Yep, I screwed up.  It was only my second or third GPS install on a machine, but it was so similar to the previous one I had done, that I didn’t bother fully reading the instructions.  The problem was I was new enough to this that I didn’t realize there were model breaks between serial numbers that changed how the cables connected.  I had read the instructions fully on the previous dozer that I had helped with the install, but not completely on this one.  The result?  I created several extra hours of work, where my boss ended up coming out to see why the system wasn’t working, and realized what I did.  He was pretty pissed at the end of the day.  Rightly so. 

I went in the next morning, early, and fixed my mistake. Once the mistake was corrected, and I was at the point where I should have been the previous night, I went ahead and clocked in.  Personal responsibility, right?  It was only right.  I created the problem, it was my responsibility to correct it. 

Unfortunately, I had this same mentality at this point in time dealing with my PTSD.  It was my issue, therefore my responsibility to fix it.  And I couldn’t find a solution for it.  Ironically, the same issues that drive many to drink, or many to drugs, were the same issues that kept me from alcohol abuse and drug abuse.  Control.  I couldn’t afford to lose control of a situation.  Being drunk or on drugs would have meant that I had no control over my life, so I avoided them like the plague. 

Shortly after this incident, I spoke with my boss, who is also a friend of mine.  I let him in on my secret.  He was the first person I ever told.  Once I did, it felt like there was a weight lifted off my shoulders.  Granted, this set in motion a string of events that I now had no control over, so that made things a bit difficult. 

I finally told my wife what was going on as well.  I had been hiding it from her because I felt she had enough on her plate, dealing with the kids as well as finishing up her bachelors degree.  The plan was for her to take a year or two off, then go back and get her masters.  She immediately decided to try and go back for her masters now, rather than wait, in order to alleviate my issues.  God was already working in our lives, and we found out she could get into the masters program that fall. 

Now you say, “Now things are going well.”  Sort of.  Remember that whole control issue?  Yeah, that ugly thing kept rearing its head.  My pastor knew something was up, just not sure what, and he arranged a time to meet with me and another member of our church who was a veteran.  As we were hanging out and talking over some whiskey, I finally broke down and admitted what I’d been struggling with.  Admitting it out loud is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.  Telling someone you know that you have wanted to blow your brains out for the past few years is not exactly an easy thing.  It takes a certain MASSIVE amount of vulnerability to put yourself out there like that. 

A few days later, he mentioned that there was a therapist he wanted me to see, if I was willing.  I wasn’t.  I still remembered my first attempt at help, but because he was concerned, I told him I would go.  My biggest issue at the time was the issue of firearms.  My fear was that as soon as I admitted to what was happening to a professional, they would immediately report it, and I would lose my right to bear arms.  Stupid? To some, absolutely.  To others, not really.  I’ll dive into that and more in depth next time. 

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Hopper’s Journey: Part: 1 * 2 * 3 * 4 * 5 * 6