I know I said I would dive into the issue of firearms and my PTSD the last time, and as I’ve had time to think, I don’t think I’ll dive too far into that.  I feel it is more of a distraction and better discussed separately in another forum/post than here.  I’ll touch on it briefly, but I don’t think I’ll go into depth.

I’ve been around firearms for years.  I use them for hunting, self protection and as a hobby.  They’re a part of my life, and in truth, a part of my security “blanket” if you will.  Again, I’m not going in depth here, but the fear of having them forcibly removed has stopped me in the past from accepting help when I needed it.  There are several groups out there that have been created to discuss this, WalktheTalkAmerica is one of them, and I don’t remember many of the others off the top of my head, but feel free to reach out and hit me up if you’re interested.  But enough of that. 

As things progressed, I recognized that I needed help, but mentally I wasn’t there yet.  I was still struggling.  Struggling with the realization that the only places I felt comfortable were in high stakes environments, and that my physical injuries now permanently precluded me from being able to find employment within those careers that would allow me to continue operating within those environments. 

Things came to a head for me around November/December of 2020.  We had just moved to a new house, I was no longer working as a field technician, but rather had been pulled into an office job, taken a forced paycut, and was performing menial tasks to stay gainfully employed while I was working out my plan of action.  It all came to a head when I received a phone call from HR one day. 

I’m not going into details on what the phone call was about here.  I’m merely trying to tell my story to let the world know how I got where I am, as well as get myself to understand how I got here.  Regardless of the situation, my instinct, and every fiber in my being wanted to drive to work, sit in the parking lot, and blow my brains out, just to let the company clean up my mess.  After admitting this to my support group, my wife, and my brother, collectively, we agreed that it was time.  I called the next day and quit right then and there.  I had already been proactive to an extent, leaving all of my work related items except for my keys at work, meaning I didn’t have to drive in to return anything.

There was an overwhelming sense of relief and peace as soon as I quit.  Surprisingly so.  I had honestly felt that I would quit and that there would be a huge amount of stress to figure out what to do next, but that never came.  This was when I began to realize that I was exactly where God wanted me to be; I just don’t know why yet. 

I say this because all the events leading up to this point had fallen in place, I just never sat down and realized it.  I was working for pennies on the dollar until my friend called me to see if I would work for him.  Once I did, I was in a position to buy the new house, and had been putting a large chunk of money away in my retirement fund at the same time.  This meant that when I called to quit, I was already in our forever home, and had enough money to pull out of my retirement fund to support my family throughout the past year, while I wasn’t working.  This was not by chance.  God had worked in my life to put me here now.