Combat PTSD and More: by Lawrence (WarHippy) Blouir

PTSD - A Wound of War

COMBAT PTSD, Recurring Nightmares, Survivor's Guilt, Lions and Sappers and Gooks, OH MY!  

How the Wizard gave me the courage to FIGHT BACK and WIN.

I know it's a long title, but I'll bet I got your attention.

This is my story, and only my story, but my nightly trips back to the Nam nowadays are for vengeance, not horrors of the past, and you might learn something important, so keep reading, PLEASE!  Cuz I want you to survive, too.

I signed up and was accepted into a three-month in-patient Combat PTSD Program in 1993. There were eight guys in a locked ward, so nobody could run away and give up.

We were all raging with PTSD symptoms, so you can just imagine how a lot of the nights went after lights out and we all went back in our minds to the horrors we witnessed in the Nam.

Many nights, one of the guys would startle himself awake violently and trigger other guys to do the same.  It was insane.  The people who took care of us had to be Saints with very big balls, cuz we were younger then and sometimes woke still in the Nam fighting for our lives, and anything that moved was the enemy. They did whatever it took to bring us down and back to reality.

Daytime was better, but not without its incidents.  We were RAGE-driven Vets and many times, the dining room, meeting room, or the day room would get completely wasted, but we retained enough self-control that we never hurt each other, or the cadre assigned to "babysit" us. Yes, sometimes they were just there to make sure we behaved and played well together.

NIGHTMARES:

Here is the technique that was suggested.  I followed it and it worked for me:

Keep a journal beside your bed.  The very first thing you do when you regain your senses after waking from a nightmare is write about it. Write every little detail you can remember, because the little details are very important.  They fade from your memory very quickly after you wake.

Most guys have one recurring nightmare that haunts them constantly. Write about it.  Never mind how many times you've already written about it, write it down and read it every day.

Look for important events that recur all the time, or the BIG BANG, that startles you awake in a pool of sweat, shaking. (I'm assuming that you're sober and in a combat PTSD group).

If the facilitator isn't smart enough to set aside time to talk about nightmares, suggest it to him. Go around the room and check in. Share the worst part of your nightmare and have the group discuss each person's personal hell.

My personal hell would always start on a bunker.  The gooks were attacking in waves, BUT I WAS THE ONLY ONE DEFENDING THE WHOLE BUNKER LINE!

I'd blow the claymores, blow the fu gas, then grab the 60 and spray the remaining gooks that were still coming.  Then I'd notice they were about to overrun the next bunker, so I'd jump down and haul ass to that one, blow the claymores and fu gas, grab the 60 and fire it, until I noticed the next bunker.
This seemed to continue forever, until I'd startle myself awake.  I was shaking, in a pool of sweat, most of the time crying, because I'd done the best I could, but I still couldn't save my buddies from the gooks.

That last line was the key to defeating the dream that had eaten my lunch for over 20 years. It wasn't my job to save everybody. We were a team.  We worked together to save each other.

In my nightmare, I was assigning myself a task that even John Wayne couldn't have pulled off. When my group finally made me see the no-win scenario I put myself in every night, the nightmare stopped.

I still go back to the Nam a lot at night, but it's a dream now, not a nightmare.  I'm a platoon sergeant, and I know my shit, and I'm at Travis air force base loading my men onto a bird headed back to the Nam.  This time, we're gonna finish this shit.  The funny part is, I'm still carrying the same "pig" I was firing from the bunkers in my nightmare.

My point in this whole article is, you don't have to let a nightmare control your life. You do have the power to make it go away.

YOU ARE A SURVIVOR!  So, Survive!

WarHippy - Lawrence Blouir

Lawrence "WarHippy" Blouir
MOS 63B20 Wheeled Vehicle Mechanic
1st Cavalry Division (AIRMOBILE)
8th Engineer Battalion
1st Air Cavalry Division
24th Duster Battalion
24th Corp Artillery
23rd MP Co.
23rd Infantry Division
Vietnam ’69, ’70, ‘71
The First Team

Bronze Star Medal
Air Medal
Army Commendation Medal

Other Articles by Lawrence (WarHippy) Blouir:

Drugs and The American Soldier in Vietnam
A Worthy Rebuttal on REMFs
The Ultimate Cost of "Freedom"
Memorial Day: The Changes Through Life
A Vietnam Veteran Speaks Out


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

The Long Journey: Rick Turton

Rick Turton

It was a long journey; 35 years, as a matter of fact. Compared to many, an easy trip, but a long and difficult time coming regardless.

There were times when I was racked with survivor’s guilt, left wondering “Why him and not me?” The first two years or so filled with violent, physical nightmares; the kind that hurt me and hurt others, too.

After they settled into the background, (more or less), came the counseling…long, long hours of counseling.

When I could no longer afford the counseling, I walked away. Not by choice. The subject of Viet Nam was always in the background though, lurking in the shadows, just past my field of vision…most of the time anyway. There was no one else around who knew…really knew, except my best friend.

I was never able to share any of my experiences with my father, a World War II vet (who never left stateside, but still…). I did try to tell my boys about some of the things I encountered.

Then, much later, after helping my wife raise two young men into responsible, and then married, adults came the advertisement that would change it all; “Coming this week-end! A traveling scale model of the Viet Nam Memorial wall!”

Let me tell you, that loosed the dogs of war! They started major hostilities inside my head! Some days, the “Good Guys” would win the struggle; other days, the bad guys would hold the high ground. It took days of inner turmoil, but I finally decided that I needed to compartmentalize a few things and move on.

It was set up in the front land area of a Christian Church in the outskirts of Grass Valley, CA; a gorgeous, tranquil setting nestled amongst the pine trees in the foothills of the Sierra. When you first arrive, you are directed to a parking lot close to the entrance. There are booths and displays set up by several support groups from the VFW to Viet Nam Vets Harley Owners Group. In the church itself, free food, coffee and haircuts were being offered along with prayers and guidance.

At about two decibels lower than a carnival midway, I began to wonder if we had done the right thing! We’d asked my son and daughter-in-law if they wanted to go along with us. They readily agreed. In hindsight, I’m not sure if they knew what they were getting into. We walked along the marked path towards a group of tents. Inside, there was artwork and Viet Nam memorabilia for sale. We walked through the tents and past the artwork, anxious to get to the wall.

What a sight! It started at ground level and built up towards the center, like the waves of war; each section was bigger than the previous one. And the names! The incredible number of names! 57,662 young men and women who gave their all for America! The enormity of the sight brought both my wife and I to tears! She looked at me and said, “An entire generation, wiped out…gone!” We were so overwhelmed!

She made her way back to the tents because there was a desk with a computer manned by volunteers. If you knew the name of someone who was killed in Viet Nam, they could tell you the panel number and line number where the person would be located. Sadly, she knew two young men. A short search and her friends were located; you can’t help yourself, really, you’re compelled to reach out and softly touch their names. Our daughter-in-law accompanied her through this journey and my son kept a respectful distance just off to my left and behind a little ways.

I set off on my own journey. I was just staring at the wall, trying to make some sense of it all in when a volunteer quietly approached me and asked, “Excuse me, sir. Were you there? Were you in Viet Nam?” When I said that I was, he said, “Thank you, sir. Thank you for your service.” He then said, “May I give you a hug, sir?” I said, “Sure, why not?” and we hugged. After a brief moment he said, “Thank you again, sir” and, just as quietly moved off.

As I was trying to understand the feelings that were churning around me, my son came up and asked if I was all right. I just nodded because I didn’t trust myself to speak at that moment. No one had ever thanked me for my service before! A short time later, another volunteer came up and asked the same question; “Were you there, sir?” When I again replied that I was, he said, “May I pray with you?” Again, I just nodded and he took my hands and he said a short little prayer thanking God for my safe return and asking that He watch over me and my family. Again, he thanked me and quietly moved off.

After a while, I realized that something was happening inside me; the dogs of war being muzzled; they are still there, but much quieter. The weight of my shame had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer hung my head. When I walked back to the car that day, it was as a totally different person who walked out through that tent. For the first time in my life, I said to myself and later said it aloud, “Yes…I am a Viet Nam Vet!”
And I now I say it proudly! “I am a Viet Nam Vet!”

I still do not understand why we were there. This was a politicians war; no more, no less. I learned a lot since that visit to the wall. I may not necessarily support the war, but I will ALWAYS support the Warrior.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale