My therapist is some comfy, suburban, white, aerobicized, educated and yet clueless, doubtfully well meaning creature who doesn't listen to me and keeps ignoring what I say. And it's not like I'm shy about pointing out that the only I hate more than saying "No" once after I've been clearer than crystal is saying "No" again. This has been going on for years. I think I'm entitled to some degree of sarcasm. In fact, it's positively therapeutic. That's more than one can say for the approach the VA consistently takes, which might be called, "Let's just ignore how blunt you are and pretend that we're doing or saying anytihng, shall we?"
My nieces learned this lesson really fast. Make me say no twice and you'll piss me off and definitely not get whatever it was you were trying to get. After three times, I get pissed. It's a simple system. The VA needs to be sent to bed early with no TV and no dinner for the rest of their existence.
But the VA thinks they can break soldiers' wills---especially when they're already down---and then boot them out. More and more I'm beginning to think that this is not a bug, its' a feature. They know they have to diagnose people with glaring cases of PTSD. What they do from then on is a complete and total cluster fuck.
One thing people always says when I talk about the VA is to go, 'I'm sorry this has happened to you."
Number One: this didn't happen to me. That's passive voice. People have decided to do this to me and other veterans. It happens too consistently for it to be a coincidence, kind of like the way a whole bunch of Republican governors decided to try and bust the unions all at once.
And the VA did it over my objections, and were absolutely horrified and shocked when not only did I get mad, I got active as well. I have my state Senators and Representatives on speed dial. I'll call the governor's office if I have to. I'm thinking such a phone call may be necessary.
One thing I really hate is when these 'therapists' ask me a really stupid question. "Why do you think you have panic attacks?"
Sometimes I resort to sarcasm. "IF only there were a medical professional with a speciality in psychiatric illnesses around that we could ask, instead of asking the patient why the sky is blue."
After four years of me trying to ask the shrink that very question myself---because you know, I'm not the one who's the doctor-----I'm a bit less patient. You'd have thought they'd crack open the damned textbook now and then.
"Why do you think you have panic attacks?"
"How the FUCK would I know?! I thought you were the one with the medical degree. You mean you're just a janitor in a lab coat? Security! Somebody call security!"
But answers have not been forthcoming. From the VA, that is. Even getting medication from these assholes has been difficult. They're all doctors, yet they have fucked up my meds repeatedly, trying to get me to go back on old meds that didn't work, meds that I'm allergic to, or just letting my prescriptions lapse after they cut off specialized transportation, because my disability is not visible. It's become clear that they think that they can force me (and I've no doubt, other vets) to reveal that my panic attacks and illness are not as bad as they are if they back me into a corner of their creation, which is part of a general skepticism---if not outright contempt----that the VA exhibits toward many veterans. Published accounts have revealed that the VA is under pressure to reduce diagnoses of PTSD and other service-related disorders while increasing their findings of 'personality disorder' with its bonus-producing lack of connection to service in uniform. In one especially famous case, a specialist named Towne testified before Congress as to how, after being within a few meters of a mortar explosion, he suffered ruptured ear drums and subsequent nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks----classic signs of PTSD, with the added trauma of a debilitating injury.
The VA diagnosed him with personality disorder. As to his lost hearing and horribly damaged inner ears, they simply refused to address those factors, ignoring it with a great deal of effort till called to account by Congress. Specialist Towne thus wound up fighting the VA longer, harder, and more bitterly than he fought the insurgents, who, Iim sure you'll have noticed, actually did their best to kill him. The fight for benefits---now averaging about four years----is a horrible ordeal for soldiers suffering from debilitating PTSD. Untreated mental illness tends to get worse, and so the suicide rate amongst American soldiers is the worst it's been in decades, even by the Army's lax standards, which are designed to minimize wherever possible any possibility of Army culpability. If you have a girlfriend, then by God, you killed yourself because of her. Out of the Army? Buh bye, we're no longer responsible for you. The bureacratic abandonment and almost abusive dismissals are cruel, compared with the camaraderie many soldiers experience in the ranks. The switch from one to the other is in itself a jarring event to adjust to.
Shoshana Johnston, who served with and was captured with Jessica Lynch, was shot in both ankles and held captive for 22 days after the battle of Nasiriyah, during which she had to watch several fellow soldiers die after her company got lost in the blistering battle that followed. The 507th was unprepared for full bore combat and hadn't received any training in refreshing those skills or even in what they might face in Iraq before they were deployed. Her job was to prepare meals.
Although the Army awarded her three medals---the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, and the POW Medal----the VA decided she was only 10% disabled. After the disparity between her VA awards and that of Lynch's was publicized in the press, her percentage was increased to 100%.
This is common with the VA. No matter how seriously injured you are, they play games with you. They tell you it's just a scratch. They ask you what you think is wrong, when you haven't got a frickin' clue. Years or months later, they admit that your arm and leg were actually amputated, and give you a hundred percent---but by then, you're dead or homeless. Where does the money they were due go? Into VA staffers' bonuses. Denying veterans' their benefits is a big profitable deal for VA bureaucrats, who get bonuses for their 'efficiency'. And the VA does not find it necessary to help and assist veterans in filling out the forms and following through on cases----while the veteran is denied treatment because his claim is 'being processed.' As I have learned, send it registered mail. Otherwise, the VA will just say it never got there, or got lost. More likely, it got shredded. What turns up in the press about the VA's malfeasance, it's seriously under reported.
So while these people dither, veterans whose injuries might have been treated, whose lives might have been improved or restored---those veterans sicken and wither and finally, many of them die. Some of them by their own hand. And then the Army or whichever service desperately looks for anything else to blame it on.
This, by the way, is medication for profit. If you deny the sufferer medication, you save money, because money is the object, not the patient. This is why there are some things that must not be done for profit or agenda-----education, healing, law enforcement, and I would argue, prisons, because the most disadvantaged, the most desperate, are often given the most horrifying sentences sentences, while the people who show the least remorse and do the most damage get the least. This is politics. It is not what's right. Show me a corner drug dealer and I bet you can make of him a more honest, hard working, civic-minded citizen if he or she is given good rehab, supervision, education, and work. Ahem. Veterans suffer from the same malaises that the rich and the powerful inflict on the general public; however, we are also given the tools to fight back, however much it's resented on an individual level.
I've been on the same anti-anxiety drug for four years, off and on. I've begged and asked for something else, as this one leaves me suffering just about everything but the sharp edge of the worst symptoms. My therapist demurred at the thought of switching, because she was worried, she said, about "addiction."
"After four years?" I said with bitter sarcasm. "It's just a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit late for that, don't you think?"
"Will you stop shouting at me?"
I've noticed that every time I lean forward or emphasize a word, my shrink accuses me of shouting at her. In fact, I've perfected the use of the Scary Voice, which is low, precise, and accompanied by an expression in the eyes that used to make my mother cross herself---ironic, because it was in her almond-shaped eyes that I first saw it myself.
So for the past two years we've been fighting over medication. She's giving me a drug for anxiety that can cause......anxiety. Do these people ever check their own drug labels? So trusting was I that it took me years to realize that nobody was doing this. She comes up with excuse after excuse. And she's really determined to get me locked into a schedule that I know I can't keep----Hell, I can't go out like normal people do for dinner or any of the things that civilians take for granted. I haven't eaten out in a restaurant in nearly a decade, unless you count fresh kebabs on the street somewhere in Kerbala. I don't go shopping----too many people, too many entrances, too much territory to scout. I don't go to movies. Darkness. Can't sit with your back against the wall. And so on.
That's the other thing. The VA manages to give you the impression, ever so subtly, that they don't believe you. Never mind that I wave away pain medication that addicts lust for; it's not the stuff that works for me. Toothaches and headaches---those are my vulnerabilities. Never mind the months of despairing phone calls as my world slowly ground to a paralyzed halt that culminated in a suicide attempt that could have been stopped long before then......No, I and all these other veterans must be faking it, because what could be more fun than not being able to work, not going out every day and earning one's keep, not being able to people watch, not being able to meet new people, deprived of seeing new things, even just take a bus to and fro.....All of that's gone. It says something about VA staffers that they think a blinkered existence stripped of all the little pleasures in life is somehow something to be plotted for. I used to ride my bike to and fro, taking pictures, going to the Farmer's Market. What price do you put on that?
In therapy, one finds one's self 'counseled' by people who used to be investment bankers a few months ago and who now hand out yoga and meditation CDs while doing presentations on the DVD player of some dodgy thing called, "Ten Days to Better Self Esteem."
"My self esteem's fine," I said flatly. What I need help with are these nightmares and panic attacks."
I'll never forget the trapped look on the face of one of these counselors when I asked him if this particular offering had been peer-reviewed.
He didnt know what that meant.
The first therapy group they put me in consisted of sex offenders and a vision of a therapist that I feel I have to apologize for, because he was just that much of a cliche: an older white guy, with artfully frosted beard and hair (with the telltale stiffness, shinyness, and smell of gel), leather patches on his tweed jacket and cowboy boots that had never seen any horse or cow shit on them, ever. If he doesn't fuck the more functioning of his female patients, he's fucking the interns. Sadly, I suspect he lacked the grandness of (bad) character necessary to fuck the cows or horses, however.
He was curiously silent while the sex offenders and the lonely shoplifter amongst them whined about how harassing their underlings got them disciplined---which, in the Army, is just about impossible, so these guys were essentially whining about getting a speeding ticket while other speeders zipped by, taunting Our Unlucky Protagonist. To the question, "Why me?" none of them ever answered, "Because I'm a sleaze?" One guy lost his security clearance, and he sounded like a Rush Limbaugh quote to come to life when he ranted about it. "What's wrong with appreciating a nice little tushie going down the hall?"
He was a lieutenant Colonel. I'm pretty sure at that rank he did more than appreciate what were apparently disembodied body parts floating down the hallway, sans the human being one usually finds attached to these things. He of course blamed the women for losing him his security clearance.
The therapist said nothing at this. He took out a tin of Burt's Bees lip balm and applied it, then practiced his concerned but neutral facial expressions. Nothing like seeing institutionalized sexism in action when one of the things that traumatized you was....institutionalized sexism in action.
Another man done wrong by a woman was a cop who beat up not just his girlfriend---but his wife and harassed a woman at work. He felt this was a symptom of his suffering, and that all three should have been more understanding. He didn't need therapy; he needed punishment. Sometimes people do shitty things not because they're sick but because they like to abuse other people. They almost never pick CEOs to attack, however.
The therapist was silent.
Shortly thereafter, the VA issued a press release talking about new forms of treatment it had created for women. These new forms of treatment have yet to show up at my local VA.
Then there was the other therapy group. Dear God, the other therapy group.
This time it was all women. They were nice, quiet, considerate, almost meek women---and none of them had been any closer to combat than I have been to, say, a party where more than one fork accompanied any one setting. I was told to be tactful. Then they asked why I was there and I found that there was no definition of tact that encompassed whitewashing war to the kind of the neutrality they required. You cannot be neutral about war, nor tactful, and you should not ask a soldier to make war nice for you. It wasn't for them. In fact, too many civilians have too much luxury, not just about war, but about the way life is for so many others leading less safe lives. Thus buffered, they find it too easy to slip from ignorance to indifference to disdain. Articulating this was at that point impossible for me, but during that endless, polite day in the second therapy group, a list was offered to me that summed up exactly what was missing from the VA's version of therapy.
It was supposed to be a list of potential stress relievers. It was so inappropriate for someone in my career path, in my life, in the Army itself, that I had to include it here. Anybody who'd put me in that group, with the belief that this shit would help me, has not been listening, cannot listen, and more importantly will never listen. It's been years now. I'm entitled to a certain degree of anger.
Ahem.
Give an honest response instead of a polite one Does this include the time I said "Motherfucker" for the first time? To a priest?
Speak out rather than staying quiet Wow, waste of syllables there.
Dress in a countercultural style What. The. Fuck. Does. This. Mean. You.Dumb. MOtherfucker? Does this mean when I used to go out clubbing with my leather bear friends, wearing a fishnut body stocking, a gee string, and strategically placed black plastic tape? We once made our own impromptu parade when I supplied lasagna to a party at which I was the only straight, white, female, non-leather-wearing person. It was impressed upon me that I had to accept an escort home, so with the lasagna pan having been scrubbed to a near-reflective polish, and carried very carefully by a huge leather daddy in assless chaps, we made our way home at about three in the morning, chatting about lasagna and the sheer perfection that is garlic.
Challenge statements when you disagree Again, how is this not a fact of life?
Choose mediocrity rather than drama I hate it when people call it drama when in a lot of cases it's passion. And mediocrity is not an option----except to the people who wrote this shit.
Drop out of things that are not effective Well, welcome to the party, Sherlock. Isn't this the point at which the therapists ought to fall on their sword?
Follow your passion rather than your expectation Yeah, what? Huh?
Wallow in creativity You first, there, Mrs. Brady. Seriously, assholes, this is known as independent confirmation that you buttnuggets haven't listened to one fucking word I've said.
Give yourself time to play I guess you have me confused with one of those people who takes housework way seriously.
Explore I would if you assholes would give me some decent medication, you patronizing human equivalents of beige.
Say no to family when they ask for a favor Welcome to the party, Sherlock. Again. You're a few decades late on this one. When I grew up, girls were the help and boys were the ones they waited on. Rebelling against this gave me my first taste of the price you pay for standing up for yourself in a sexist culture.
Leave the light on all day Who are you rebelling against? Con ed?
Get a butterfly tattoo I'm trying to imagine the lifestyle in which this act of pastel adornment could be considered jarring, angry, or divisive. Does Mariah Carey know her motif's been stolen?
Write a letter to the editor Sweetie, sometimes I call up the editor and chew them out personally. Next?
Run instead of walking Yeah, I wish. Let's get these morons to get up to speed on step one. I'd love to go back to being an eight-minute-a-mile runner.
Turn up the volume Put your headphones on, you inconsiderate jackass. Oh. Wait. Does this mean my asshole neighbors----? I'm trying to picture my neighbors in therapy. Hell, trying to picture this Gunny I knew once on the couch is enough to pull laughter muscles.
Food fight Spoken like somebody who can afford to waste food. Also, who's going to clean it up?
Roll down all the windows Not everybody has cars.
Play a different style of music. Let's see. Leave house, which ignores agoraphobia. Get in car I don't have and drive somewhere, despite massive flinching every time a car comes up behind me, or I see something at the side of the road. Cross parking lot.....Okay, fuck that. Yeah.
Leave things out of place I have cats. Trust me, this is taken care of.
Shout or scream alone Can I do it at my doc? Cause I have a list.
Cheat on a food plan Food plan? What the fuck is a food plan? I don't have much appetite these days, but if the day comes wehre I turn down lasagna or chocolate, just call the coroner.
Kiss your dog on the lips ....Wait, that's more the dog's choice than mine. Also, I kind of distrust people who don't have pet hair all over. Hey you have to pick your battles.
Wear clothes that don't fit right For some of us, this is called "Laundry Day."
Express unpopular political views You've got to be shittin' me.
Sleep late on Saturday ... They're just being cruel now.
Wear jeans to church Well, shit, that means changing the tiara-and-ballgown combo that my church demands.
Throw out plastic containers . Yeah, right. I guarantee you, as long as you have at least one Tupperware container and one lid somewhere, they will find one another, have sex, and produce more little Tupperwares. Either that or they're breaking into my house in the night and joining my slutty Tupperware.
Get your ears pierced Don't strain anything there, James Dean.
Fly a gyrocopter ......how about stealing one----? That sounds like a fun.
Turn up the bass on rap music Stay out of my neighborhood. I'm gaining unpleasant insight into my loser neighbors. Why can't they do something like painting?
Look into alternative religions "The Holy Church of chocolate, roast beast, and mashed potatoes is now open for business. " Is that a religion? No? Well, it should be, dammit.
Buy something impractical He's hogging the pillow right now and I didn't exactly buy him.
Break out of roles expected of you. ....By whom? Have these people skipped adolescence at all and gone straight from pre-pubescence to middle-aged Republicanism?
Change your color preference of clothing Boy, is that shittily worded. What color preference? Somedays don't you just want to wear all of them?
Do things out of order Um, yeah, simmer down, little lady, let's not get all un alphabetized or anything. What next? Leaving your shoes----GASP-----untied?
Do things out of character I'm a bitch with a weakness for kitties, kids, old people, and anything helpless. I'm also a bleeding heart liberal and a commie who can fire any weapon every made with damned good accuracy. What ISmy character? I don't think the people this list is directed at have one----or more precisely, have one yet. I get the feeling they're like embryos, floating in big glass jars, full of---no doubt!--pink fluid, waiting to develop a personality.
Or a pulse, really.
Seek your own interests Yeah, guess not.
Don't cook Yeah, but the lasagne doesn't make itself.
Don't clean house You say this like it's a bad thing.
Buy a bird I have cats. How about I just flush the money directly down the toilet and save myself and the bird the trauma?
Go against a suggestion from another You haven't spent any length of time
outside your Skinner box, have you?
Be yourself with an attitude of "if you don't like it, don't look." Yeah.......again, where these people kept in Skinner boxes?
Print a slogan on a T-shirt Catch me! The thrills! The chills!
Buy a bumper sticker I feel faint. You're so sexy when you start talking that way.
Develop your own web page Er......
Express a diversified viewpoint What. The. Fuck. Does. This. Mean?
Make up your own. . . .
I think the school nurse wants to distribute this list. At grade school. Holy shit. These aren't rebellions. They're the slightest wiggle of the strait jacket.
And that's what they think is appropriate for veterans who've traveled to countries most people don't even know exist, speak other languages, done impossible jobs, and asked for more when they were done. I think you could take a lot of veterans and they'd eagerly sign up for more service if they could. This list and the attitude of the VA toward many vets is just this side of contemptuous.Were they parents, they'd be arrested for neglect.
But in many ways, the VA is a wonderful Republican institution; lots of claims of high purpose and ideals, lots of claims that are at complete odds with what they actually do and offer and accomplish. When it's pointed out by anybody with eyes that words simply aren't enough when they're as egregiously contradicted by results as in this situation, watch for a variety of press statements to be released: "The VA takes this very seriously and is pleased to announce another in a long line of press releases, which promise improved treatment for veterans, recognition that women vets might require more than PAP smears, and an increased devotion to saying a lot and doing as little as we can get away with. Drugs cost money, you know, and the guys on the board lost money on the stock market."
Coming soon to a newspaper near you, somewhere in the back pages. You don't have to worry. With the frequncy of press releases, if you miss one, you'll surely be subjected to another one soon.
Next up, when I feel up to it. What very likely could help a lot of veterans, as well as many Americans.