Veteran PTSD Book: For Anyone Who Has Lost It All
Dr. John A. King Discusses His Book #dealwithit: Duct Tape for the Soul With Veterans and Trauma Sufferers
“#dealwithit: Duct Tape for the Soul is a book for anyone who has lost it all. If you have been shot at, faced with sudden loss, blown up, screwed over (or in my case, screwed), this book is for you. I like to think of it as duct tape for the soul.”
Dr. John A. King
#dealwithit Is a PTSD Self-Help Book for Veterans, Police and Trauma Sufferers
#dealwithit: Duct Tape for the Soul is the honest, raw, not-safe-for-work account of Dr. John A. King trying to piece his life back together, move forward and thrive after the spontaneous recall of over a decade of childhood sexual abuse by his parents and their friends. This recall event, or John-A-Geddon, was followed by the immediate onset of Complex Post Traumatic Stress, which led to the loss of his marriage, career, and health and will be of great benefit to anyone who suffers PTSD, who knows of someone that does.
This book shares John’s gritty process of rebuilding his life. On his journey, you’ll find practical tools, unlikely mentors and his trademark Aussie sarcasm. #dealwithit is the perfect book for anyone who is getting up to go again, or is in the middle of the fight and just needs to hear, “You can make it.”
We’re just not the men we use to be
One of my ex-military mates wrote:
“I thought I dealt with a lot of my issues and anxieties when I got out, but I hadn’t. Reading this book has encouraged me to get on with the recovery process in my life—to stop procrastinating, and just deal with it and move forward. It’s long overdue for me.”
Lcpl Xavier W. Webb, U.S. Marine
Watch Xavier’s review:
I wrote:
I would reach for concepts in my mind or skills, things that I remember learning, but couldn’t apply them or fully recall them for some reason. Previously performed tasks I had performed hundreds if not thousands of times before, were now a struggle to complete. I either simply couldn’t do them, or my competency level was nearly non-existent.
Things I used to like, I now couldn’t stand. Things I used to find challenging, I now enjoyed. I kept reaching for the old part of me, and it just wasn’t there anymore.
People would tell me it was just old age, but that never sat well with me. When speaking with some of my ex-military mates, men much younger than I, they all talked about the same issues. It’s not our bodies that are breaking down; we can still push those.
It’s our minds that concern us: they’re broken, and we’re just not the men we use to be. Literally. Those men were gone and would never be back.
My poem, from No Working Title: A Life in Progress:
Shadow of a Man
It is not the battle that concerns me
It’s not the obstacles that must be met that keep me up at night
It’s not the unknown that daunts me
It’s not fear of failure….I’ve failed many times before…
and like an old boxer, begged for one more round.
It is the sick feeling that I am
A shadow
Of what I could have been.
From a footnote:
Some folks object to my use of the term illness, they say it is a misdiagnosis and classification of PTSD. First of all, I don’t care what they think.
Secondly, I find it a lot easier to say, “I got sick, and my life fell apart because of it,” than to say, “I’ve got a mental disorder called PTSD.” All of a sudden, I’m lumped in with every whack job who has gone postal in the last 20 years.
That, my friends, is why many of our veterans refuse to talk about their conditions. People do not understand.
They will not employ us, but want to sit around and ask stupid questions like, “Did you kill someone over there?” Or, “What was it like having sex with your mum?” We will let some crusading social worker battle that front for us while we go for a beer and mock support pigs.
I see you trying
And on Father’s Day, I wrote:
I didn’t struggle with a guilty conscience, that part was broken. I struggled with being condemned as guilty. I felt everyone I had ever known was judging me for not being a big enough man not to have allowed this neurological change to affect me.
I spoke to a mate yesterday; last Sunday was Father’s Day. He is a veteran who saw and did some crazy stuff. He ended up with PTSD, divorced, and estranged from his daughters.
His girls didn’t even call him on Father’s Day. One of my girls didn’t call me. It was heartbreaking for us both.
It’s not that either of us wants or expects a free pass. It would just be nice for our girls or our exes or maybe even people who knew what we faced, to look at us and say, “I see you trying. I know things didn’t work out, I know things got too bad for everyone, but I see you trying.”
But they don’t, or can’t, or won’t.
This is for personal reflection, not medical or crisis advice.