Ground Hog Days...

Its hard to believe its been 9 years since BBGs humvee, UH-6o ambulance hospital airplane hospital airplane hospital airplane ambulance ride home. I know of said it before but my kids have paid the biggest price. The mom used to have is not the one they ended up with through no fault of their own. I, on the other hand, signed the contract and said the vows.

I deserve the Ground Hog Days of life after Iraq.

Well, I don' think anyone deserves this but I committed to the girl and so get committed to this whether I like it or not. I have to tell you though - I'm tired. I used to think I was a good guy for sticking through it all. The yelling the shitty behaviors, the mean things said to friends, the focus on those friends and not us and the kids. I'm beginning to wonder though.

Am I a good guy or just a fool?

Sometimes I wonder...

And the band plays on...

This one will be quick...

mainly because the boy with my name and I are headed out for some I-Hop.

Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity anyone?

Seriously though - I deleted the last ten posts because they got too personal and despite the anonimity of cyberspace, they don't only belong to me. They tell the story of the people I love and you know how I hate to be the butterfly.

Wings flappin - hurricanes in Guam.

I'll rewrite them later tonight - not to censor myself but I think there's a better way to say what I need to say and I think its important to share. Folks who don't live with PTSD every day can't imagine what its like - especially for the family members (mostly the kids) of the one who is suffering.

The story needs to continue to be told.

TIA

Earl

The boy with my name

Funny - in the middle of all my whining (lets face it , thats what this blog is), the boy with my name smoked his final history paper this semester. Despite all that my children have been through with a mother living under the veil of TBI and PTSD and a father struggling to live through everything else, they manage to keep going and sometimes even thrive.

Just goes to show that maybe nurture isn't all its cracked up to be.

TIA

Earl

Nothing to fear but fear itself

BBG is involved in an arts program to help with her PTSD, with some Artsy kind of folks and soldiers from Fort Carson. She is actually a good painter and already an artist in her own right for Quilting and Fiber Art. These are her friends and they help each other so she jumped right in when they said they were coming up to Denver from the Springs to hit some of the galleries.

This is our text stream from this morning. I am at work and trying not to get fired for always being on the phone.

BBG: They are coming to pick me up
Me: Good - have fun
BBG: yeah I'm excited
Me: Cool - Have fun
BBG: I want to go
Me: Thats nice. Have fun
BBG: I will because it will be fun
me: Good
BBG: They're on their way
ME: Great Hon
BBG: I'll be headed out soon
ME: Have fun - Ciao (read hint hint - GOOD BYE)
BBG: Well I'm going to get ready
ME: later (Thinking - You're not ready Already???!)

5 minute pause - sound of me actually doing work in the back ground

BBG: They just called and they are at the old house (We moved 19 months ago)
Me: Did you give them the new address?
BBG: I guess I forgot
ME: Do they have it now?
BBG: Umm - yeah
ME: OK
BBG: I was hoping they'd just skip me since they went to the wrong address
ME: Really?
BBG: I don't really want to go - I think
ME: Oh
BBG: Its in the city
ME: uhh yeah (Duhhh!!!)
BBG: I'm tired
ME: uhh huhhh
BBG: Lots of people and stuff
ME: uhh huhhh

mysterious five minute pause - getting ready maybe?

BBG: heading out now seeya (Happy as can be)
ME: ????

Some days are just freaking exhausting!!!

Earl

It lives

Title says it all... and I've been gone for awhile...

I left because I think I needed to ignore Iraq for awhile. truth is you really can't ignore it. seven and a half years since BBG got the humvee helo plane hospital plane hospital plane plane ambulance hospital ride home from the big sandy and it is crushingly part of every day of our lives. Putting it down on paper just keeps it at the surface and I decided to let the fire burn low for awhile.

I had planned on a couple of months

give or take (30ish)

and now here we are... he's baaaack

(Insert visual of kid on tricycle and creepy ghost girls here)

I'm not sure how much I'm going to talk about life after Iraq, PTSD, TBI etc. or how in depth I will go. How many times can you say it sucks ass and has been as tough on you and the kids as it has been on BBG before it starts to sound like whining?

TBI month (Yes - this month) and my novels got me thinking about it again so I think I'll just see how it goes.

Two posts tonight - back with a vengence

First post:

My friend - Aviation Commander, father, husband, PTSD sufferer who I have repeatedly promised to tell you about called yesterday to thank my wife and I for our service.

She deserves it - as does he.

I, a glorified whirlybird bus driver, do not.

I'll bypass his story for now and share our conversation.

Him: Dude how are you? Hey, sorry we haven't talked in a couple of weeks. Wife had the baby - she's beautiful and amazing (Baby and wife).

**NOTE: He gave me the stats and all I can remember is baby girl, name is normal, and she was 19.5" long - I am pathetic and I apologize to mother and father. Remember me as a caring friend with the memory of a toad.

Me: Congrats brother. You must be so proud - two beautiful daughters.

Him: I am - she lights ups the room - lights up me.

Me: How are you doing? Writing much lately?

Him: Fuck no - I just can' get into it lately (sad for an award wining Columbia MFA). I try but it just won't come. I'm a slacker!

Me: You OK otherwise?

Him: Kinda - the nightmares are really bad. Almost every night. At least I'm up when the baby cries though.

Me: Any luck with the VA? (his disability package is in the purgatory of the VA process. So much for reducing their average wait time down from 173 days. I'm a six sigma black belt and guarantee I could cut it by 30% but they have declined my offers to help)

Him: No - I'm kinda giving up on that. I get to see someone from my wife's health care program. They have no clue what war is like but at least its someone to talk to.

Me: I'll make a call on Tuesday to my wife's VA therapist she'll get you in.

Him (resigned) Sure dude thanks - whatever you can do.

As god is my witness, I will call this therapist tomorrow morning first thing. She is overwhelmed with troops in need and probably has no life outside the VA but she'll get him in. She cares and will go the extra mile. I owe her my life, my wife's life and our marriage and I'll ask for one more favor. She'll find a way to get him in. The VA is filled with folks like her. They care and give to the detriment of their own lives

My friend needs help and it isn't readily available. As an Army Officer this shames me. As an American this shames me. On this Memorial Day, we owe our freedoms to good men like my friend yet very few are doing everything they can - except for the overburdened caregivers at the VA - they do it until they become casualties themselves. Unable to bear the weight of so many and still take care of themselves.

If you read this, do me a favor and send a copy to your congressman or senator. Ask them to ensure this stops happening. Share it with your local newspaper or your neighbor. We need to get the word out and keep it in the headlines until it stops - until all get the help they need, We owe it to them.

TIA

Earl

Sometimes you just have to get away

Its been two months and one day since I've posted - sorry! I'll make my excuses short and get back to what I do.

1) Work has been insane. As an aside (meaning on my own time), I've fallen into providing process engineering support to an engineer and inventor who has developed some material that provides ballistic protection at weights that are significantly lower than what is currently out there. Imagine a humvee that is not so top heavy it flips every time you turn a sharp corner or imagine body armor shaped like your body at half the weight of what our soldiers are currently wearing.

Amazing!

2) I've been tired. Every once in awhile I get wrapped back up in me. I'm tired of being the caregiver. I just want to be a husband or a dad. I don't want to be the husband of the disabled Iraq vet. I will always be that but sometimes I like to pretend I'm not and so I stay away for a time.

Our lives are OK right now. Summer is coming and no longer having the ability to regulate body temp is definitely starting to affect BBG so I am wary of what summer will bring. I am already starting to find my children tucked in at night wearing an occasional ski toque. On a brighter note, she is involved in some sort of project which will be highlighting women vets and their lives post Iraq/Afghanistan. A photographer and writer was here today and will spend some time with us over the next little while learning about our lives.

Smart money says she'll be half crazy by the end of the week. Thank god for the meth lab in the basement!

It felt funny. I know I write about all of this so its not exactly a secret but it's different somehow when you say it out loud. Perhaps there is comfort in not saying things out loud. There is certainly a certain level of comfort in the anonymity that comes with being the average unknown redneck writer in the blogosphere and I must admit I kind of like that.

So I'm back - Tomorrow, I'll share a story about a friends son's sad return from Iraq and his efforts to get retired and have his VA disability completed. As per normal, it could be mapped at the same speed as continental drift.

TIA

Earl

30 percent of soldiers in Iraq have considered suicide

My next story about a friend and his struggle to get care for PTSD is being delayed for another day - sorry.

Every once in awhile, someone drops a newspaper article or story from around the world about PTSD, life after Iraq/afghanistan, Military suicide rates etc. I can't imagine why! Of course, you know the drill - veteran care and suicide is my cause and will be for the rest of my life. Its kinda close to home.

Today I received two links:

Link # 1 is about a Maine vet who says he has been saved by a story about a Massachusetts Marine who took his life after running into the road blocks I talk so frequently about.

Link #2 is the story of that young Marine who lost the fight.

Aside from the shame I feel for the failure of our system to provide for one Marine, lost to his family and friends forever, I am proud that there are still Americans out there who feel the pain of every loss.

Here are the links:

#1

http://thephoenix.com/Boston/News/78245-Gulf-War-vet-saved-by-Phoenix-article/#anchormore

#2

http://thephoenix.com/Boston/News/78044-Soldiers-committing-suicide/


I ask you this: If you know a service member who is struggling to adjust to life after Iraq, Afghanistan or other points unknown in the Global War on Terror. Talk to them. Beg them to get help. Make the call for them and most important of all, follow up to find out if they are getting help or running into barriers.

I know it becomes difficult and interrupts your lives but they need you. They need us. Please - help them overcome the barriers.

TIA

Earl

PTSD Story

True to my word (more them less me)here's story of a friend and poet just returned from his second tour in Iraq as an infantry officer.

Tomorrow will be friend two, aviation commander two years after Iraq.

SO here's the deal, friend one today, I'll call him Z. I got an e-mail from Z that really bothered me. He just wanted to "Hey I'm back, alive, writing my ass off and still hiding in a bottle but less than I have been." He's a great guy and a very talented poet and budding screen writer. We met in between tours and because of a shared military skill set and that whole Operation Homecoming thing, hit it off right away. I missed being able to communicate more but you know how sporadic comms are from Baghdad. Needless to say, it was more random than not and we missed out on a lot of what we've been doing for the last two years.

Z was an Army Officer, Infantry to be exact and very good at it. He also managed to get lucky and when his time was up, the Army managed to accidentally let him go (An extremely unusual thing for a one block company grade infantry officer - OK for any Infantry Officer with a pulse and less than a major felony). He went to Texas, to be in an affordable place where he could be by the beach, write, drink, and see the world go by - preferably in bikinis. I think he deserved it.

For those of you who are not intimately familiar with the military, everyone who signs on the line, owes a minimum of eight years. Now, in most cases - for Officers, this means six years of active duty and two years of IRR (Individual Ready Reserve. During your time on the IRR, you are subject to recall at any time.

Z was just shy of his 8th year when he opened his mail slot to find the letter. I call it the letter because to call it anything else would be to make it seem like normal correspondence - "Dear Z, Ed McMahon is on his way. Please wait by your door" or "Dear Z, if you don't pay your bill, we will disconnect your water on Friday."

Despite being more than a little pissed off about being invited on a long date with Uncle Sam, Z showed up at Fort Somewhere, did his month of training and went merrily on his way to Iraq for twelve or more months in a somewhere shitty kind of place.

Z could have dodged the bullet. He was definitely suffering from PTSD among other crap you carry home with you from the big sandy but he is after all an Army Officer. He did not believe he could say no when so many others were still walking in harms way.

The Z who came home this time is different from the friend I knew when he came home last time - his writing is angrier, when he can even make himself write it down, he drinks for the drunk not for joy of a little fun with good friends, and he seems sad. He is not my dog ran away sad. He is fuck the world, I shot my dog on a street in Baghdad sad and I can't sleep and I don't really want to anyway sad.

He said to me recently that he doesn't understand why it bothers him so much this time. He saw much less death and every day was not a sphincter clenching I will die here today kind of day. It was actually pretty damn boring this time aside from the mortars and the odd Baghdad fight but it feels worse. (Poetic license here) Some guy bumped into me in the bar and I beat him until it dawned on me that he was unconscious on the ground and I couldn't tell if the blood was coming from my hands or the mess that was his face.

Good news - Z was rushed out by a friend and didn't go to jail.

He asked me about BBG and how she's doing and how she's dealing with her PTSD. I told him honestly that some days are good and some days suck but more are better now. I reminded him that shortly after she got out of the hospital and I finally let her drive that she forced a woman in a mini van off the road for driving too close to our vehicle. (sadly no poetic license here)

Good news - BBG had no weapon so she did not disable the woman or her vehicle.

I said to him the same things I have said to BBG and to my other friends with PTSD. You need help. You need to go to the VA and wait until someone sees you - even if takes fourteen hours, two days or a week. You need to get into a group with other OIF/OEF combat vets and talk about it. You need to get off the booze or that friend who saved you from jail will fade away and you will be alone. Most of all - talk with friends and know that you are just like tens of thousands of others. If you work through it, it may never go away but it will dull with time.

You have to be open to help and know that without it, you will lose yourself in the rage and the pain and in the middle of the night, if you have no one, you can call me.

He hasn't called and I haven't heard from him lately. (probably because I suck and got wrapped in my own whine for soooo long that I forgot about a friend.)

I hope to god its because he's out doing things that us married guys only dream about.

TIA

Earl

Break time is Over

I'll skip the lame excuses for my hiatus this time. Suffice it to say, I just got busy. Mind you not in terms of gettin buzzzy :-(

I promised at the end of my last post to take some time and talk about what life is like in a Post GWOT PTSD family (enough acronyms!). This one is easy..

It blows huge A$$

Sorry mom - I know you hate it when I swear but at my age the failures are no longer considered yours so just deal with it and love me for who I am.

Besides - this is my secret identity (sadly neither Pink or Scarlett J with or without Jello will ever know who I am)

Anyway, back to the topic. Living in a PTSD family is like living on the razor. One day you slide left and one day you slide right. Either side can be good or bad and life hanging on to the middle cuts you right between the toes. If you happen to fall in the middle its a big razor up the a$$ so you have to learn to fall to either side but never straight down.

Most days, I try to balance it just right and I'm successful. The laundry gets done, the herd gets fed, and BBG says she loves me before she falls asleep irregardless of the drugs on board. On the bad days, life goes down in one of about four different ways:

1) BBG is feeling physically ill and struggling to make it through the day and the kids are being jerks and I am unable to put humpty back together again (Bad), 2) BBG is OK emotionally, but is physically ill and I am running thirty seconds behind everything that happens. Its been going on for ten days or so and I lose the will to fight another losing battle and I lose my cool. I'm a man so I lose my cool in a stomp around the house three year-old temper tantrum passive agressive sort of way (Very bad), 3) BBG is doing fine but I have not yet recovered from # 2 and carry on (Verry Baddd) and 4) My personal favorite - something triggers BBG's PTSD in a bad way (burnt barbecue, dogs, crowds and very loud noises are the worst offenders - I'll leave it up to your imagination why). She is pissed off, cranked up, ready for war and the smallest issue with previously mentioned grommets sends her through the roof. They in turn have learned to react to these days by behaving exactly like mommy and the spiral steepens. (razor up your butt kinda bad day)

We talk openly about these things because we are trying to keep ourselves and BBG sane. We also talk about it because we don't want to become one of those statistics I frequently post about. I think this is helping but lets be honest...

If you're standing in the tracks as the train comes at you, knowing it doesn't do any damn good. The only way to not get run over by the train is to get off the damn tracks. Sounds pretty simple doesn't it?

I think someone nailed my shoes down

TIA

Earl

What Matters this Year

A friend once told me that what makes the New Year so great is that its new. In the span of a night, and a lot of bad booze, you can become a new you. It doesn't matter what you said or did the day, hell the year, before. That was then and this is now. You are new and so is the world. I used to believe it.



Sorry Virginia - there isn't a Santa Claus. There are no do overs and the big blue marble still spins at twenty six thousand miles an hour. We cannot stop and we cannot get off. Now, before you roll your eyes and dread the coming storm - its not coming!



We have had a hard few years since my BBG got medevac'd out of Iraq - I've told you all about it but what the hell, the juice has been worth the squeeze.



My wife and I have had adventures that most can never imagine (between you and I, you don't really want to). My daughters know that a woman can do anything - including combat. They know to never surrender, to never give up and that sometimes life hits you with an IED, RPG, or other unpleasant projectile. They know to stand up and be counted. My son knows the Marine Corps Hymn by heart and knows that honor is more than a word.



My children will grow up as Americans. They will know and honor the sacrifices made by those who came before and by those who will surely follow. I pray that don't choose that road but I know the way this works. Soldiers breed soldiers. It is a life of friendship and hardship and it seeps into your bones. It is a part of you.



besides



My oldest daughter wants to fly Hawks like her old man and my son wants to go West Point. Thank god the youngest just wants to be a cheerleader, a vet, and a princess.



Back to my point:



Its been a rough year - OK, four rough years. We are however alive and a little better than we were last year and there are many other young men and women and their families w ho need your help much more than we. This year, I am going to try and tell more of their stories and less of mine.



I hope you'll come back to read them. These young men and women have given so much and despite the thank you's that they hear in airports or the random books and letters that show up on their racks in Iraq and Afghanistan- many of them (many of their families) feel very alone. America's eyes and ears are on a failing economy. They are not on section sixty-one in Arlington. They are not on a friend of mine who can't seem to get his VA claim completed. They are not on the son of a friend who was rushed through the Army Physical Disability Evaluation System (PDES) and discharged with a check for four grand and no benefits.



The New Year is upon us and we're still spinning at twenty-four thousand miles an hour. The market's a mess, jobs are disappearing every day but none of that matters. Young men and women are standing in harms way. They are being blown up by IEDs, RPGs and other shitty things. They are dying.



That matters and this year is for them.



TIA



Earl

Rough Week

I think the title says it all. Some days, some weeks, hell - some years just suck more than others and this week takes the cake.

I wish I had the magic bullet for anyone else out there going through all this but I don't. Every time I start to think I'm getting the hang of this whole post Iraq bullshit - life takes me down a peg. The kids are in trouble, my BBG hates me and no matter what I do its wrong.

I can't even seem to write this week and I was jazzed about the Breast Cancer Screenplay (different from the novel). Every time I sit down to write it feels like my heads going to explode and crap flys from my finger tips. I know its a phaze but I've never had a bad writing phase so I'm a little bit morose about the whole thing.

On a bright note - I scored two goals at my hockey game tonight and one of our local Congressional candidates' (Mike Coffman) wife showed up at our house tonight doing the traditional door to door thing. First, I am totally impressed that someone is actually doing that - this was the first candidate (or supporter) who has shown up at my door since the madness began. Second - she made my wife feel good. I have been failing miserably at making anyone feel good so it was nice to come home post hockey high and actually find my wife in a good mood.

It didn't last but for a few minutes someone running for Congress made my disabled vet feel like she mattered. I know she's not Joe the Plumber and I know its the economy stupid but I would like to remind you that young men and women continue to die in our names. The media just doesn't share it because it makes for bad ratings.

Thank you Mrs. Mike Coffman

BTW - you may have noticed some changes to my music. Its easier than the monthly "whats on my Ipod" that every other blogger does.

SABRE SIX GOING DOWN

New Vet Suicide Hotline!!!!!!!!

Please take the time to watch the PSA in the post Below. The VA will be testing this in select markets over the next few weeks but I am told that the phone lines are working. Send the link to everyone you know.

Listen - It doesn't matter who you are, if you're back from over there trying to figure out how to live in the here and now you've thought about suicide. Its an upside down f'd up world and we're all wrung inside out but there is hope.

Some days you've just got to talk to someone and as screwed up as the VA is, there are a lot of people there who care that you stay alive and make it through this.

Families, friends, husbands, wives, sons and daughters its your number too. It sucks living through all of this but the option is a silver box and a flag and I for one choose to live through the hell.

Its living.

VA Suicide Hotline

Secret Identity Blown

Now I know how Batman felt.

Well maybe not but I bet Scarlett Johannson would do the jello thing if I were Batman.


Sorry - shameless monthly Scarlett Jo and Jello plug.


When I started this blog I chose not to really advertise who I am. My wife and kids deserve to retain as much of their dignity as they can and I'm not whats important here. Whats important here is that folks get a look at life after Iraq in the eyes of a family who lives it.

Well, I blew it.

As a freelance writer, my essays have been in Newsweek, the Denver Post/Rocky Mountain News, the Washington Post, The Operation Homecoming anthology by Random House and the NEA and a documentary film based on the anthology. Before today, I have never linked my outside writing with my blog.

BTW - none of that has helped me get any of my novels published.

All in good time though, right?

I write all of this for a couple of reasons: 1) Self Therapy - blogs and essays never say I hate you daddy, and 2) Eventually people will take notice - not of me and mine but of the tens of thousands of young, men, women and their families who have it even worse than us because of sandy vacations gone bad. America has relegated us to the sidelines behind Brittany Spear's panties, the price of gas, the housing crisis, and the odd basketball game. These are all less important than young men and women dying and being maimed in our names.

Yesterday, I had a guest commentary in the Denver Post and they (with my blessing) posted a link to this blog. I thought long and hard about doing that. I talked with my family and finally decided that sharing this is really important. Its not important because I'm a freelance writer in need of more newspapers or a publisher - which I am. Its important that we find a way to get America engaged in the process of taking care of its service members - which it is not.

I write this blog so someday maybe someone will read and think about what they can do for the 20 yo ex Army specialist in NC who is so plagued by post TBI migraines that he can't get out of bed let alone work to support his 19 yo wife and infant children. The Army didn't retire him due to a technicality so the local DAV is keeping them afloat, albeit on food stamps. I write this blog in the hopes that someone (or many someones) will see it and send a letter to their congressman or senator demanding more VA funding and better care for our returning heroes and I write it because I know there are a hell of a lot of others, like me, who feel terribly alone.

Here's the link to the Denver Post Essay.

http://www.denverpost.com/opinionheadlines/ci_9480859

TIA

Peter

Iraqi War Vets and Families

Although the gist of this blog has always been about vets and their families, I'll be the first to admit that I've strayed.

Sorry

In my defense, any of you living in "The Suck" understand that its nice to get away from it once in awhile... and the posts about Scarlett Johannson and Jello are a perfectly normal reaction to a stressful environment so I think you should forgive those too. Time to get back to the real reason I'm here and to give a couple of shout outs:

http://www.groups.msn.com/IraqWarVeterans

Any vet, family member of a vet, friend of a vet and all of the above should check out this link. Its a great group on MSN Groups for, by and about vets. Trust me, the one thing we all need to deal with all of this is someone or many someones who are going through exactly the same thing. Its a great site. Sometimes a little annoying - you can only take so much pain in a day.In the end though, who am I to tell someone whose been over there or married to someone who is back here but mentally still over there to give it a rest. I do after all, write about it every day.

http://www.museoffire.net/Welcome.html

Lawrence Bridges' Muse of Fire is an exploration of the human, historical, and literary value of “Operation Homecoming:” a project created by the NEA to help troops and their families write about their wartime experiences. Featuring interviews and readings by US troops, their families, and distinguished contemporary American writers.

This is a great link to the Film Muse of Fire by larry Bridges. Take a minute and hit Youtube and search Muse of Fire to see some shorts from the film. I can't watch it all the way through without crying and my wife can't watch it all. Of course, I'm in it.


TIA

This is Arabia

PTSD - Real!

This is it.

I've finally decided to join a bazillion other sad mother fuckers and spew my crap on-line. If you're reading this, I should be thankful or surprised. Frankly, I'm stunned.

I wouldn't read it.

I'm here for the nuts. Actually, I'm here to talk about the nuts - me, you, my crazy neurotic little German Short Hair dog and the wierd girl at work who insists on sharing her tongue ring with me every time we walk by each other in the hall.

Hint: I'm more impressed by the Gene Simmons tongue than I am by the ring. Wow!

Seriously though, the real purpose is to reach someone - hopefully a million someones because all those crazy dudes on the side of the road (you know: the Viet Nam guys who scare the shit out of us) are being replaced. They're being replaced with our friends from high school, the kid who mowed my lawn last summer and, oh yeah here's the biggie, our Sisters, Mothers and Wives. The VA is underfunded, care is almost impossible to get, nobody really cares and every day thousands more are coming home. How many have killed themselves, killed someone else, died inside? I don't know but I'm going to do my best to find out.

When I do, I'll share it with you.

I figured I'd do my part by blogging. I'm gonna share everything I can find about our soldiers who are returning from Iraq with PTSD. Maybe one of you will share this with one other person and so on. Maybe Mitt or Rudy or even Hillary will step off the soap box for just an afternoon and live in their shoes, cry with their families, listen to their lives, change something.

BTW: Gene Simmons girl - no ass at all.

and

I'm married to one of those severely disabled soldiers with PTSD. My kids and I live with my wife's pain every day. - the anger, the nightmares, the late nights, the drugs and the loss of self in a selfish world. As our world falls apart, I'm inviting you to come along for the ride. I'll spill the beans as much as I can without letting you know who she is. The last shred of dignity she has left is her privacy and I'm not gonna take that one away because

I love her.