I did, I gave a little speach and then demanded a court-martial. So he called in the first sergeant, they talked and the first sergent took me to the JAG office where he and the JAG officer kept me there and said that I was not going to leave until I signed for the Article 15 and not court martial. I was sick, I was dizzy, I was not able to make any of those decisions at the time. I had to use the restroom to throw up (I should have just threw up on the JAG's desk). But was told once I signed that I would be able to use the restroom, but not until. I was more or less ordered to sign, I did, went to the rest room and threw-up and about passed out. I should have been in bed. I should have been recoperating from all the blood loss, and the blood that I was still continually loosing. But no, I had to be there. JAG lied to me and stated that if I truely did not do what was charged that I could appeal it and that a third party would look it over, and if I did not do it then that third party would overturn the Article 15.

Yea I was more than a little upset when i rebutted the Article 15 and the letter that the JAG wrote that went along with it was that the Article 15 was not a consideration, that when a commander decides that the offence is committed that all that can be appealed is the punishment. All this I told IG when I got back to my base, state side and I was told that those were Social Action concerns.

So when I get to this point that I cannot not seem to not think about it and my body begins to feel as though I am there, and I begin to have the symptoms again, I cannot even go for help at the VA, I am not about to get put into another lock down facility with a bunch of men while I have only on my underware and a see-through gown, I am left to myself. Left to deal with the crying spells, the intrusive thoughts, all of it.

That is what it is like inside MST.

 

I live in a different physical world. 25 November 2011

My husband always tells me how wonderful he feels when he goes outside and works the land and get all sweaty, or when he works out, period. I hear so many others say the same thing, and also going onto Anger Management websites you get bunches of ways which include working out, walking, etc. Now I do not understand myself. I am ok if i just walk, take a little stroll and just talk (yes out loud, but nobody is around). But if I actually break a sweat I go from the calm walk to being angry. It's even more intense when I actually do work out, or do something which requires my muscles to actually work...I get ticked off. My mind begins to race down a deep dark thought process of angry then evil thoughts, where I can actually have the built up anger to hurt someone. I feel terrible after, like it's "coming down" from whatever my chemical imbalance has put me through. There is not even a level of exercise, any. Walking to me is not what I consider exercise because my breathing stays the same, my heart beat does not increase. My husband tells me all the time that I am "different," and I know that to be true. I use to love to exercise, love to run around to work on stuff, all of that. I loved doing that before the military, and up until I came back from Saudi Arabia, that is when I noticed that I no longer liked to do what use to be so euphoric to me.

So I have emailed someone in the Saudi Arabia government, off one of their websites, and asked them about the chemicals which were being used out at the bomb dump which I was posted. The bomb dump was right next to a plant nursery and there was run-off into this "pool." All around the area the Saudi Arabian government posted  permanent cross bones and skull signs. The Air Force figured it was a great place to put bombs, but someone has to watch and protect them until they are used, and that was one of the postings that I did. I got dumped into that pool and it was terrible. I go so sick, coughing up blood and other such stuff, but of course when you are LE, you suck up all pain. Complaining is for wimps and that is what you are not only taught from your peers but from up the chain of command. If you are sick you still work, it doesn't matter what you are coughing up. Even if you actually do go to the clinic (which for us was a house where these two medics were), you were back out working with aspirin and a serious stern look from the others. Noe that all these problems are coming back, and the Air Force has lost most of my medical records from Saudi, well I am told that it's just me, you know...all in the head. I'll tell you, my rashes are not in my head, the GI problems are not in the head, it's not just there, it's all through my entire body. And I just wish that the Air Force would tell me what it was that I was exposed to (well at least that pool stuff), so I can have somewhere to start. After that I would like the Air Force to tell me all about the other medications that they had me taking, the malaria pills, the other pills, the shots, the insect repellant that could take paint off a vehicle, the dip that we used to keep the parasites off our MWD's, that I was also dipped into. Just tell me all of it and I will then have somewhere to start!

Sure I have been through about five homeopathic detoxifications, nothing seems to work. The VA just gives me more pills, creams, powders, and that only causes serious side-effects. This all adds on top of having PTSD from combat and MST.

But I shall continue to seek out information about all of it, I will continue to demand the Air Force to tell me what I was exposed to. I will continue to seek out ways to figure out what I was exposed to. I am not about to allow the Air Force to use me as a guinea pig and then dump me off, nope. I want answers and I will not stop until I get them.