THE GUN TOTING LIBERAL™

“So, why are you here?” asked the lady I had assumed was the receptionist. “To get my parents and my wife off of my back.”, I replied. “They are convinced I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and they are simply not going to quit nagging me until I can come back and tell them I came here and that’s that.”

The “receptionist” was eventually able to con me into relaxing my posture and opening up to her; after all, she was just the “receptionist”, right? I know you all know where I’m going with this one, don’t you?

“We have this short test we can give you. Takes about a half-an-hour and you’ll be on your way”, she told me. “Do you want to take it today or would you like to come back tomorrow or some other day? I agreed it would be best for me to just get it over with so we could all go back to our business. She cheerily jumped up and told me to pick anyplace I wanted to sit and offered a cup of coffee, which I quickly agreed to.

I assumed I’d take this “test” and give my name and number and get called back with the results. That’s NOT the way it went down. After I completed it, answers ranging from “Strongly Disagree” to “Strongly Agree” and between — one through five — I told the “receptionist” I had completed it and handed it to her, assuming I’d be on my merry way.

“I can score this for you if you have a couple more minutes”, she offered. I shrugged my shoulders and said “Why not?” We sat down again and she started adding up numbers and told me “It doesn’t look like you have PTSD according to your score. Hold on, let me double-check my math.”

“Wait”, she told me. “On this question, you answered this; what if I rephrased it like this?”, she asked. “Well, in that case, I’d have answered it like this.” This went on for about a half-hour and she kept running up this “score” on me. “This woman WANTS me to have PTSD”, I thought to myself. “What in the hell is she up to here?”

I’ve had a few flashbacks. Now I have a new one I cannot seem to shake for the life of me. This NEW one is of the nice-looking, professional-looking “receptionist” leaning forward with her face on her fists, elbows on the table, looking straight into my eyes and telling me “YEP. You’ve got it alright. My dear, you ARE a victim of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

It’s different — thinking to one’s self you MIGHT have a TOUCH of PTSD. It’s another thing to have your family and loved ones constantly nagging you to go get help because THEY think you might have PTSD. But when one thinks he’s dealing with a very professional “receptionist” who turns out to be the very first mental professional I’ve ever had such an intimate “chat” with in my life and SHE breaks the news — it’s a whole different world, my friends. At least, it has been for me so far.

Since Wednesday; the day this all went down; I’ve half-joked that this woman put a “curse” on me. Until now, I’ve been able to hold down my job and function well enough to do my job fairly well. Since Wednesday, I’ve had heart palpitations, flashbacks of this psychologist as described above, and I can barely make it to work much less be productive there. I’m not joking when I say I feel suddenly cursed.

Anyhow, she instructed me to go to the Veterans Administration and see a psychiatrist. I’ve never seen a psychiatrist in my life, but of course, I’ve never seen a psychologist either until a couple of days ago. This woman seems to have opened up a whole new can of worms for me and I must admit, I’m starting to feel real fear for one of the first times in my life. Tomorrow, I go for this visit and I’m genuinely frightened whether or not I’ll be coming into work to finish my shift. You can use your imagination to imagine where my imagination is going with this. Is this going to be like the “Hotel California” (or “Kah-Lee-Phone-Ya” for you Arnie S. fans of The Golden State)?

So, regular readers might be wondering why I’ve delved from the political realm to write such a personal post. Fair enough. For ONE, I’m still anonymous here. For TWO, my great friend Jay of Stop The ACLU, after a long phone conversation, encouraged me to do this; to cover my journey online in hopes of helping both myself and others who may just need to take the same action I have taken and face up to the fact we need to seek help.

Don’t worry, I’m still going to be o-pining on politics, full of the same “piss and vinegar” you’re used to seeing over here. I’ve always despised crooks and bullies have never been high on my list either. On the other hand, I’m going to ATTEMPT (as in no promises), to somewhat chronicle my battles, triumphs and losses in my fight against Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how THIS American veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom is dealing with it, at least on a somewhat regular basis. I’ll be creating a new category called “PTSD” and this will be the first post to be filed in it. Hopefully, it will not be the last.

Feelings right now — overwhelmingly GUILT. As if I have no RIGHT to have PTSD after the “gravy gig” (compared to so many others) I served in the desert. I’ve always considered myself a pretty tough guy — mentally and physically — the winner of more than a few of those bare-knuckle brawls (never started any of ‘em, I promise). To hear this diagnosis though, from a professional, and considering where and how I served, makes me feel like the world’s biggest WUSS in the universe when others gave and experienced so much more; endured so much more terrible atrocities than myself.