Mind Reader

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I try to tell you

But the words just won’t come out

My throat clenches and my eyes water.

I wish you could read my mind

For it would tell you everything you need to know

The way you make my heart ache

My stomach sink

And my hands tremble.

But I have come to the unfortunate realization

That my mind is the only place you cannot infiltrate.

Your words may pierce my soul, but they will leave my mind alone.

So unless I tell you what goes in there, unfortunately you will never know.

~~~

This poem is about me and how I lack the ability to stand up for myself at certain times. I try to tell the person how I feel but the ” words just won’t come out” and I come to the realization that that person isn’t a mind reader and unless I tell them what goes on in my mind they will never know. There are certain people in my life that I can’t talk back to or stand up to because I know that they are extremely sensitive and it would just ruin our relationship all together. This poem is for them because if they could read this then maybe they would understand how they make me feel.

 

 

 

Elderly post

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Thank you

Been a lot of places,

seen a lot of faces,

from Calgary, to Halifax, to Vietnam

the adventure of your life began with a bang.

Illness crept up on you like a shadow from your past

but the flame still burns in your chest

as you recall the memories of the past

life full of hardship and challenges

but you made it through the difficult parts.

A gun to your head,

it could have left you dead,

and you danced with death,

still alive to tell the tale of your life’s adventures.

Through the tunnels of words you escaped

and through it all the courage still lies within you

and it shows in the smile of your face.

We admire how you served us in distant past

and although the war is gone our thanks will always last.

Even though you are unable to pass on these experiences to those who share your features,

we took your wise advice

and would like to just say thank you teacher.

This poem is for Neil Wiltzen. We just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to tell us your story.

Sincerly,

Mathew and Zain

 

Shot- a short story

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Authors note:

I wrote this story a while ago when I had just discovered the world of military movies. I was interested in the idea of writing about PTSD in ex soldiers and I was planning to make this in to a longer piece but time was not on my side. I will revisit it during the summer months and hopefully make it a cleaner, well edited and actually talk about the after effects of witnessing terrible events.

~~~

The air rattled with the sounds of blazing guns, and bullets whizzed by from all corners, trying to take down the opposite side, attempting to once again restore peace in this God forsaken country. Highly trained specialists sat still behind rocks or pushed in so close to the Humvee’s back door until they damn near blended in. Grenades flickered and mimicked fireworks in the bright afternoon sky while at the same time killing anyone they come in contact with.

Wounded soldiers lay crying in agony, crushed by the seething pain of the 22-calibre bullet that ripped through their skin while they waited to hear the familiar buzz of the medic’s helicopter, which would fly them to safety.

Despite how it looked, there was a lack of frenzy, no one was scared, we’d been trained to deal with these types of situations, the shooting, and the grenades, and the noise, the shrieks and cries of one of our own begging not to die, not without saying ‘’love you’’ to their son or daughter one last time. No, we weren’t scared, desperate, and angry maybe but never scared. It’s drilled in to our head from the very beginning, being scared creates nerves and there’s no room for nerves in the middle of battle.

My eyes shifted to my buddy lying down next to me, Petty Officer 1st Class Parker Leigh. He was one of the good ones, joined the navy straight out of high school, wasn’t very good at the academics portion but exceled in terms of athletics, that’s probably why he made it through BUD/S so easily. He had a way of getting people to feel better about them-selves, turned every negative into a positive. I admit it got kind of annoying after a while. Leigh was my best friend in the navy; we understood each other because we’d both been through the same things.

‘’You Okay”? I asked.

‘’Of course I’m okay Harrod, about five more hours of this and we can get out of here’’

‘’ All right, just asking’’

I squinted my eyes so I could see through the raging sun, clicked another magazine in to my sniper rifle and adjusted it so that the scope was at eye level. Suddenly the whole scene became more vivid. I could see another man, not to far from where we were camping out.

His black and grey beard made him out to be at least forty years of age. He had a wide toothy smile as though he was actually enjoying this horrid gunfight and his teeth were stained and mimicked an over-ripe banana. He had a smug look on his face, and his eyes- which where dark and shadowy- contained no fear at all.

As much as I didn’t want to believe it, the thought dawned over me, filing me with hatred and resentment.

He was happy.

Here, in some run down village in the middle of Afghanistan, were the flames and sparks and deafening sounds were just as violent as the people, he was happy. And I hated him for it.

I shifted uncomfortably in my position, said a quick prayer, and levelled my rifle so it was aimed directly at the mans forehead. My shaking finger grasped the trigger – after 2 years as a sniper you’d think my body would stop quivering before I took a shot – and I squinted my eyes so I could see through the tiny glass scope, almost instinctively my finger pushed down on the trigger and a 50 calibre bullet went flying through the sky. The sound would have been ear-piercing had it not been for the silencer, which was attached to the barrel of my rifle.

‘’ Look at that shot!’’ I whispered to Leigh.

I realized I sounded like a child at a candy store for the first time and I cleared my throat. Leigh didn’t answer me, which was normal during battle, he usually kept to himself when we were being shaken my bombs and blasts. I craned my neck so that I could see him.

He was lying down, a pale hand clutching his abdomen. A pool of his own blood surrounded him and his optimistic silver eyes carried the burden of longing and desperation.

I acted fast, ripped off his Kevlar and his uniform so I could get a better look at the wound. I reached for the radio on the side of my waist and radioed for any available medic.

‘’ It’s going to be okay, Leigh” Those were the only words that came out of my mouth and I didn’t even believe them.

Leigh made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a choke and when I looked up at him I noticed there was blood staining his chin.

My whole body was shaking. Really shaking. I know we weren’t supposed to be scared, not in the middle of battle anyways but I couldn’t help it. My mind flashed back to the drill instructors and captains who drilled that lesson into us over and over again and for the first time I ignored them, I let myself be scared because right now it was the only emotion I was able to feel.

I reached in to my backpack and removed a tourniquet, I pressed it in to my partner’s stomach and he winced.

‘’ I’m going to die, aren’t I?” his voice was hoarse.

‘’Shut up”

‘’ Tell Addie, and Aimee-

‘’Your not gonna die, Leigh’’

‘’ Tell them I tried my best and I love them””

‘’Yeah okay’’ I didn’t want to admit that my best friend might die, and I especially didn’t want to be the one who couldn’t save him. I pushed down harder on the wound.

‘’ I love you Harod’’ Leigh smiled and attempted to lift his head. His pallid hand went limp and his eyes stared up at the perky blue sky. Those were the last words that came out of his mouth.

‘’ I love you too, Leigh. You’re my best friend’’

I could hear the wings of the medics helicopter spinning in the distance.

A letter to the future

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Dear Future,

I realized this morning that there’s only five more months until high school’s over. I can’t help but wonder, what happens after that? What do we do in that final moment as we walk across the stage to pick up the diploma we’ve all worked so hard for? Should we smile because it’s finally over, because now we’re adults who can conquer the world, or should we cry because of those same reasons?

I try not to think of you, to push even the smallest thought of your giant monstrous face away from my mind but if I’m being completely honest it doesn’t seem to be working out to well. You’re everywhere. I see you in university applications where you hide behind high averages and minuscule acceptance rates. I notice you peeking out behind diploma prep booklets and hiding in the pockets of grad hoodies. You stare at me, your dark eyes unapologetic and suddenly I’m reminded that I have no idea heck I plan to do with my life after all of this is over. Sure, I’ve been accepted in to university on a conditional basis but the thought of ruining my chance daunts me and chases my sleep away; and even if I do get in who’s to say I’m going to love the program I signed up for? Everyone I talk to says the same thing, that It’ll all work out, that you’re not as scary as you look and once I peel back your layers you’ll actually be the best thing in the world. I’m just not sure I believe them.

I guess I’m just too attached to all of this, the school, the friends I’ve made. Maybe that’s what scares me the most about you, that you might steal a part of me that I’ve grown to love. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that by stepping in to your world of bills, worries, and heartbreak I might be forced to change the way I look at the world, I’ve never been too good at embracing other perspectives, but I guess that’s all part of growing up. I just pray that I’m strong enough to handle it.

Anyways, I guess this is goodbye, that is until I have the pleasure to meet you in person.

Hope you treat me well,

Zain.

A-Z writing:

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W is for waiting room:

The waiting room is crowded today. Lots of kids crying and coughing and sniffing while their parents look around with a face that says I’m sorry my child is being so loud but you try to control a three year old! There’s an old man sitting in front of me who has done nothing but rapidly text for the last ten minutes the movement of his thumbs look frustrating as if he’s taking his anger out on his inanimate cellphone. Every now and then he’lll take a bite of his sandwich, stuff it in his mouth and then return it to the brown table beside him. Now for some reason his left leg is shaking catastrophically. He all of a sudden looks nervous as he pushes up his glasses stands up to grab a wad of tissues and sit back down and I guess he had reason to be nervous as the moment his backside made contact with the chair the nurse sauntered out of the checkup room and called out his name ‘’ Victor Ramirez?’’

Now that Victor is gone I’m eavesdropping on what seems to be a father daughter duo. Their arguing with each other back and forth and it’s quite annoying but I have to admit they both have spectacular comebacks.

‘’ You can’t control my entire life!’’ the daughter says

‘’ I’m your dad! I can control whatever I want to’’

‘’ It’s not fair! Why are you always so mean?’’

‘’I’m not mean, your just not old enough to -’’

‘’ I’m fourteen years old how old do I have to been to understand that my dad is a jerk?!

The dad looks angry now as if he’s going to punch through a wall or something. Instead he gets up from his seat tells his daughter that she better be right here when he gets back and storms off in the direction of the pharmacy.

E is elevator:

” Hold the elevator!” my mom yells.

We’re both running, the shopping bags banging against ours thighs. I inhale and silently curse myself because of the amount of Thai food I consumed not ten minutes prior.  First of all I absolutely hate elevators, secondly I would really like to prevent throwing up my noodles due to this extensive work out.

When we finally step inside this claustrophobic, mechanical box I come to the sickening realization that we are not alone. There is a woman standing beside me who, in my opinion, looks a little too dressed up for the mall. She is wearing a fuchsia colored dress and black heels with a shiny pearl necklace that looks newly polished. She- lets name her Sarah- is playing with her phone and typing rather quickly as if the keys on her screen will somehow fly away; she has this angry look on her face that causes wrinkles to form on her forehead.

I hate the sight of this woman. Not because of the way she’s dressed or because she is like 7ft tall but simply because she is here which means that I have to hold in my anxiety instead of openly freak out. I’ve always hated elevators, but my hate intensifies when there are unknown people in there with me. The glass walls are supposed to make me feel better but they do not, instead they freak me out even more as I can see the passerby’s down below shopping, eating fries, talking to their friends without a care in the world. I on the other hand am hyperventilating, cursing my mother profusely for having a dislike of escalators and crying on the inside.

Finally, it comes to a stop. Sarah leaves, her heels clicking behind her and my mom and I leave as well our bags once again hitting against our thighs.

M is for mosque:

It’s busy today, I guess that’s expected though, it being a Friday and all. As I walk I in a take a quick glance of myself in the mirror before proceeding to the coat area to hang up my jacket and remove my shoes. The benches which line the shelves are filled with people and I strain my neck to find an empty spot to sit. I finally notice a space on the carpet and hurry over before anyone can beat me to it. I’m late so the last prayer of the ceremony is almost done but still,  I close my eyes and find peace in the old mans voice as he croaks out the familiar words.

I remember when I was young and my mom used to bring me here, I didn’t like it back then, listening to the endless prayers and religious songs- I was always more keen on playing with Lego or dressing up my barbies – but time passed and so did my father and it ultimately led me right back here, where the dim lights enveloped me like a blanket and the smell of almond cake hibernating in the kitchen made my stomach growl with hunger.

I miss my father, but I have not been dealing with my grief in a way that would’ve made him proud. That’s why I’m here, that’s what I’m seeking from God today. All I want from him is to tell me how I can deal with my anger and sadness and confusion without hurting those around me.

I close my eyes and hope that through His guidance I can find the answer He’s laid out for me.

 

 

 

PTSD – The effect of trauma on war veterans. ( And why they refuse to accept it.)

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Major Carlos Huerta is an American Soldier who was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in the year 2004.  He refused to accept his diagnoses as he thought it would lead to the disintegration of his Army career and continued to move on until he realized he couldn’t bare the pain any longer.

[Translation] ‘’ I don’t know what the trigger was. Maybe it was the young soldier, a mother of two, who I watched get cut down after she hanged herself, weeks following her return from battle.’’ Huerta wrote in his article.

He didn’t know what the trigger was but it definitely affected him to a great extent. He went home one night in September 2010 feeling out of breath, panicky, and claustrophobic wondering if maybe he was having a heart attack. A heart attack, he assumed, was fair grounds to visit the Emergency Room; a panic attack however was something the ‘’ Soldier in [him] could stick out’’.

The next morning he visited the doctors. They did a myriad of tests on his heart and came to the conclusion that he was not a victim of heart disease but of the trauma he had experienced. He was referred to a psychiatrist in the army although, for fear of being labelled weak, he decided that he would seek help off the record from a friend in the Mental Health department.

The Major writes that he thought his psychiatric issues would come to an end when he left the battlefield and started work as a military Chaplain. However that wasn’t the case. His job as a Chaplain consisted of him notifying families that their loved ones had been killed in action. This took a severe toll on Huerta, who resorted to alcohol to ease the pain and started taking his anger out on his family. He maintained distance between him and his children in case he was ever redeployed and realized that coming home from war was more than just packing up his stuff and getting on a plane; it was forgetting the things he had witnessed during his tour in Iraq, forgetting the times he held his fellow soldiers in his arms as they were dying, forgetting the faces of the wives, husbands, brothers and sisters when he told them their loved ones were never coming back. Most importantly though, it was finding people who understood how he felt and reaching out to those 2.7 million soldiers who have been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder as a result of their service to their country.

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Post traumatic stress disorder isn’t something that occurs only in soldiers; in fact it arises when an individual goes through an extremely stressful or dangerous situation. These experiences vary with each person but can include being involved in a car crash, sexual assault, enduring a deployment to a war zone etc. PTSD can affect women, children, men as well as animals such as police or military war dogs.

There are currently 1,281,900 soldiers enlisted in the United States Armed Forces,  not including the 801, 200 reservists who pursue a civilian career and are able volunteer for deployments. 2.7 million active and retired military personnel have been clinically diagnosed with PTSD and continue to suffer on a day-to-day basis.

According to the VA, experts estimate that up to ”20 % of Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom veterans, up to 10 % of Gulf War veterans, and up to 30 % of Vietnam War veterans have experienced PTSD. [ As a result], the demand for PTSD treatment has increased.’’ In the last year alone there has been a 50% jump in the diagnosed and reported cases of this disorder.”

Although there has been a dramatic increase in the diagnosed cases of PTSD, soldiers refuse to accept treatment as a result of the stigma associated with it within both society and the Armed Forces. Veterans with PTSD find it difficult to reintegrate into the outside world because they are often portrayed in the news as ‘’violent’’ or ‘’ dangerous’’

‘’One of the most common misconceptions about PTSD is that veterans who suffer [from] it are violent, said Francine Roberts, PsyD.  Dr. Roberts also stated that the media takes one violent case and turns into the norm; however, veterans are no more capable of violence than anyone else. Self-directed harm is much more prevalent within this community.

An Army analysis reported that 15% of soldiers who return from Iraq or Afghanistan come back with PTSD however- similar to Major Huerta-  they refuse to seek treatment as they think it will prevent them from another deployment.

Image result for ptsd

Advocating against the stigma of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is extremely important to me. The fact that people are looked down upon because of their mental illness truly saddens me as I know numerous people who suffer from or have suffered from disorders such as anxiety, ADHD and depression. I don’t view these individuals any differently than I would someone who hasn’t experienced a psychiatric disability and I cannot fathom the reality in which another person would. PTSD isn’t about the inability to ‘’move on’’ or ‘’ forget about what happened’’ it isn’t synonymous with self-pity, violence, or weakness; it is, however, the fact that you survived something extremely dangerous and the terrorizing memories of that event refuse to leave you; It isn’t ‘’ you refusing to let go of the past but the past refusing to let go of you.’’

‘’ When you go through a traumatic event, there’s a lot of shame that comes with that. A lot of loss of self – esteem. That can become debilitating’’ ~ Willie Aames

Let us aim to create a society where individuals, especially those who serve their country, are not held back in their treatment or acceptance of their illness because of the actuality that they may be viewed as weak and unworthy in the eyes of the very people they go to war in place of. Continue reading “PTSD – The effect of trauma on war veterans. ( And why they refuse to accept it.)” →

October 5th

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It was October 5th 2012. It was cold outside, and, as usual, I was dreading having to visit my grandmother in her long term care facility. She’d been sick for a while. In and out of hospitals for at least a year with heart problems – that because of her age – no doctor would even attempt to fix. Relieve maybe, but not fix.

When she got sick in 2011 we realized that we didn’t have the capability to take care of her and my parents got her into a long term care facility in Bonavista. I hated that place, it smelt of antiseptic and the colors on the wall were downright depressing. Even the nurses looked like they wanted to get out of there. No one should have to live here! I was appalled that my parents- after taking care of her for so long- would just leave her here in this dungeon to fend for herself.

Back to October 5th though. Like I said, it was cold. My mom and I left the house at around 3 pm and got into her red Toyota which was blasting heat out of the vents thanks to the automatic remote we had obtained from the car company. She drove the twenty minutes to the facility, parked the car and made her way to the underground elevator. I followed. I stepped into the elevator and immediately felt as if I was in an enclosed box which was bound to break down at any minute. It stopped at the second floor and we both stepped out into the building. The smell of sanitizer made my nose run and the elderly people in wheelchairs or walkers invited goosebumps to place themselves on my arms. I shuddered at the sight of the sick and the dying and tried to avoid eye contact with most of them. We made our way to my grandmas room which she shared with her roommate – a sweet ninety-something woman who never really had too many visitors- and said hello. The next hour was relatively uneventful, nurses came in and out, pills were ingested, and last weeks stories shared.

I was in my own little world at this point, daydreaming about something or the other and suddenly, I heard my mom whispering at me to go grab a nurse or doctor and get them here immediately. I looked up at my grandma and saw her gagging as if she was trying to throw something up. I ran out of the room and into the kitchen area and grabbed the first uniformed person I could find. I couldn’t make myself enter the room again, I was too afraid – my hands were shaking, my heart was beating rapidly-I didn’t want to witness my grandmother dying, which I was pretty sure was happening. So I plotted myself on the chair outside the door and looked straight ahead clenching my hands to halt the shaking.

About twenty minutes later my mom came out and told me that she had passed away. I don’t think I felt anything in that moment. My whole body was numb. My head was pounding. I felt as though I was a character in a movie; that the director would call ‘’CUT!’’ and soon this would all be over. But that wasn’t the case.

We gathered up the rest of my family to say goodbye and circled around her bed to say our last farewells. As we left the nursing home we were all teary eyed and flushed, no one bothered talking to or comforting anyone, we were all just stuck inside our own minds. We made our way back to our house, dividing ourselves between the cars making sure no one was driving alone.

It was difficult for me to understand the effect my grandmother had on my life before she died. I was just an eleven year old girl who didn’t really appreciate her to the best of my ability. I think, if anything good can come out of her death it’s the fact that I take the time now to appreciate the people in my life. I hug my mom every time she leaves the house and say I love you more to the people in my family. I’ve become more of a family person because I now understand the importance of my loved ones.

My bucket list:

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30 things I want to do before I’m 30:

  • Graduate university

It took me a long time to decide what I wanted to major in but over the summer I realized that I enjoy working with children. I hope to graduate in the year 2023 with a Bachelors of Education.

  • Travel to Johannesburg, South Africa

I traveled to Nairobi about two years ago with my family and I absolutely loved it! Since then I have been intrigued with the wonders of Africa and after much research I came to the conclusion that Johannesburg would be my first stop.

  • Become fluent in Spanish

I grew up in a family where everyone was bilingual. Unfortunately, because we moved to Calgary when I was two I never had the chance to learn our native language of Swahili; which is why I am so determined to master a foreign language. I am most interested in Spanish because I want to travel to Latin America where Spanish is the main language.

  • Go skydiving

My brother went skydiving in Hawaii when he was in university and it made me want to do it too. It seems like an exhilarating activity that everyone should do once in their life for the sole sake of making memories.

  • Sing karaoke

I’ve always enjoyed singing but I would never do it infront of people because I am too shy. One of my goals is to get up on stage one day and belt out a song regardless of how bad I think my voice is.

  • Learn how to make my own clothes

I’ve always thought that making my own clothes would make me feel so accomplished and in my opionion it would be a great time-pass activity.

  • Own my own house

It’s been my dream ever since I was a child to own an apartment. I would like to buy it myself with my own money as I feel like it’s something that I need to do on my own.

  • Watch a FIFA soccer game live

I love watching soccer and would really enjoy watching a game live.

  • Write a novel

Since I was a little girl I have been writing short stories and one day I hope to publish a best seller.

  • Master one speciality dish

My mom has a passion for cooking so when I was growing up there was always a new dish on the table. My goal is to learn one speciality dish that people can remember me by after they leave my house.

  • Learn Sign Language

I worked with a girl over the summer who was fluent in sign language and she inspired me to learn it as well. It is one of my goals because I feel like it would open up so many doors and allow me to communicate with a new group of people.

  • Volunteer abroad in Latin America

As I stated previously I want to travel to Latin America; if I can do some good while I’m there it would be a dream come true!

  • Fly first class

It would be fun, wouldn’t it?

  • Work at a cafe

I’ve watched too many movies about the magic of coffee shops and its made me want to expirience something like that.

  • Join an excersise club like badminton or Cross fit

Who doesn’t want to get fit and maintain a healthy lifestyle?

  • Learn how to play a musical instrument

I started playing piano when I was a kid but quit after about six years. I would like to regain this skill before i’m thirty.

  • Get through a classical novel

I have yet to find a classical novel that I thouroughly enjoy but I hear so many good things about authors like Charles Dickens and Agatha Christie and would like to expirience their writing.

  • Learn how to braid my own hair

I haven’t yet mastered the skill of doing my own hair, apart from buns or pony tails, but I plan to learn!

  • Learn to surf

I’ve visited soo many places that have beaches and its inspired me to learn how to surf.

  • Eat in a five star resturant

Because it sounds like a cool thing to do!

  • Go to a pool party

An excuse for hanging out with friends and buying a new swimsuit, who wouldn’t want that?

  • Get funky coloured highlights

I’ve been thinking about this for a while but I haven’t had the courage to do it yet. The colours I’ve thought about are blue or red.

  • Get a nose ring

My mom has a nose ring and it looks beautiful. It makes me want to get one too.

  • Go to a Ed Sheeran concert

I listen to his songs on repeat and I think it would be soo cool to see him live.

  • Become a Teacher

I love learning about things like Social Studies and Languages and it would be great if I could pass on my passion to others.

  • Go on a very expensive shopping spree

I have always wanted to start an entire new wardrope because it would be nice to have a bunch of new, different clothes.

  • Purchase a car

A Punch Buggy is my dream car.

  • Adopt an Elephant from East Africa

Because then I could tell people I have a pet Elephant!

  • Travel to New York

It’s the city that never sleeps. Everyone says that it has a certain energy that inspires you and it seems like a great place to visit.

  • Open up a cafe

Becuase it would be a hub where people of all cultures, races, and ethnicites are accepted and valued!

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