It Was Time To Go

  It had taken Major C. a little longer than I had hoped to get me a discharge. He called me down to his office in February 1980 and gave me my discharge. I said goodbye to all my buddies and the drugs then I headed north to home. My home is in Glencoe, Al. about 60 miles north of Birmingham. It was good to be back home but I had left something behind that I much needed; drugs. Without the drugs is when my Demon first appeared in my dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched and panting. I was definitely running from Him. It was not an occasional dream, it was every night. The only thing that would quiet Him was the drugs. I had thrown away a potentially great medical career because I allowed my feelings for a dying man cloud my judgement. What was I to do, now. I had to work to care for myself in a new career. My brother was a carpenter, so, that is what I chose. I attempted to see the VA doctors but PTSD was not a recognized disease back in 1980. I was sent to a psychiatrist and was placed on anti-depressants, which did not work. Then the nightmares started becoming a huge problem that would interfere with my sleep, therefore, interfere with my waking hours. It is hard to be afraid to sleep and stay up half the night then try to do manual labor during the day. It does not work. I was building houses and working and walking walls sometimes 30 feet off the ground. I needed those pain pills. So, I started writing prescriptions from pads that I would steal from the doctors office or ER and taking them to a pharmacy and get them filled. This was too easy but it worked. For the next couple years I built houses and wrote prescriptions. Life was good. But, once again, life would bite me on the ass.    theblogmeister