[Archives] On Nightmares
They Still Come for Me
Howdy,
I take so many pills I often feel like I’m an old man (shut up!). I take pills for pain, sleep, nightmares, depression, and other assorted ailments. I bring my pill box with me everywhere I go. For the most part, they’ve helped, I think.
I’ve been taking Zoloft for nearly six months. I’m not sure it’s the reason that I’m not such a moody little bitch anymore, but it certainly doesn’t hurt (gulp, at least I hope not). The prayers, journaling, rigorous exercise, and meditation also help along the edges.
But the biggest game changer is consistent sleep. Since I returned from Baghdad in 2006, I’ve been taking shots of NyQuil to knock me out. I often struggle at night to turn off my racing brain (shocking, I know). While NyQuil can make me groggy, it’s a surefire way to help me sleep. Now, however, I take other medication that helps put me down.
I still struggle with sleep hygiene. I kept my phone away at night—Ditto for books and the computer. I’ve struggled with that recently. My recent move to Kansas City has thrown my battle rhythm off (and my battle rhythm is sick, yo). Nevertheless, it has markedly improved since my all-expense paid trip to the looney bin last July.
Point of Privilege: I spent 20 years in the United States Air Force and never went to Hawaii or Europe. I did, however, spend 30 days in a Mental Hospital. I Air Force’d all wrong.
Despite all the improvement, I cannot shake my nightmares. Now, they’ve decreased in frequency and duration. But they still come for me. No matter how hard I try. And once they jar me from sleep, the rest of the day is usually shot to shit.
I have three recurring nightmares. The oldest and most frequent—let’s call it my OG nightmare, boom!—is about Baghdad, Iraq. I’m more of a sound guy. Other vets who suffer from these beautiful gifts experience intense visual nightmares. Not me. I hear the cries. I hear the wails of the Iraqi women, ululating over the deaths of their sons and husbands. I hear them cursing at me, which they did in 2006, for partnering with monsters that slayed their loved ones.
When I have this OG nightmare, my day is usually ruined. I don’t go back to sleep. It not only saddens me, but the shame of partnering with monsters who committed ethnic cleansing swallows my day. I get over it, mind you. I do my prayers and meditations, but they still hover over my thoughts until I go back to sleep.
The second most frequent nightmare involves the cries of those dying: the wailing and the pleas for G*d to save them. Men don’t die reciting Shakespeare or stating something eloquent about honor or courage; they usually piss and shit their paints while crying out for their mothers. This nightmare — and it is just one —- can ruin my week. I remind myself that it isn’t real (anymore). Yet, to be honest (wait, you haven’t been honest this whole time?!?!), those cries swallow me whole. I remember. I remember them.
The first two nightmares have been with me for over a decade. I know them. I’m familiar with how it works. I’ve grown accustomed to them in my life, like that racist Uncle who comes for dinner around the holidays. You try to prepare yourself for his nonsense, but you can’t prevent stupidity. Regardless, I know the drill with these two subconscious friends and the ways to mitigate them after they appear.
The last one, however, is more complex. It’s a shapeshifter. It started about six months after the fall of Kabul when I was knee-deep in “relocating” Afghans.
Point of Privilege: The American government asked the Afghan Evac Coalition to use the term “relocating” Afghans instead of “evacuating” because the Taliban didn’t like “evacuating.” I. Defecate. You. Negative.
I was overwhelmed with running an off-the-books, worldwide game of cat and mouse against a terrorist group that killed 5K+ Americans (9/11 + Afghan War). I slept with my phone on my chest to avoid missing calls. It consumed me whole. Everything faded into the background of life.
The nightmares began once I fully realized the American government would shit the bed (that’s a technical term) with the “evacuation” of thousands of our allies. That realization triggered nightmares of Afghans screaming out in pain to save them. Some of those screams and pleas occurred during the two-week Noncombatant Evacuation Operations (NEO) — or withdrawal/retreat/total fucking disaster—in August 2021.
I carried those pleas with me, and they reemerged in the faces of those I left behind. Other than hallucinations, these are the screams that hurt me the most. They shake me to my core. It is the nightmare I dread the most. For nearly a year, it occurred regularly, sending me off into a tailspin of dread, misery, and fury.
During my time in the looney bin, I spent a lot of time processing these nightmares. Over hundreds of hours of therapy — it was quite the party—I tried to make my peace with this particular nightmare by having conversations with those I left behind. I cried out in anger and begged for forgiveness. The guilt and shame mostly were released after my all-expense-paid vacation.
Mostly.
When I have this particular nightmare, it can genuinely wreck me. I’m grateful that it only rarely comes anymore. However, it still comes, especially when ghosts from the past come back to haunt me in real life. Then, unfortunately, the cycle kicks in, and I have to remind myself of one important thing: I did the best I could.
That doesn’t take away my anger at the government for putting me in such a position. It doesn’t take away my rage at the DoD’s inability to save the very allies who saved American forces. It doesn’t take away the humiliation of seeing Al Qaeda rerunning Afghanistan.
But it’s all that I have. That, my pills, my resiliency regimen, my friends, and my family. It’s what I have to combat these straphangers that I cannot quite get rid of.
I hope that they will continue to fade in frequency and intensity. However, it’s another reminder that the war isn’t done with me—and probably never will be.
Until next time.
Powerful writing.
“Bone spurs” will never understand your experiences and those of your colleagues, or the necessity of showing ongoing support and loyalty to those who have put their lives on the line and are still suffering for it.
His treatment of Afghan allies now in exile is also completely unacceptable. Why is he so keen to reconcile with theTaliban? As with all Trump’s actions, “follow the money”.
Deploying from my family to the Middle East wasn't easy in 2006-2007, but in reading about your experiences, it reminds me that my experience was relatively sheltered from what was going on not too far from me. Thank you for your service, documenting your experiences and sharing them with others. We should NOT be acting like these things never happened and these military actions resulted in massive life changing trauma experienced by many involved.