Self-Publishing / PTSD - A Passage of Passion

Lately, I feel like a puppet whose strings are tangled, trapping my arms behind my back and my feet up over my head.  My thoughts are scattered like my many projects.  Focus comes in spurts and splatters with so many loose ends eager to be tied.  This Gemini sure wishes the other me would get busy and do her share.

Then I remember - I'm on a journey - a PASSAGE, much like life itself, where we never know what to expect.  A passage of passion isn't always neat and tidy.

Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen. 
          ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The last few months have been tumultuous.  My eyes criss-crossed and my brain scrambled with the plythera of self-publishers available online.  Far behind schedule I had to make a decision . . . flipping a coin entered my mind more than once!

July 4th seems to be approaching at the speed of light!

I did a comparison of the top POD (print-on-demand) companies and their services - amenities that were included / add-ons / other options / and cost involved.  The senario's went every-which-way.  I weighed my alternatives like labor pains until I reached a DECISION . . .

This company's goal is to get a quality book quickly into the market (usually in a month or less) with the lowest out-of-pocket cost to you, greatly increasing the time it takes to make back your investment.  The majority of their revenue comes from public book sales, not service fees, which is why they request a writer to submit their manuscript for APPROVAL prior to acceptance.  Their acceptance rate is less than fifty percent. 

To be honest, this was one of the reasons I chose this company, and I'm pleased to say my manuscript was accepted.  Now I must wade through their multi-paged contract, but this should be a walk in the park compared to the last 30 days. 

"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers." -Jose Narosky

Combat and PTSD go hand in hand.  One is usually enmeshed with the other.  Yet I often wonder about those who do not suffer PTSD after combat.  Who are these survivors and why them?  What makes them different?  What unique attribute do they possess that shields them from the horror of war?  What is their common thread?

One day, I plan to research this phenomenon.  

My last post announced my decision to donate a portion of the proceeds from my memoir, Diary of a Vet's Wife to Pets for Vets, a group pairing veterans suffering with PTSD and rescued dogs.  As a courtesy, I sent them an email confirming my decision.  Their response was electric!  I was welcomed with open arms.

On March 23rd, they posted my blog on their Facebook and by the feedback, I knew I found my audience - others who know what it's like to live with PTSD.  Pets for Vets has offered to put my memoir, Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, on their website when the book is released - I'm aiming for July 4th, 2012.

Pets for Vets reaction far exceeded anything I ever imagined.  I'm humbled by this experience.  Please check them out at www.facebook.com/petsforvetsinc and see what a unique service they offer our veterans.

"According to the thread on Zoetrope, which came from an article in the Guardian, it cost one author $1500 to quote two lines from a Bob Marley song in his novel. The concept of fair use doesn't apply to lyrics."  

                             - Dawn Copeman, Writing-World.com

The final chapter of my memoir contains song lyrics that are crucial to the end of my story.  It was written exactly as it happened - my proof is safely tucked away in the back of a drawer, along with my husband's bronze stars.

Last week, I started the copyright search pertaining to these song lyrics.  My publisher advised that such permission could cost "hundreds to thousands of dollars" - which I do not have.  My plan was to beg on bended knee, if necessary, not knowing if these fees are iron clad - or flexible. 

I contacted ASCAP via email because the song in question did not appear on their database.  A reply sat in my email the next morning with names, the Work ID and the ISWC.  But it lacked an email address. 

I called the first name on the list in New York city at the phone number provided.  After explaining my request, the male person on the line supplied a name and an email address.  That afternoon, I emailed them my Copyright Permission Letter along with the last 3 pages of my manuscript.  Within minutes, it came back undeliverable.  I tried 3 different times.  NO LUCK!

The next morning, I called and reached the same person.  He asked what addresses I used. "Oh, those are the wrong addresses."  I knew that.  Then he gave me with another . . . it went through.

Research online stated it could take anywhere from 4 weeks to 3 months to receive a reply.  Start early!  This was a main concern . . .   

Two days later, a formal "quote proposal" for the lyrics requested, appeared in my email.  I was ECSTATIC!  It's good for 30 days.  The pricing didn't SEEM outrageous, however, it's written in legal terminology.  I don't have a literary lawyer, so I sent an email to my new publisher, asking if she would be willing to look it over.  Hopefully, I hear back on Monday.

Lessons learned . . . my two cents

A manuscript should be professionally edited prior to submission to "any publisher," verifying the writers confidence in their own work.  That is, unless the writer is qualified to edit.

PTSD / Can One Woman and Her Book Make a Difference?

We can do no great things, only small things with great love. 
               ~Mother Teresa

During the 16 years I spent writing my memoir, Diary of a Vet's Wife, one question kept tumbling around in my mind like marbles in a jar - WHAT can I do to help veteran's suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?  I felt a bond with each of them.  I knew their suffering.

Help is such a tiny word when related to such a BIG issue.  Webster's New World Dictionary used 31 lines to describe this little word - boiled down - "to make things easier."  PTSD is very REAL!  I know how  it feels and what it does to a marriage and family, my heart carries the scars.

I am only one WOMAN, who has spent half-her-life in the shadow of PTSD - either living with my husband's disorder, or writing about living with his PTSD.  I never knew at the time that I had developed PTSD by association.  Few know the heartbreak and terror, until they have lived with someone caught in the strangle-hold of this illness.  To be in the trenches with a ticking timebomb for what seemed like an eternity.  

In sharing my story, Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Truamatic, I hope to AWAKEN the world to the devastating aftermath of war living among us, and comfort those trapped in the trenches, knowing they are not alone.

But how can my memoir help disarm a veteran's horror buried deep within his MEMORY before it explodes?  How can I help defuse and neutralize it?  How?

I am only one, but I am one.  I cannot do everything, but I can do something.  And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.            ~Edward Everett Hale

One day, I had an AHA moment . . . and I knew what I must do!

My book is the only means I have of reaching other families, and our world, living with this nightmare.  I have no idea how many lives will be TOUCHED by my story, but I knew I wanted to donate a portion of each book sold to help veteran's caught on this crazy merry-go-round called PTSD.

I fervently began a search on the internet.  I was familiar with Wounded Warriors, who provide services to severly injured veterans during the time between active duty and transition to civilian life.  Large corporations donate heavily to large, well-established groups.
 
My quest was to find a GROUP that deals specifically with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.  ~Norman B. Rice

One afternoon, I Skyped my sister in Ohio to chat.  It was then she told me she had watched a TV program the night before about veteran's with PTSD being rehabilitated using RESCUED dogs. 

"I wrote the name down, so I wouldn't forget to tell you," she said, holding a piece of paper up to the eye of her webcam. 

Here was the organization I had been looking for.  It was PERFECT - and from my sister! xoxo

"Pets for Vets" - Helping Our Brave Veterans Heal with a little help from Man's Best Friend

Their goal is to help heal the emotional wounds of military veterans by pairing them with a shelter dog who is specially selected to match his or her personality.  Professional animal trainers rehabilitate the dogs and teach them good manners to fit into the veteran's lifestyle.  Training can also include desensitization to wheel chairs or crutches as well as recognizing panic or anxiety disorder behaviors.

It's a win-win relationship . . .

Needy shelter dogs get a second chance at life while giving our returning soldiers a second chance at health and happiness.  The bonds of friendship formed between man and animal have the power to ease the suffering of our troops when they return from overseas . . .

Pets for Vets is a concrete way to thank U.S. Military Veterans for their service . . .

• Featured on NPR, CBS2 and CNN
• Donations are tax deductible to the fullest extent allowed by law
• Serving Veterans in Southern California, Washington State, Florida and Michigan
• With each veteran-dog match they provide all the necessary equipment for them to start their new life together

Currently, they're only in four states.  My VISION is to help donate enough so that Pets for Vets can gradually expand into every state in the nation, then into every city in that state.  Our veterans come from every corner of our country - I'd like to reach them all.  I can dream, can't I?

Please check Pets for Vets online, if you have any questions.  You may feel drawn to contribute a single donation dedicated to a veteran in your own life.

My tenative book release date is still set for July 4th, 2012, which gives me less than 4 months to get everything in place.  At this moment that seems impossible . . . but I'm not giving up.

Lessons learned . . . My two cents

I expect to pass through life but once.  If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.                                           ~William Penn

Wounded Warriors Walk Among Us / Chapter 24 Excerpt

"After wars' end, soldiers once again become civilians and return to their families to try to pick up where they left off.  It is this process of readjustment that has, more often than not, been ignored by society. -- Major Robert H. Stretch, Ph.D in Textbook of Military Medicine: Vol. 6 Combat Stress

Recently, we witnessed our troops returning home from Iraq.  It was the biggest U.S. withdrawal since WWII, with another 33,000 troops due home from Afghanistan this year.  Certainly GREAT NEWS for families praying for their safe return.  

Major television stations throughout the country broadcast the "Homecoming" of these brave man and women reuniting with loved ones after a long fierce war.  Spellbound voyeurs, we shared in the first crushing embraces and unashamed tears, while young children were swooped up in happiness and held high overhead.  We grinned as bright-eyed babies warily met their fathers for the first time.

But all parties come to an end. And time comes for our veterans to return home, and emotionally detach from the war they left thousands of miles across the sea.  Everyone wants to believe they can STEP BACK into the lives they left behind . . . but it hurts me to say, it doesn't work that way. 

Battle has changed each of them.  Some physically, all mentally.  It's this knowledge that burdens my heart.  I've been there . . . I know what clings to the shadows.

When news came to Walt Whitman that his brother George had been wounded at Fredericksburg during the Civil War, Whitman rushed south to find him. Though his brother's injury was slight, Whitman was deeply affected by his first view of the war's casualties. He began visiting the camp's wounded and, almost by accident, found his calling for the duration of the war. Three years later, he emerged as the war's "most unlikely hero," a living symbol of American democratic ideals of sharing and brotherhood.     - The Better Angel, by acclaimed biographer Roy Morris, Jr.

Last week on MSNBC, I saw that St Louis was the first city in our country to have a parade for their returning warriors from Iraq.  I was moved by the heart of this city because they understood what should be done to HONOR our veterans and help the HEALING begin  . . . and they did it!   
  
Why hasn't this happened all over the country?  These brave men and women deserve our loyalty and respect along with our ACKNOWLEDGEMENT of the SACRIFICES they endured for us.  We sit home safe and secure enjoying the peace we take for granted, while these men and women fight and die for our country in another land far away.  I don't understand . . .
  
I feel the need to share my thoughts because I lived with a Vietnam veteran who suffered with PTSD for 16 years.  He was the love of my life, but at that time there was no help.  Today, resources are at our fingertips through the wonder of the Internet.  Although they are still not enough to meet all the needs of our veterans . . . it's a start.

One reason I wrote my story, Diary of a Vet's Wife, was to show our country what was happening right under their noses, and to give support to those families now living the nightmare.  This CRISIS is real.  The war does not stop when our troops withdraw from combat.  It follows them home like a big black dog . . .

My memoir, Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, shows the devastating side effects of war on one family, yet I know there are mega-thousands throughout the world living this nightmare as I once did.  How can we STOP it?

The signs of post traumatic stress disorder MAY start out subtle.  Many refuse to admit anything is wrong.

What You Need to Know

• Traumas happen to many competent, healthy, strong, good people.
• Many people have long-lasting problems following exposure to trauma.
• People who react to traumas are not going crazy.
• Having symptoms after a traumatic event is not a sign of personal weakness.
• When a person understands trauma symptoms better, he or she become less fearful and are better able to manage them.

PTSD Symptoms/Signs generally fall into 3 main categories: 
    
     Intrusive - Re-experiencing traumatic events                                                

• Distressing recollections
• Flashbacks
• Nightmares
• Feeling anxious or fearful

     Avoidant - Drawing inward or becoming emotionally numb

• Extensive and active avoidance
• Loss of interest
• Feeling detached from others
• Restricting your emotions
• Trouble remembering
• Shutting down
• Feeling strange
• Not feeling pain or other sensations

     Hyperarousal - Increased physical or emotional arousal

• Difficulty sleeping
• Irritability
• Difficulty concentrating or thinking clearly
• An exaggerated startle response
• Being overly angry or aggressive
• Panic attacks

     Triggers can include the following:

• Specific sceens
• Movement
• TV
• Sound or smell
• Reading
• Touch
• Situational

If you or a loved one seems overwhelmed by PTSD symptoms, please remember, there are many resources available to you.  If you need immediate help, please get it!  PTSD does not go away on it's own . . . and will only get worse left unattended. 

Below I've listed the number of The Veterans Crisis Line.  Please check out Veterans Crisis Line.net, even if you don't think you need it now.  Get familiar with the resources available, and save this information for easy access.  Please . . .

The Veterans Crisis Line is a U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs resource that connects Veterans in crisis and their families with qualified, caringVA professionals through a confidential toll-free hotline and on-line chat.

Download the Veterans Crisis Line logos and other graphics to display on your website or materials to show support for our Nation's Veterans and help them get the care they deserve.

The new VA suicide prevention hotline, 1-800-273-TALK (8255), recently reported that it's received more than 55,000 calls, averaging 120 per day, with about 22,000 callers saying they were veterans.

(Excerts taken from retired website: PTSD Combat: Winning the War Within)

Excerpt from Chapter 24 

           But things began to change . . . 

         

          During the next few weeks Lorne’s nightmares returned.  And once again he had no recollection and refused to discuss it.  Maybe the honeymoon was over.  After all, ours was a whirlwind romance . . . and marriage happened suddenly.  One does not expect the unbridled passion of wedded bliss to last forever.  Yet our bond grew stronger day by day, each needing the other almost in desperation.  I had never felt like this before.  We still made love most every night, that is, when Lorne came home at a decent hour.  But more and more he wandered in late, sometimes very late and never bothered to call.  I would hurry home from work and fix dinner.  Then feed the children by 6:30, if he wasn’t home.  Once they were in bed, I’d sit and wait and wait and wait, while countless dinners dried out on the stove.  And if I questioned him, he’d turn on his heels and stomp off to bed.  I had no idea what was wrong or what to do . . . and I had no one to turn to.

          On the evenings Lorne did come home, he’d sit staring at the television after dinner, smoking one cigarette after the other, lost in thought someplace far away.  It was like I wasn’t even there.  So I’d read.  But his distant grim moods were short lived.  Sooner or later he’d wander back to reality and his eyes would clear.  Then he’d scoot closer to touch me to please me, eager to make peace.  Later as we lay in the dark, he’d gently caress me, reassuring me of his love.

           “Baby, I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I act like that,” he’d whisper, stroking my face with his fingers.  “Something just comes over me.  I can’t explain.”

           And neither could I.  I loved him so much.  All I wanted was for our marriage to be solid and the children to be happy. 

(This excerpt took place before Post Traumatic Stress Disorder had a name).

 Lesson Learned . . . My two cents

"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it in full."    - Marcel Proust

Ghost of Christmas Past / Chapter 15 Excerpt

For many children, Christmas is a time of year filled with wonder and excitement . . . it's Jesus birthday and Santa Claus is coming!  Pine trees are dragged indoors to be decorated.  Strings of colored lights transform a normal house into a magical castle.  The children's anticipation is electric! 

Joy and laughter dominate our TV screens.  Polished white smiles coax us to spend more than we should as we scramble to find the perfect gift for each name on our list.  Others show beautiful people dressed in stunning outfits attending lavish parties.  This is what we strive for . . .    

Everything appears perfect!

This is what we see and are made to believe.  But for many, these images are far out of reach and simply crumble at their feet.

Holidays can trigger memories to slip to the surface when least expected.  We each walk our separate path in life, which leaves indeliable footprints from the past.  Many we cherish and share with family and friends.  Yet there are others we'd like to forget.  Certain holidays can bring back strong feelings, depending on the path we've traveled.

Right now, you can probably recall your happiest holiday ever.  But also, maybe another you wish you could forget . . . like an elephant standing in the corner.

For me, I desire to dwell on happy, simpler times, shared mostly with my children.  Their innocence and goodness gave my life meaning when times were difficult . . . .

"Some of the secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way."          -  Douglas Pagels

Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, shows the best of times and the worst of times for one ordinary couple. The mystery of falling in love, the clumsiness of courtship, and the struggles of a new family trying to make it work. Gradually, moments of simple joy entangled with the trials and tribulations of PTSD, become normal. 

And there were holidays . . . like the one I share below, a simple and quiet time . . . a happy memory.

December 14, 1974   

                                                                                              

     It was eleven days before Christmas and we were off to buy a tree.  The children chased each other down the sidewalk before piling into the back of Lorne’s car, each clamoring for a seat by the window.  Their carefree giggles warmed the chilly afternoon air.  On the surface we looked like any ordinary family . . . too bad it wasn’t true. 

          

     “Okay kids,” Lorne shouted across the lot.  He struggled to free another tree from the huge compressed pile at his feet.  Then one broke loose; he vigorously pounded the trunk on the ground, releasing the branches.

     “Run back, and tell me if the trunk’s straight,” he called, surveying the tree up close.          

     Cory ran over to me, his pale hair flying, his cheeks flush.  “Mom, Mom, come look,” he said, tugging me by the hand.  “Can we get this one?  It’s a real good tree.” 

     His innocent wonder was like food for my soul. 

     Later that evening, Lorne sat quietly watching the children rummage through the dusty old boxes I had dragged down from the attic.  Each year they helped me trim the tree; it was our tradition.  They would hunt for treasured ornaments stored in boxes wrapped in tissue paper, calico stars and hand painted angels they had made in kindergarten; stained glass ornaments embellished with their names, made by their Aunt Karen, my sweet sister.   

     Once the last ornament was hung on the tree and baby Jesus was safe in the manger, I turned off the lights, signaling Scott to plug in the tree.  It sprang to life, fat and robust, dancing in lights.  Draped in gold garlands and layered with shiny red balls, tiny gold flutes and red velvet bows, the tree resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. 

     “Okay kids, its way past your bedtime,” I announced standing up.  “It will still be here in the morning.”

     I left Lorne staring into the twinkling tree lights while I put Tiffy to bed.

          

     “Mommy, when is Santa coming?” she asked, crawling under her covers.

     "In eleven days,” I replied, tucking in her blankets.  I leaned down, tweaked her nose and gave her a kiss.  “He will be here before you know it.”

     I knew the boys no longer believed but I hoped to hide it from her as long as possible.  When the boys brought up the subject trying to corner me, I simply said, “Santa doesn’t bring presents to children who don’t believe in him.” And for the time being, that worked.    

     Once the boys settled down, I kissed them goodnight and headed downstairs.  Glancing over the banister, I noticed Lorne was still fixated on the tree. 

  

     "A penny for your thoughts,” I said, sitting next to him. 
  

     Lorne turned, then reached out and took my hand.  A strange look covered his face . . .

Lesson Learned . . . my two cents

 “Affliction is often that thing which prepares an ordinary person for some sort of an extraordinary destiny.”
- C.S. Lewis

Our Soldiers are Returning / Write Your Heart Out

The holidays are upon us and the busy-ness is endless, so today I've done something different . . .

Our soldiers have returned from Iraq this week, just in time for the holidays, and I decided to repost a blog from May . . . which shows what's in my heart and why I write. 

My heart is over-joyed for these families that have been reunited, yet in the dark recesses of my mind, I remember so well and worry.  My prayers are that these men and women are counseled and debriefed before being expected to fit back into society, and are given a solid contact name to call, if needed.  Someone who has been where they have been, someone they can trust with their feelings!  Also, that their families and friends have compassion and patience as these warriors try to adjust back into family life.

This is their GREATEST DESIRE . . . please remember where they've been and what they've been through.

The trick is keeping your heart open.     Natalie Goldberg

May 5, 2011

This blog began as a tool to move me into publishing.  Accountability for my time and actions was my purpose.  Most entries have been lighthearted and chatty, other than the first.  But the time has come when I must share more.  And I'm uncomfortable.  So please bear with me.

Write your heart out.  Never be ashamed of your subject and your passion for your subject.     Joyce Carol Oates

War has gone on since the beginning of man's creation.  And will continue until the end of time.  This necessary evil brings death and pain not only to its victims, but also to the warriors and their loved ones covering our small planet.  It's not the way we'd like it to be . . . it is the way it is.

Brave men and women fight wars in hostile lands where life is valued differently.  Armed with rifles, they're exposed to sights and sounds no human being should ever witness.  And at times, they must engage in unthinkable acts to save their friends, which riddles them with shame and guilt.  Or they survive an ambush and the others don't. 

Can you imagine the horror? 

It's not a movie in the theater you pay to watch . . . it's real life!  And it's happening this moment in remote parts of the world.  How does a warrior return to a normal life with this running through their head?

It's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder . . . a normal reaction to abnormal life threatening stress. 

Those who know me know my story.  They know what I wrote about, and why.  And those who don't know me, other than through this blog, will one day share an experience . . . one that will be hard to forget.

My book?  It's a love story.  And shows how I met the love of my life and we were married.  He was a Vietnam vet.  I didn't know he had post traumatic stress disorder.  I didn't know what post traumatic stress disorder was.  Nor did I know I would develop PTSD from living with my husband's illness. 

The ravages of war tainted our marriage eclipsing it into a nightmare.  And by grace alone, my love gave me the strength and the courage to survive.

I Corinthians 13:4-7  Love suffers long and is kind . . . bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  

Excerpt from my book proposal . . .

Diary of a Vet's Wife shows the innocence of love unblemished with hope and promise, unaware of the imminent demons vowing destruction.  And all too soon her impossible dream is shattered by nightmares her husband doesn't recall and hidden pain he refuses to share.  Her love is unyielding, her journey is long.  She retreats to a life of secrets in order to spare the children and her family from the truth, yet she has no place to turn.

The reader will slip into her world like a fly on the wall as she takes them places most have never been, while bonding with others who know the terrain that only love dare travel.

So there you have it . . .

Lesson learned . . . my two cents

Be open to your readers opinions . . . they're one of the reasons you write.

Show compassion to our brave men and women who have served and suffered for this nation, and our safety. You never know what a person is going through by looking at them.  Would you lay down your life for your country?  Please do me a favor.  When you see someone in uniform, or meet someone who has served in our military, go up to them, shake their hand and say, "Thank you."  It would mean so much to them.  I know from experience . . .

Has PTSD Touched You? / Chapter 26 Excerpt . . .

Once I was brave enough to tell my story, actually said the words aloud, I realized how many others had been touched by this disabling illness.  I was shocked!  Almost everyone knew someone, whether directly related, a close friend, a neighbor, someone from church, a friend of a friend . . . almost everyone!

“Mental illness is so much more complicated than any pill that any mortal could invent ” ― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

I lived with this nightmare for 15 years.  Then it had no name and there was no help.  The longer you live with post-traumatic stress disorder, the deeper you become entrenched with no escape . . . no reasonable escape.  You can't hide in a closet or pull the covers over your head.  You learn to live with it, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, never knowing from one minute to the next, what's lurking around the corner.

In Diary of a Vet's Wife, my memoir, the man I love battles his demons alone, in the only way he knows how, unwilling to admit he's in trouble and refusing to let me in.  I'm not strong enough to fight him, I can only stand in the shifting shadows and watch . . . and be there for him when he needs me. 

Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit
- Peter Ustinov

What is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD?

It's natural to be afraid when you're in danger.  It's natural to be upset when something bad happens to you or someone else you know.  But if you feel afraid and upset weeks or months later, it's time to talk with your doctor . . . you might have post-traumatic stress disorder.

PTSD is a real illness. You can get PTSD after living through through or seeing a dangerous event, such as war, a hurricane, or bad accident. PTSD makes you feel stressed and afraid after the danger is over. It affects your life and the people around you.

PTSD can happen to anyone at any age. Children get PTSD too.

You don't have to be physically hurt to get PTSD. You can get it after you see other people get hurt, such as a friend or family member.

What causes PTSD?

Living through or seeing something that's unsettling and dangerous can cause PTSD. This can include:

• War or combat
• Being a victim of or seeing violence
• The death or serious illness of a loved one
• Car accidents and plane crashes
• Hurricanes, tornadoes, and fires
• Violent crimes, like a robbery or shooting.
• Plus many other things

Related diseases and conditions:

• Stress occurs when forces from the outside world impinge on the individual. Stress is a normal part of life. However, over-stress now points to being involved in various diseases and conditions.
• Depression is an illness that involves the body, mood and thoughts, and affects the way a person eats and sleeps, the way one feels about oneself, and the way one thinks about things
• Alcoholism is a disease that includes alcohol craving, and continued drinking despite alchol related problems, such as losing a job or getting into trouble with the law.
• Suicide is the process of intentionally ending one's own life. Approximately 1 million people worldwide commit suicide each year, and 10 million to 20 million attempt suicide annually.
• Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as multiple personality disorder, is a mental illness in which a person has at least two distinct personalities. Symptoms and signs include lapses in memory, feeling unreal, blackouts in time, and hearing voices in their heads that are not their own.
• Drug Addiction is a chronic disease that causes drug-seeking behavior despite consequences to the user and those around them.
• Borderline Personality Disorder is a serious mental illness characterized by prevasive instability in moods, interpersonal relationships, self-image and behavior. This instability disrupts family and work life, long-term planning, and the individuals sense of self-identity.
• Insomnia is the difficulty in falling to sleep, waking frequently during the night, or waking too early in the morning.
• Sleepwalking is a condition in which an individual walks or does other activities while asleep. Conditions that have similar symptoms are night terrors, confusional arousals and nocturnal seizures.
• Nightmares are dreams that cause high anxiety or terror. They occur during rapid eye movement (RIM) sleep when related to post traumatic stress disorder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Spring 1976 - Giving in too easily

     The torrential winter rains with their raging rivers of mud had all but dried up, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.  The newness of spring brought proof that life goes on.  Our new house was finally under construction but far behind schedule.

     "Feel like riding out to see the house?" Lorne asked, standing in the kitchen, his hands deep in his pockets.  "It's a gorgeous day.  I think it would do us both good."

     He had strolled in long after midnight and knew he was in the doghouse.

     "Sure . . . I guess," I said, staring out the window as I rinsed the breakfast dishes.  "Give me a couple of minutes to change and situate the children."

     The Sunday morning traffic was light.  The brittle breeze engulfed us on the bike, stinging my cheeks and numbing my fingers.  I perched behind Lorne and clung to him.  The warmth of his familiar body melted my anger and soothed my soul.  For a while, I felt safe and secure.

     The naked wood frame of the house looked lonely against the clear blue sky, like a barren tree in winter.  Lorne got off the bike and turned to face me.  Putting his hands on his knees, he leaned down to look squarely into my face, smiling warily.

     I always gave in too easily . . . I turned my head, but he took my hand and pulled me towards him and off the bike.

    "I got the message," Lorne admitted.  "You're still mad about last night."

     "I'm able to get off by myself, you know," I said, resisting his pull like a dog going to the vet.

     Lorne ignored my stubbornness and led me into the house.  Stepping over a maze of wall braces protruding from the floor, we surveyed the layout.  Lorne ducked under a crossbeam and headed  over to check out the plumbing.  I stroked the fresh new wood, trying to imagine living here.  As I looked around, I could only hope our new home would be the answer to Lorne's problems.  Only time would tell.

     Construction was finally moving forward and it should be time to celebrate, but the joy and laughter were missing.  I worried about Lorne.  Just the other day, he told me he was having problems at work.  And this was not the first time.

     Lorne was a brilliant man.  He had the mental capacity to calculate complex mathematical formulas in his head at the snap of a finger, yet feelings of insecurity gnawed at his self-esteem like terminal cancer, leaving him suspicious and vulnerable.  He complained the people at work were out to get him, purposely conspiring to make his life hell.  He told me not to worry, he was dealing with it.  But I did worry.  Lorne had already changed jobs once since we were married, for similar reasons.

     Then there was a speeding ticket I only learned about.  To make matters worse, he was driving his company car.  Most of the time, Lorne kept problems to himself, and even though I begged, he chose not to involve me.  Entangled in his silence, I searched for a reason.  At the same time, I wrestled with my own feelings of lonliness and despair.

Lesson learned . . . my two cents

"This is one of the miracles of love: It gives a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted."    - C.S. Lewis

Africa's Beauty Being Strangled / One Person Making a Difference

PLEASE VIEW THE VIDEO BEFORE DELETING . . .

I'm doing something today I should have done A MONTH AGO, and I feel terrible it slipped through the cracks, but my schedule has been crazy-impossible . . . so I'll make it short. 

A dear writing friend from Santa Barbara, Lori Robinson, leads Safari's in Africa when she's not writing.  Last year, she read a piece in class called "THE BAG LADIES," where she describes a current plight in Africa. It seems they have the same problem there, that we have in the United States, too many plastic bags. 

Her story showed that plastic bags are littering this majestic landscape by the thousands, hanging from trees, intertwined in bushes, covering the terrain like confetti.  Worse yet, the MAGNIFICENT ANIMALS that inhabit this country are dying because they end up eating these bags and are choking to death!! 

Lori's passion for this country and its' animals have led  her to do something about this travesty . . . proving ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

She came up the idea to exchange ONE CLOTH TOTE for every 25 plastic bags returned.  Last year, she collected these totes from friends and neighbors locally, and the program was a huge success.  Some of these women in Africa walked 10 miles with the plastic bags they gathered to collect a free tote.  Lori shows this in the attached video . . .

I know this is a busy time of year with the holidays upon us, but I'm asking if you can gather any extra totes you may have laying around, and send them to the address below . . . EVEN ONE TOTE would make a difference.  The problem: Lori needs these by EARLY DECEMBER, which is just around the corner. Think of it as HELPING THOSE IN NEED . . . those magnificent animals that live in this far away country, few of us will ever travel to and see face-to-face.

I graciously thank you in advance for sharing your time and money to do something EXTRA SPECIAL this year, by helping to protect these beautiful animals that share our planet . . .

Needed by early December.  They can be sent to: 

Where's Your Bag?
c/o SBCK
714 Bond Avenue
Santa Barbara, CA 93103

Below is the email and video I received from Lori the end of October . . . I'm sorry for the rush.  (Lori is the blond speaking).

FYI, I am again collecting canvas totes (ones that you no longer want) for Africa. 
I hope you will help by spreading the word, sending out this email to your network, donating totes and/ or money (for shipping), and commiting to using totes for your own shopping needs. 

A short video was made about the project in Africa.  To view it please go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQVM2lDFNcw

Thanks so much.

Lots of love,

Lori