The story behind it... It the last part of a poem title "The Wounded Warrior". The first time I read the poem was within days of a friend of mine, who was in Iraq at the time, losing on of his men to an IED. I was thousands of miles away and could do nothing to ease his pain. No words could bring E back and no words could calm Link. This poem said it all especially the words now tattooed on my left leg.
I chose my leg so that it was a site easily viewable to the world and easily covered for any professional reasons. I chose the left side because of my heart.
Also, the meaning lies in my battle and so many soldiers battles with PTSD. I can't relate them exactly the same for what a soldier has lived through and the experiences they have had, will never compare to my own. I can relate the feelings, the nightmares, the anger and the anxiety. I just relate them differently.
I've seen PTSD at it worse in Link. He's the one I couldn't help, but he is also the one that helped me heal. He was the ONLY person I had many nights my body was beat. As he fought for our country, he would return from a mission and log online to check on me. The night he returned and I wasn't online and couldn't get online for almost a full 24 hours, when I finally logged on there it was. Emails and offline IM's. He was worried sick. Where was I? What did he do? Are you ok? Jenn please talk to me!
I didn't know how to tell him. I couldn't bring those problems on him when he couldn't help and I would just add to his frustrations. In the first few months we had talked two of his men were sent home. One missing a foot. He had been blown up at least 6 times or so. He had been hurt, but never missed a mission. How was I to tell him what had happened to me?
He drug it out of me. Then he did what he always did so well. He gave me strength, hope and belief that my world would get better. After that night, I found myself not sleeping but caring for two very small kids. When I couldn't face the world, from Iraq he found his ways to kick me in the ass and push to be my best.
E died and things fell apart between us. His tour ended and he came home. I heard of him getting engaged and then married. I still held him in my heart and he crossed my mind everyday. He showed me how to fight. He showed true war. Then the day came that he needed me and I was there.
It was my turn to help him. To get him into counseling for his PTSD, but Link couldn't just fix himself he was helping me. He drug out of me how I was really doing. He was the only one to see my signs. He pushed and kicked me in the ass again. We both did our first counseling sessions days apart. We started our battles with PTSD together. Only his was and probably IS still worse.
There's too much history to share. Too much I don't want to share. I miss him. I miss my friend. We no longer could help each other and I took the steps to push us apart. I did it for him and someday, if he truly is managing his PTSD well, I hope he remembers or finally understands what I did and why I did it. He was my best friend. He was the only one who saw me fall. He held me through my nightmares and I held him though his. I miss him and I hope he is well and still fighting his torment.
PTSD is ugly to me. It's hard to talk sometimes about it. It's hard to walk through life with a smile and confidence when you've lived through hell. Though the more I learn of Soldiers' PTSD the nore I know I can manage mine better. I may have had to fight for my life, literally, but I've never seen, lived, smelled or fought war.
My tattoo is my Pride, Respect, Gratitude and Understanding of a soldiers mind. It's their fight and my own. It's why I go to school now to help further. To be successful in doing so, it's time I return to counseling, as soon as I find a way to fit it into my schedule and also find a counselor that specializes in PTSD.
So, like I tend to do, here was the long way of showing off my favorite Tattoo...
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