Memories for sale! Memories for sale!!!
This business of trying to work and deal with PTSD and TBI was not working for my dear husband. He left the VA ( a really good job) as it was triggering his ptsd and he would come home and be such a ball of stress and anger it was directed at our sweet babies.
He took time off for PTSD treatment. Upon return, he found a job in a quiet office at the county as a Veteran Service Officer (assistant). A much better fit right? Windows, only 3 people, less traffic, remote area.... God is good!
Until one day I decided to (and this is NOT recommended for the average ptsd'er) set up surveilance and see for my own eyes (or rather ears) what on earth is going on at home while I'm at work. Which let me tell you, I used to worked days, but had to switch to overnights to be home with them all to prevent mass chaos. But had to leave overnights because my husband on all those drugs was unable to wake up to our crying, screaming, hungry infant.
Enter the PM shift at the VA for me. This could work. This was working. But I had that gut feeling, something wasn't right.
So I set up an audio recorder and when I got home reviewed the tape. I was crushed. I was shocked. He was struggling. It was clear as day. My kids were not being nurtured and loved, apparently, thats left up to me.
So I woke him up, confronting him, "What is really going on James Peterson" "You tell me now, and you tell me the truth".
And the truth shall set you free.
And bankrupt you.
James was having flashbacks at his new job because of the stories his clients would tell him. He was being triggered severely, but the desire to be the "man" of the house kept him from saying so.
I made him see the doctor the next day. He was on a ton of meds and this behavior is NOT accceptable.... He should be better. This should NOT be happening.
And again, he was suicidal. After hours in the office with a psychiatrist and triage nurse, it was decided to send him home. We had a plan, we had hope. We were going to be okay.
James the very next day quit his job. Reviewing the MN website for unemployment, we thought he'd be approved, and this would help until we came up with plan b.
Well, little did we know that because he cannot work per recommendations of his doctor, he is NOT able to receive unemployment.
Now I find myself deep in the piles of Disability paperwork through the state. He can't fill it out, it would drive him to the edge, so I am doing it, and I want to cry, and light things on fire. We will likey be refused disability because of the doctor's recommendations that he will be able to work, just not right now.
So I call my bank, "Help me please, just this once. I am very low in balance and don't want to go negative." This is where the lovely credit union officer told me just how low my score was, and that she cannot help me. So I reviewed with her that I have never been late, she can see what I have coming in montly, she can see where my money goes. She recants the dings on my report, and adds, "If you can show us that you have the character to clean this up....."
STOP RIGHT THERE. You want to talk about character?! Character is standing by my husband, wounded by war, picking up the pieces, and not needing help until now. Character is helping the hundreds of other veterans I help volunteering, despite my own battles, character is making my mortgage payments monthly, my car payment on time every month. I explained to her that she can try to ask the branch manager, and if it is in deed a no, then I shall take my money elsewhere. If it is a no, then I will gladly go be abused for my bad bad credit with another bank.
It's consumer rape. It's abusive. I pay 6.5 percent in interest for house payment, I pay 13 percent on two cars, for a total of 26 percent.... I pay terrible interest fees, have I not been punished enough????
SO, I'm selling my stuff until I can figure out plan b. Memories for sale! This sunday I am selling our cornstove for some cash, I still have a baby in diapers for christ sake. I have a hutch, a table, DVD's he got in germany and iraq for entertainment.... I already sold my guitar, I have jewelry. I don't need a wedding ring to prove my love and commitment for my husband. I have scars. Scars from fighting for him. Those are more permanent than any ring.
So please, buy my memories, make them your own... pass them off as your own, I'll never tell.