Paranoia: baseless or excessive suspicion of the motives of others.
We all fear something in our lives, but with PTSD the fears are usually excessive and often baseless. Imagine going through your entire life never trusting a living soul, not even members of your own family. This is the world those who suffer from PTSD live in. I could have easily said: "Welcome to my world" whenever someone would ask me: "So, what's wrong with Ron?"
As a young woman, Ron often was jealous and always suspicious of me. If I was later coming home from the grocery store than he thought, often due to weather or long lines, he was jealous. He was certain I had met up with some other guy and he often flew into a rage if I disputed his accusations. When dating, mild jealousy seemed flattering to me. But after marriage, it was anything but and it grew worse as time wore on.
Once we divorced and I remarried, left to his own devices, Ron didn't fair well on his own. Being alone left him with too much time on his hands, too much time to think and to imagine all sorts of things that were not true. He got married, for about one minute, to a woman who was apparently not good for him. From what people told me, she had her mental issues too and was looking for someone she thought had money to support her and to possibly inherit if Ron should meet his demise. The demise part is the operative word, in her case. While married, Ron allegedly tried to shoot himself. He missed and shot himself in the neck leaving an almost mortal wound. He had texted the Yates County sheriff's department, telling them to come find his body. Once he was wounded, it seems the new wife did not bother to call 911 on her own. All the people I talked to have expressed the opinion that maybe, just maybe, Ron did not shoot himself, but had help. When someone has PTSD, it is very easy to work on their mind and to place all kinds of notions in their head. They are quite vulnerable to suggestions, good or bad. Small town Penn Yan is full of opportunists of both genders, so it didn't take long for them to crawl out of the woodwork. The oddest thing was the woman he married just so happened to have been married to another man who committed suicide by shooting himself. Odd, isn't it?
Ron ended up in the hospital in a live or die situation and his children took the reins and made sure that bad union was dissolved by way of an annulment. She allegedly had tried to remove money from Ron's banking account, but unsuccessfully. All this took place after he had received his big retroactive settlement of money for his service related disability.
Our oldest son and his wife moved in when Ron recovered and went home, so they could care for him. That worked out pretty well, for a while. But, the paranoia took hold once again, partly due to his PTSD and exacerbated by his now permanent, injury from the shooting. He finally accused our son of all sorts of unfounded wrongs and told them to leave his house. They did. After that, Ron went through a series of VA visiting nurses, they lasted for a while and he would always fire them due to his trust issues. He ended up distancing himself from all of his family of origin as well as his children, certain, in his head, they all were not to be trusted.
This is where the elder abuse started and where a private caregiver and her sister-in-law worked their way into Ron's life and home under the guise they could be trusted caregivers. That fact could not be further from the truth. So, for some reason, Ron hired the caregiver and stopped trusting the VA nurses who were trained in caring for him. but remember, it is very easy to work on the mind of a person suffering from PTSD and apparently that is exactly what the private home care worker did.
Two years before Ron supposedly committed suicide and succeeded, this private worker started working there. Well, once Ron was dead, his children found out that this private worker must have planned to steal his house and everything in it from the minute she walked in his door. We know this because the date on his new will was about the time she started working there. she wasted no time in enlisting a crooked law firm in Penn Yan to have Ron make out a new will, Ron was in bad physical shape, so she conveniently had those crooked lawyers come to his home to make out a new will. It is no coincidence that the worker and her crooked sister-in-law made themselves sole benefactors of everything Ron owned. Lock, stock and barrel. She had, in two years, successfully convinced Ron his entire family was not to be trusted. So divide and conquer was her M.O.
Last summer, Ron supposedly was able to purchase, over the Internet, a black powder pistol and shoot himself in the head. Seriously? His sisters and mother told us that Ron had the use of only one hand, walked with a cane and his other had suffered such spasms that he could not hold anything. Now this guy, in this condition, supposedly was able to load a black powder pistol, with a ramrod, hold it to his head and shoot himself? We all find that hard to believe. But conveniently, the worker had a bout of amnesia, because she could not recall the children's names or phone numbers to call his family until three days after his death. By the time the kids found out, she had also conveniently sent his body to be cremated, thus vanquishing all and any evidence of how he really was able to commit suicide. Now of course, the State Police and Yates County Sheriff did not call for an autopsy, all botched any and all investigations and all of this sounds mighty fishy to all of his family.
Our oldest son had to hire a lawyer to obtain personal, family items. He could not get any contents of the house because the worker and her sister-in-law had wiped out everything from the home. This is a case of elder abuse, if not assisted suicide, which, my friends is as illegal as murdering a person. Why was there no investigation? Why was there no autopsy done? Why was it three whole days Before his children were notified of his death? Ron also had our son install surveillance cameras and video. ALL of which mysteriously disappeared. Strange? To say the least.
Upon our own investigation, we have since discovered that this worker had also obtained another house and property from yet another unsuspecting elderly client. Our son also found out from his lawyer, those crooked lawyers in Penn Yan who Claimed Ron was of 'sound mind and body' when crippled and suffering for YEARS from mental illness, had been named in another dispute of aiding someone else with stealing from another family.
All of this is going into my latest book and my family have not concluded our own investigation into this suicide that smells like a rat in the wood pile. Time will tell and hopefully we can pick up the ball the authorities seemed to have dropped.
The conclusion of this blog is this: If anyone you know suffers from PTSD, Never, Ever allow them to push you away. Always stay in close touch because as they grow older, elder abuse is SO EASY for those private home health crooks to swoop in, place notions into the sufferer's head and Steal Everything they can get. Stay focused and Stay alert. But believe me, my children are Not finished with this investigation.
Having been told for years that PTSD did not exist, you tend to think maybe you have the problem. But when you see your kids being terrorized, as well as yourself, in a marriage, from Hell, you know it's bull shit they are telling you.
Over the years, the systems that were in place, offered no help at all for what we went through. A Vietnam Vet, slash, counselor, even drove to our house from the VA. He had the gall to tell us that PTSD did not exist and that my ex never saw any fighting in the region he was fighting in. I wondered what that guy had been smoking, but then, he got paid to parrot the bull shit lies. My ex's employer simply thought he was nuts and tried to humor him over the years. But, finally after 26 years working there, the sons took over the business and first order of business was to fire Ron. Can't say as I blamed them. So we set out to help him get disability. He had to go to hours and hours of counseling, like they hoped it would cure him or something. There is no cure, to my knowledge. I helped him when I was divorced and single, but finally I decided to have a life.
It was not my mission to babysit my ex and give up having any happiness myself. I met and married, my present husband, who, surprisingly enough, is also a Vietnam Vet. But we have been married for 16 years now and I've learned that all Vietnam Vets are not nuts. PTSD vets are not nuts either, they suffer from a problem caused by being in a war zone.
After I was married, Ron finally won his service related case. But it took him years and lawyer fees to do so. Unfortunately Ron became easy prey for not only strangers, but his own brothers and sisters, who came begging for loans and hand outs. The saga of the two women who entered his life is the subject of the next blog. Penn Yan certainly is full of opportunists who are very willing to take advantage of someone who is mentally susceptible to those who like to manipulate others. In fact, it turned out, both women are experts at taking anyone with houses and money to the cleaners. The first one was hoping to kill him, the second one pretty much did. Penn Yan sheriffs are inept at any kind of investigations. But, perhaps, the sheriffs department was tired of dealing with what they considered, crazy Ron. But I think they are lazy and cover up stuff in order to not have to work hard at their jobs. The sheriff and the VA both dropped the ball and allowed a veteran to die.
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The book featured here is appropriate for this blog series. While my husband, Steve, is not still in Vietnam in his head, his book reflects memories of a forgotten war.
Being a forgotten war, with no heroes lauded from it, no decent home coming, and Americans, including the U.S. government, wanting to brush all memories of it aside, one can tell how veterans of that war feel. When a Vietnam Vet suffers from PTSD, it is doubly hard due to the factors mentioned above.
My ex had his head in Vietnam. So much so, in fact, he constantly mentioned what a raw deal Vietnam Vets got from it. A war where for the first time in a very long time. the U.S. government decided to force young men to fight a war that many felt unjust. It wasn't the soldiers' fault they had to go kill people in a country most of us never heard of before. It wasn't their fault they laughed and jeered at the saying "Land of the free." How in Hell is it freedom to be forced into servitude or face prison?
My ex felt such remorse, it just penetrated his thoughts all the time. With PTSD a veteran often feels like the job was unfinished. With no real home coming, there was no closure for their service. No gratitude and no thank you. Ron often expressed how he wished he had 'eaten it in Vietnam.' As time went on, suicidal thoughts grew worse. Every day, little problems most of us face, became blown way out of proportion and I always found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just never knew what chain of events would cause the shoe to drop. Something big or something small? I never could tell until it happened.
There came a day when I grew tired of it all. Tired of the tension, the verbal and physical abuse and our family began to really show signs of strain. I got tired of calling Yates County Sheriff, who did absolutely nothing anyway. I made a trip to Social Services only to be asked by the head worker: "Can't you just make up? Our caseload is heavy right now." I learned, over the course of time, you can either be abused at home, or abused by a system that really does not care. To this day, I see 'Stop Domestic Violence' as a mere slogan, a cause of the week once a year. Why? Well women and children are killed year after year in spite of the supposed awareness going on each year when agencies display their cute little token ribbons.
The first time we had major problems that spilled outside of Ron's comfort zone, namely his closed doors where he could terrorize us, we ended up in family court. Family court is nothing but a zoo. You can go for your scheduled appointment, sit there in a crowd for two hours and then be told your case has been postponed for a month or two. See what I mean by picking where you want to be abused? This behavior is supposed to help families? Hardly. When we finally did get our day in court, I was told by the judge that I needed to go to counseling. Why wasn't the abuser court ordered to go? I was told by the judge: "You need to go to counseling to help you learn how to handle your family problems." A bit ludicrous to put it mildly. So when I see people bitch about 'people on welfare and food stamps' I want to smack them. They have no empathy and no idea what they are talking about. Women and children are using the system. They do not want children to be clothed, fed, have medical care or a safe place to live? Apparently not. Those who bitch about 'those damn freeloaders on welfare' have the audacity to say "stop domestic violence and child abuse' out of the other side of their mouths.
You have to also remember that for many, many years, PTSD did not exist in the eyes of anyone. But then, they did not live in my house either. The suicide talk, the abuse, the talk of how Vietnam just wasn't fair, tends to grate on anyone's nerves over time. The PTSD sufferer blames everyone for their problems, especially those people they claim to care for. They take problems, even small ones as some kind of personal assault, directed at them. They are angry most all of the time, every minute of the day.
While it can be hard to live with someone suffering from PTSD, the constant thoughts of suicide makes it hard for the PTSD sufferer to just plain live.
After marriage, we bought a home in Yates County, NY. It was a small house, cozy and nice. But immediately the happiness of a new marriage and new home was short lived. I had two children when we married, this was not anything my new husband did not know about. In fact, we were engaged twice because the year before we married, I broke off the first engagement. My gut told me something was not right with him. I was not madly in love and I was worried a step parent might not be good. I learned, the hard way, to listen to my gut. It has not been wrong. We broke up and I did not hear from Ron Gage for months. I was happy and then, out of the blue he paid me a visit at my parents' house. He brought a present for my daughter, trying to get in my good graces, no doubt. So my kids were not any surprise to him. My parents convinced me this gift was a good sign. A sign of a responsible man. Boy, were they ever wrong.
In our new house, Ron would come home from work always in a bad mood. I do not recall any night he ever was happy with anything. He picked on how I kept house, my cooking, my parenting skills. If I had spent the entire day cleaning, he would literally look for something that wasn't perfect and start a rant about it. He'd bitch every night until bedtime. All the time I tried, and of course failed, to be the perfect wife. He would often compare me to his friends' wives, saying all of them were better wives than I was.
Often he would get pissed at work and quit. We would go without money and food until I went down and applied for food stamps to feed my kids. In the small town of Penn Yan, NY this was another nightmare. Those workers were not only unsympathetic, I would get lectured, like it was all my fault he quit his job. He would fly into a rage at work and quit. We were fortunate his employer would take him back, but not until months passed and we were almost destitute. I recall one time he flew into a rage, he was abusive, physically and verbally to me and the kids and I went to Social Services in Penn Yan to try and leave him. I got: "Can't you just go home and make up? We are swamped with cases." Heaven forbid they got off their asses and did the paperwork. Needless to say there was no help there and to this day Penn Yan still likes to cover up it's major flaws. Trying to make people think it is a perfect little town.
When I would call the local sheriff department the cops would also try to talk me out of pressing charges. One cop even said: "Well, Ron. I can sympathize. My ex-wife is a real bitch too." Not only did my then husband, work on all their cop cars, many would come to the house to smoke pot with him before they were cops. Many others, who later became prominent business men there, would also come to his pot parties. So he was in their good ole boy circle pretty well. This isn't slander, it is fact because I was there and yes, knew all their names. But in little town, USA, it is swept under the rug. This is what many little towns do. You must spell your last name correctly or you are out of their good graces.
One particular incident, when Ron was violent, he took his shotgun down and said he was going to kill himself. I said nothing. Then he turned, pointed it at me, held it to my chest and said: "Maybe I should just kill you instead." I thought I was taking my last breath. When I was able to call the sheriff's department, one of his cop cronies arrived and, thank goodness, the one and only female sheriff on the force arrived too. The male cop claimed there was not sufficient evidence to arrest Ron. I guess threatening to kill your wife with a loaded gun was not cause enough. The female cop allowed me to press charges and he was arrested. But not without much arguing about the situation. People can say 'that was then and there is more awareness now.' Seriously? Everyone talks about it, in larger cities there are women's shelters. But even then, in shelters, they cannot have their animals and their whole life is disrupted. I suppose that's society's way of blaming the victim. I see domestic violence as not much more than the cause of the month, once a year. Small towns have no shelters for abused women, yet they do have animal shelters. It seems small towns are more sympathetic to animals who are homeless and abused than to women and kids who are. Social Services workers certainly are not trained well enough to deal with domestic violence, not in small towns anyway. While Penn Yan liked to boast they had 'safe houses' those houses are so far out in the boonies and most abused women do not own cars. So how do they get groceries, find a job or run errands? Many are lucky to escape with their lives. Later I will discuss how shabbily Social Services and family court treated me and my kids. I wish this 'system' could get its priorities straight.
Many people have no idea just how violent those suffering from PTSD can be. Sometimes the veteran's co-workers are killed, sometimes entire families are killed. Even if not killed, lives are in shambles and children are scarred for life. Not always visible scars, but emotional ones, those that are harder to heal. To this very day, not enough is being done for veterans and their families who suffer every day.
Veterans who never come home. No, not those who are killed but those who die in spirit and personality. Those who return in the flesh, but who never fully return to their former civilian lives. Those who have left their minds in the war zones, and their spirits have become disheartened. Seeing people killed on a regular basis is not something the human brain can fully wrap around. Seeing people who suffer, or may be tortured, or may be children, old people and civilians who did nothing to deserve death or torture, takes its toll on any human mind and is forever burned into memory.
At 20 years old, what do any of us know about life? Certainly not I, a young woman living in a small town. A woman raised by her grandparents, raised 'old school' raised in a sheltered environment. My grandparents grew up during the Depression and when the 1960's rolled around, they had a difficult time with what looked to them, like the youth and the world had gone completely mad. Young people were adopting new norms and casting off the old ones their parents and grandparents had known and embraced for so long. Hard for the older generation to comprehend. The adults were certain that America's youth were spoiled rotten and had lost their minds completely and thoroughly.
Tough times for young people too. Many new rules were put in place to keep us in place because adults felt rules were the only weapon they had to make us toe the mark. Places such as schools were having a hard time embracing the new thinking and piled more rules onto the already long list of rules. Rules like: Guys who had hair touching their collars would be sent home until they got a more 'reasonable' haircut. Girls could not wear skirts or dresses that did not touch the floor when on their knees (I kid you not) or they too would be sent home to lower the hemlines.
Girls were beginning to want more from the world they felt was 'sexist' and decided to attend collage in droves, taking courses they actually intended to use in the workplace once they had a high school diploma. But small town schools did not keep up so well with the new ideas. I remember going to see the guidance counselor who, of course, was a guy, just before graduation. I remember him telling me: "Well, looking for a career is probably a waste of time. You, like most young women, will probably just get married and have some kids anyway." I was dumbfounded, any ideas of further education shot down before I even got started. Having been sheltered as the youngest in the family, I wasn't trained to open my mouth and argue with him. I felt disheartened. That was a sign of the times.
My grandparents, who adopted me, were growing older. The biggest thing on their minds was to 'marry the youngest child off.' It was all they talked about and they never fathomed a woman could be single and take care of herself. So the first guy who was nice to me, after high school, was on their radar sights to marry me off to. I had wanted to attend airline stewardess school, but my parents discouraged me with 'we could never afford that' talk. They knew nothing about financial aid and the guidance certainly never talked about it since he did not encourage women getting any further education. So, right after high school, my parents convinced me to get a job and a car, for the short time I would be single.
Come to find out, the guy they were pressing me to marry would become my worst nightmare. He was abusive and a narcissistic psychopath. He was suffering from PTSD but what does a woman at the ripe old age of 20 know about that? For years and years my family went through a living hell, but after all, you cannot get anyone help for a condition that supposedly 'does not exist.' As a young woman, I began to wonder if it was me who had the problem, since he would point out it must be me with every abusive statement from his lips.
After marriage, we moved to the small area of Yates County, near Penn Yan, NY where his job was. From the get go, the nightmare never let up. We constantly walked on egg shells and for a long time, covered up the shame of physical and verbal abuse.
Small towns, such as Penn Yan, offered no help in those days because the Sheriff's department in small towns was a 'good ole boy' from way back. My husband worked on all their cars and, what was I accusing him of; how in hell could this nice man be abusive? So whenever I did call for help, I got a constant barrage of 'well, what did you do to set him off?' They refused to arrest him, but then, they did not live at my house. He was always able to pull it together long enough at work to appear to be a nice guy.
We mourn soldiers who die in a war zone. There are many who physically die, but there are more who return home physically but not mentally. Those who lost their lives, well their trials and tribulations are over, there can be closure for families. Those who die emotionally, their problems are simply just beginning. Loved ones can grasp a physical death, while the emotional and many times, mental deaths are much, much harder to come to grips with.
It has finally been determined that many veterans from every war ever fought have suffered from this condition. The difference in those past wars, to present, is that PTSD was shoved under the carpet until our modern era. Many liked to name the condition shell shock, that way no government officials felt any responsibility for admitting that the war itself caused it. This was one way of just being off the hook for government officials and military officials. For if they did admit it might be service related, they knew they would be wide open to a host of payments for a service related condition. When it comes to money, well, military and government officials are very good at dodging that bullet, so to speak.
This is the story, my story, of living with PTSD at its heights. It is a story of how, for years, no one would acknowledge that this troublesome condition even existed. If it were up to government officials and armchair generals, it still wouldn't exist. First off, my hat goes off to Vietnam Veterans who got the ball rolling when it comes to not allowing it to be swept under the rug. Also to the present day veterans who didn't drop the ball and who now carry the torch of justice for all veterans who come home with this condition. Only those who have lived with it, spouses, parents, children and most of all, the veterans themselves, really know and understand the nightmare that is PTSD.
While the world is applauding a new movie about a famous sniper, what happens to the everyday veteran who is not famous? Is he or she any less value? No, and this series of blogs is dedicated to the men and women who went into the unknown, who felt a calling to serve their country, who have refused to 'go gently into that good night' quietly. For their lives are of major importance whether you know their names or not.
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