All this talk of PTSD in the news brings back old memories of returning to the World in 72. Since there was no PTSD prior to 1981, we all suffered from a plethora of “issues” when we came home. There were various names given to it by us. That’s where I came up with the term “bent brains” or “bent brain syndrome”. It was also variously referred to as combat stress, combat fatigue, an “inability to reintegrate” (my personal favorite), malingering,  or “faking it.”

Many of us who came home were appalled at the treatment we received from our fellow citizens-not to mention friends. I was never personally called a baby killer. I know others who were. I wasn’t spit upon at San Francisco Airpatch. I stopped short and he missed. I wonder if he would have done that had he known I had my S&W .357 in my shoulder holster under my camo fatigue blouse? That was invisible but the survival knife hanging off my belt wasn’t. I was on TDY when I exited SEA. That meant I didn’t have the luxury of returning to my unit and collecting my belongings. I came home with the clothes I was wearing and a duffel bag of more jungle gear. I took a month’s leave because I’d had a total of two R&Rs of three days each over two years.

On June 15th, 1972 I arrived at Edwards AFB- still in camo jungle fatigues. All my gear was  en route from Thailand. Tough luck.  When I reported to my squadron everyone was nodding in my directions and whispering. A stand to inspection was called suddenly for my section. Everyone fell in and some were leaning over to look down the line at me. The E-8 in charge of our section and the first shirt sedately walked down the line. When they got to me, they stared long and hard-at me then at each other. Comments were made about a) my hair; b) my uniform; c) my unshined jungle boots and my lack of deportment.  I was summarily dismissed to go to the BX and retrieve new attire. I had to squander bucks to buy new stateside fatigues and shiny black boots. I then went to the base Barber shop and got a AFM 35-10 regulation haircut. I was ordered to return for reinspection to see if I had complied. I’ll never forget the monkey first shirt. CMS (E-9) Robert “Jack” Frost (w/ diamond device for First Sargent) walked around me several times. After this, he called in MSGT (E-7) Bartley. Together they discussed me as if I was an inanimate mannequin. Finally the truth came out. I had always striven to keep this discrete, but my father was a Lt. General in the AF. I asked for nothing in the way of special consideration, but Sgt. Frost drew first blood. “I was the first shirt over in 5th AF in Japan, you know. I served under your father and I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow you to sully his reputation, buddy. We’ll be watching you mighty closely. You step out of line and you’ll regret it.”

When I was overseas, what counted was how well you could shoot, how smart you were at making do with what was at hand and that you weren’t a  junkie. Hair just wasn’t on the radar. You got a haircut when you went near civilization. Boots wouldn’t stay black no matter what off the beaten track. Jungle boots were ½ canvas anyway. When I returned, I was reminded of all the reasons why I wished I’d just stayed there for a third year and put paid to it.

It was less than a month later when I was called in for another of those personal inspections by Jack Frost. Apparently my fatigues weren’t up to par because they didn’t have a “crisp crease” and the boots had scuff marks on them. Edwards AFB during the summer, for the uninitiated, is about 95 degrees during the day. Keeping a crease in anything outdoors is virtually impossible if you are working.  I was briefed on my shortcomings again and asked to sign the “finding”. It was all downhill from there. After several more negative findings, I was sent to the shrink to find out what was wrong with me.

By January 1973, it was determined that I was unsuitable for further military service. Prior to my assignment to Edwards, I had glowing Airman Performance Reports (APRs) saying I should be promoted well ahead of my contemporaries. It was said that every effort should be made to retain me in the AF. Suddenly I was anathema. The shrinks determined I was suffering from an anti-social personality and passive aggressive tendencies. My military usefulness was zilch. The problem was how to gracefully dispose of a General’s son discretely. They offered to discharge me promptly the next day if I would just sign the statement admitting I was queer. I couldn’t do it and said I’d try to mend my ways for my remaining eight months. No dice. I was starting to “pollute” the squadron with my antics and I had to be excised. The AF took another month of fiddling around and finally pole-axed me in late February after a Article 15. I got a General Discharge under honorable conditions even though this personality disorder I was afflicted with manifested itself in service. Since it wasn’t a mental illness as the VA or military defines it, I was shit out of luck for compensation purposes. I never got the VA benefits briefing prior to discharge anyway so it really was a moot point.

What the servicemen and women now hitting the exits are discovering is something similar. The military has no great love for you once it has been determined you are damaged-mentally or physically. There is more compassion for those who lose a limb.  That’s a given. There is a lot of nodding and winking when it entails a bent brain. A soldier who gets warped from his/her experiences in a war zone is somehow a wimp in the eyes of his commanders. He’s a liability and useless. He can’t be depended on any longer. Being dead wood, he must be cut loose and replaced with one free of “defects”. His continued presence will spread the “rot” to those who are healthy. This is one of the primary reasons most hate to be classified as such. Even if they are adversely affected, they do not wish to have their manhood besmirched. Face it. Being told or admitting to being half a bubble off is not what you want on your resumé.

The military has made great strides in trying to identify these individuals and offer them help. This makes it easier to cull the herd, too. Swept up in this bent brain round up are the partially incapacitated such as I would have characterized myself. I would have assimilated if the pressure was not so pointed. My father had nothing to do with it. I spent two years over there and part of it involved being actively engaged in bombing the Pathet Lao back into the stone age. If it doesn’t affect you to some degree then it could rightfully be said that you are beyond help.  Most everyone can heal from these experiences. Some take far longer than others. There is no manual or book to turn to for advice or a cure. Some, however, can simply never return to normalcy.

What I see happening now is a carbon copy of what I and many others went through when Vietnam was over. We were diagnosed with “personality disorders” as opposed to “mental disorders”. There is a fine line between the two. One is compensable (PTSD) and one is not (acute stress disorder and anxiety disorder). While the terms of the discussion have changed in the intervening 40 years, the effects of the illness are similar. If I were in the shoes of the troops presently being disenfranchised or having their PTSD diagnoses downgraded to personality disorders, I would ask some pointed questions about who is making these subjective assessments and whether they are considering all the elements.  How many of you have ever been shot at? How many wounded? How many of you have killed another human being? Everyone reacts differently and the longer it happens, the better the chance that one of two outcomes will ensue. Either you get pissed and turn horribly belligerent or you turn to jelly. Some fall in between but most hang on until they reach a place of safety- such as America. Arriving home is a sigh of relief. No stress. No worry of seeing a hand grenade suddenly bounce in front of you.

Unfortunately, what many discover is the thrill is gone. The camaraderie between platoonmates is missing. The “us against them” is absent. The urge is to return to that environment post haste because the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat is lacking. I guess I can’t describe it as artfully as I could in 1972. What I can say is it doesn’t entail shiny boots and crisply starched fatigues. And how regulation haircuts can improve your aim is beyond my comprehension.

My first wife left me due to this “personality disorder’. My second one threatened to until she recognized what it was. You may or may not get over it. It took me more than ten years to come home. I only hope it takes far less for the current crop of returnees. What they do not need is false promises followed by false diagnoses to help America resolve its debt problems. We did this in the waning years of the Vietnam “boundary dispute” and the chickens are still coming home to roost. Asking psychiatrists to couch it in financial terms in 2012 and “relabel” it is equally unproductive.  Much like Wimpy, they are simply put off  until next Tuesday what needs to be addressed today. Our troops deserve better. To see this begin in the military before we even get sandbagged at the VA is the ultimate two-faced bitchslap.

I would gladly pay you for PTSD next

Tuesday for a personality disorder today.