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Young war veteran shot, killed by police

WAFF-TV: News, Weather and Sports for Huntsville, AL
By WMCActionNews5.com Staffemail

GERMANTOWN, TN -

(WMC) – A young war veteran was shot and killed by Germantown police officers Tuesday night just before 10 p.m.

Justin Neil Davis’ best friend, who asked to be called Val, told WMC Action News 5 that Davis went to Cameron Brown Park in Germantown off Farmington Boulevard, because it is where he had happy memories of his childhood.
Davis was reportedly sitting in his car with a rifle and thoughts of suicide when Germantown police shot and killed him. Wednesday night, family and friends say they still have questions. 

According to police, a “be on the lookout” or BOLO alert was issued for Davis, 24, who was reportedly unstable, armed and dangerous, and possibly suicidal.

Fayette County Sheriff’s Office received a tip on a crisis hotline about Davis. Fayette County deputies went to his house, but he was not there. That’s when Germantown police found Davis in a parked car at Cameron Brown Park armed with a rifle.

“I tried to get him to come out to my parents house … just to meet him somewhere just to talk him out of it,” Val said.
Val says while he texted Davis, law enforcement officers were tracking the Iraqi veteran on his cell phone, but that he was not allowed to talk with his friend.

Officers evacuated the immediate area around the park and established communication with him using the squad car’s PA system.

According to police, the situation escalated, and three Germantown police officers ended up firing their guns at Davis. He was pronounced dead at the park.

Investigators used orange paint to mark where Davis’ car and six police cars sat during the confrontation. The closest police car appears to have been about 20 yards away.

“Why did three cops have to unload their weapon on a single man?” Val said.

Davis’ friends and family say he was a war veteran who had trouble getting a job when he got home. They say he did not deserve to die this way.

“It’s just sad that people have to feel like they can’t help themselves and things go bad that way, you know?” Germantown resident Kelsey Beckum said.

The three GPD officers involved in the shooting are on paid administrative leave pending an investigation. The district attorney’s office asked Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to lead the case; the TBI would eventually turn it back over to the DA’s office.

Copyright 2014 WMC Action News 5. All rights reserved.   

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Study: High suicide rates for soldiers in, out of war

Suicide rates for soldiers who served in Afghanistan increased, according to a large study. (Photo: Scott Olson, Getty Images)

Suicide rates for soldiers who served in Afghanistan increased, according to a large study.
(Photo: Scott Olson, Getty Images)

A massive Army study focusing on records from nearly a million soldiers provides a more detailed analysis of the suicides trend plaguing the service.

Written by Gregg Zoroya

Suicide rates soared among soldiers who went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan and those who never left the United States, according to the largest study ever conducted on suicide in the military.

To prepare the study, researchers scanned records from nearly a million soldiers.

Scientists have long speculated that the fast-paced tempo the Army was under at home and abroad during the war years was an overall strain that contributed to suicides and that deaths were not just a factor of combat duty. The research by the National Institute of Mental Health appears to bear this out.

“A simple explanation that war is hell and you send people to war and bad things happen to those people is an incomplete explanation,” says Michael Schoenbaum, an epidemiologist and lead author on the study looking at suicide rates.

The ongoing, $65 million study produced three separate research papers published online Monday by The Journal of the American Medical Association Psychiatry.

Among key findings: while suicide rates for soldiers who served in Iraq and Afghanistan more than doubled from 2004 to 2009 to more than 30-per-100,000, the trend among those who never deployed nearly tripled to between 25- and 30-per-100,000.

Rates for a civilian population of similar age and demographics remained steady at 19-per-100,000 during this time. The Army suicide rate, historically far lower than the civilian figure, surpassed it in 2008 and kept climbing.

The research tracked soldier records through the end of 2009. But suicides in the Army continued to rise thereafter, reaching a record high in 2012 before dipping last year.

Other findings revealed by the research published Monday:

• Researchers debunked theories that suicides were the result of two Army trends designed to recruit or retain people. One trend was the use of waivers for recruits with poor education or conduct records. The other was the practice of forcing soldiers to remain in the service beyond their enlistment, something known as “stop-loss.” Neither practice contributed to the rise in suicides, researchers found.

• Some of the same risk factors that predict suicide — such as a history of mental health problems, a demotion in rank or a disciplinary action — also were were found to predict fatal accidents among soldiers.

• About one in four soldiers in the Army appear to suffer from at least one psychiatric disorder and one in 10 have multiple disorders.

• Women have lower suicide rates than men in the Army except during deployments.

• About a third of soldiers who attempted suicide are associated with mental disorders developed before they joined the Army, an indication that the service could do a better job of screening recruits.

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/03/03/suicide-army-rate-soldiers-institute-health/5983545/

How Congress Plans to Prevent Military Suicides

A shooting at Fort Hood last month has pushed military mental health back into the congressional spotlight.(JIM WATSON/AFP/Getty Images)

A shooting at Fort Hood last month has pushed military mental health back into the congressional spotlight.(JIM WATSON/AFP/Getty Images)

By 

May 7, 2014

 

Lawmakers hope to use an annual defense bill as a vehicle for mental-health screenings.

Jacob Sexton, a 21-year-old member of the National Guard, fatally shot himself inside an Indiana movie theater during a two-week leave from Afghanistan in 2009.

Sen. Joe Donnelly will unveil legislation Wednesday named after Sexton that would require service members to get an annual in-person mental-health assessment. Donnelly hopes it helps stop others from taking their own lives.

“This is about working nonstop with Jacob’s parents to prevent other families from experiencing that same pain,” the Indiana Democrat said in a video obtained by National Journal that will be released Wednesday.

 

Donnelly’s legislation, formally called the Jacob Sexton Military Suicide Prevention Act, follows the Pentagon’s latest suicide numbers released late last month. The report found a decrease in the number of reported suicides among active-duty troops, but an increase in reserve and Guard members killing themselves.

There were 319 suicides reported among active members in 2012, compared with 261 in 2013, according to preliminary data. But suicide within the ranks of reserves and National Guard members increased from 203 in 2012 to 213 last year.

And while suicide is historically underreported, the Pentagon says a total of 841 service members attempted suicide at least once in 2012.

Meanwhile, the number of service members who kill themselves after they leave the military has increased dramatically. The VA estimates that 22 veterans commit suicide each day, totaling about 8,030 veterans every year.

Many service members already have an annual mental-health screening, but Donnelly’s bill is aimed at closing the gaps for in-person assessments. For example, Air National Guard members currently have an annual online assessment, but face-to-face examinations take place only every five years.

Lawmakers and service organizations worry that the stigma attached to mental-health issues keeps service members—both past and present—from asking for help or reporting mental-health problems. Attempting suicide is currently considered a crime under the military’s rules.

“Right now, the best and most consistent screening is happening only for those within the deployment cycle, and it leaves reservists and Guardsmen like Jacob underserved,” Donnelly said.

In addition to the mental-health screenings, Donnelly wants an annual report from the Pentagon to the Armed Services committees detailing the screenings and what care or follow-up was recommended. The Defense Department would also have to submit a report on how to improve its response on mental-health issues. And a committee to improve mental-health services for National Guard and reserve troops would be formed with the Department of Health and Human Services.

Donnelly isn’t alone in his search for solutions. Lawmakers have introduced a handful of other proposals to address mental-health issues in the military. Some argue such measures could help prevent a shooting like the one at Fort Hood last month, when Ivan Lopez, a 34-year-old Army specialist, fatally shot three people and injured 16 others before turning the gun on himself.

Republican Rep. Glenn Thompson of Pennsylvania, Democratic Rep. Tim Ryan of Ohio, Republican Sen. Rob Portman of Ohio, and Democratic Sen. Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia have introduced the Medical Evaluation Parity for Service Members Act in their respective chambers. Instead of requiring annual in-person mental health screenings, the legislation would require screenings for military recruits and for reserve and National Guard forces that transfer to active duty.

Donnelly and other lawmakers hope to get their proposals included in the annual defense bill, the National Defense Authorization Act. The bill has been passed for the last 52 years, and it’s likely the best vehicle for avoiding partisan fighting. And Donnelly’s legislation will get early bipartisan support, with Mississippi Republican Sen. Roger Wicker expected to endorse the proposal.

Donnelly originally introduced a version of the bill last year, with a pilot program on mental health screenings instead of annual in-person screenings for all servicemembers. The Pentagon was required to submit a report with feedback on screening tools included in the program, as part of the last year’s defense bill.

The report—part of a bipartisan push spearheaded by Donnelly—also asked for an assessment of new tools that could be used to improve mental-health screenings and better identify suicide-risk factors for service members. Donnelly received the report in March, and used it to help craft his new legislation.

“There is not one solution, there’s no cure-all to prevent suicide. But this problem is not too big to solve. We can start by improving our methods of identifying risk factors before it is too late,” he said.

http://www.nationaljournal.com/defense/how-congress-plans-to-prevent-military-suicides-20140507

U.S. special forces struggle with record suicides

A Navy SEAL takes part in a demonstration in Florida November 11, 2011. CREDIT: REUTERS/JOE SKIPPER

A Navy SEAL takes part in a demonstration in Florida November 11, 2011.
CREDIT: REUTERS/JOE SKIPPER

BY WARREN STROBEL

(Reuters) – Suicides among U.S. special operations forces, including elite Navy SEALs and Army Rangers, are at record levels, a U.S. military official said on Thursday, citing the effects of more than a decade of “hard combat.”

The number of special operations forces committing suicide has held at record highs for the past two years, said Admiral William McRaven, who leads the Special Operations Command.

“And this year, I am afraid, we are on path to break that,” he told a conference in Tampa. “My soldiers have been fighting now for 12, 13 years in hard combat. Hard combat. And anybody that has spent any time in this war has been changed by it. It’s that simple.”

It may take a year or more, he said, to assess the effects of sustained combat on special operations units, whose missions range from strikes on militants such as the 2011 SEAL raid that killed al Qaeda chief Osama bin Laden to assisting in humanitarian disasters.

He did not provide data on the suicide rate, which the U.S. military has been battling to lower. In 2012, for example, more active duty servicemen and servicewomen across the U.S. armed forces died by suicide – an estimated 350 – than died in combat, a U.S. defense official said.

That trend appears to have held in 2013 although preliminary data is showing a slight improvement, with 284 suicides among active duty forces in the year to December 15, the official added.

McRaven’s command, headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, oversees elite commandos operating in 84 countries.

The Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps special operations commands comprise about 59,000 people, according to Pentagon documents.

Special operations forces have been lionized in popular culture in recent years, in movies such as “Zero Dark Thirty,” about the hunt for bin Laden, and “Act of Valor,” as well as a National Geographic special.

Kim Ruocco, who assists the survivors of military members who commit suicide, said members of the closely knit special operations community often fear that disclosing their symptoms will end their careers.

Additionally, the shrinking size of the U.S. armed forces has put additional pressure on soldiers, whose sense of community and self-identity is often closely tied to their military service, said Ruocco, director of suicide prevention programs for the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors, an advocacy group for military families.

(Additional reporting by Phil Stewart; Editing by Jason Szep and Cynthia Osterman)

http://www.reuters.com/article/2014/04/17/us-usa-military-suicides-idUSBREA3G2EK20140417

TAMPA, Florida Thu Apr 17, 2014 6:40pm EDT

Marine’s inner struggle is the fight of his life

Staff Sgt. Javier Jimenez interacts with local Afghans as he tries to gather information about the movement of insurgents near Patrol Base Boldak, Afghanistan, on July 30, 2013. BOBBY J. YARBROUGH/U.S. MARINES

Staff Sgt. Javier Jimenez interacts with local Afghans as he tries to gather information about the movement of insurgents near Patrol Base Boldak, Afghanistan, on July 30, 2013.
BOBBY J. YARBROUGH/U.S. MARINES

By Thomas Brennan

The Daily News, Jacksonville, N.C.
Published: April 8, 2014

It was a sensation that Marine Staff Sgt. Javier Jimenez could physically feel: the weight of life was literally crushing him.

“You start running out of air, the room starts getting smaller around you and your heart starts pounding,” Jimenez said, describing the “horrible” feeling that overwhelmed him. “You’re more hopeless than you have ever been before. You start worrying about the next day, wondering if you are going to make it there because all you want to do is die.”

For years, 34-year-old Jimenez, an infantry Marine who is currently transitioning to Wounded Warrior Battalion East, has dealt with thoughts of suicide as a means to escape his overwhelming anxiety. Diagnosed with psychosis, a mood disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and an anxiety disorder, Jimenez said he is constantly battling the urge to end his own life. It won’t be by his own hand though, he said, and he’s never physically hurt himself. Instead, Jimenez engages in risky behavior that he said he hopes will result in an accident that kills him.

“Even in Afghanistan, I would walk in the open trying to get shot at,” he said. “I was putting myself in risky situations because I wouldn’t kill myself, but the whole time I wanted to die. I just want to be put out of my misery.”

His risky behavior in combat carried over to daily life, he said. Feeling as though he has no control over his life, Jimenez said living for tomorrow has become increasingly difficult with each passing day, especially now that he is not actively participating in infantry training.

“Fighting with yourself to live to the next day isn’t a way to live your life,” he said. “Sometimes you spend the whole day thinking about suicide — every single second. When you get out and put yourself in that risky situation, you feel a rush. It’s the only time you feel alive. Cutting it close is the only time you don’t want to die because you finally feel alive. Not wanting to die is a good feeling, and I try to feel it as much as possible.”

But he’s not without hope — or help.

He said the treatment he has received from mental health providers at Naval Hospital Camp Lejeune has been “outstanding” and helps him understand that things will get better with time and effort on his part. The infantry unit he is attached to, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marines, has been fully supportive, recommending him for Wounded Warrior Battalion East so he can focus fully on his treatment.

“There’s a lot of help available when you’re debating suicide,” Jimenez said. “I know it feels like you’re stuck in a horrible place with no way out; but there is hope, and that’s one thing the groups and the doctors are showing me.”

Opening lines of communication

At the School of Infantry aboard Camp Geiger, both Marine and Navy leadership encourage Marines and sailors to attend an anonymous group where they can discuss the stresses of life, marriage, military service and more. The group, which meets weekly, is a safe haven for dozens of Marines aboard the installation to vent and discover they are not alone. Because the Marine or sailor’s leadership is not notified of their involvement in the group, many servicemembers have turned to the group, which also advocates for one-on-one treatment if the servicemember is interested.

“The program … was spearheaded about a year and a half ago when a need among our (Marines) was identified,” said Marine Col. Jeffrey Conner, the commanding officer of the School of Infantry. “Marines being Marines, they want to come to work and put their best foot forward and have their game face on … but when they have difficulty with that we give them the resources and support they need to do just that.”

The program is discussed both monthly and quarterly to identify trends and, if needed, request more resources for the Marines and sailors, he said. In conjunction with the program, he said, the unit’s Family Readiness Officer and chaplain help identify at-risk Marines and sailors and refer them to the program. The group, he said, allows for open communication among Marines and their leaders and also builds awareness on how to be cognizant of what your peers may be going through.

As the sergeant major of the Advanced Infantry Training Battalion, Daniel Wilson, 40, of Jacksonville said that some of the Marines within his battalion are stepping forward and asking for help, noting there is a receptive environment that allows for personal development through therapy without judgment or reprisal. Because AITB trains senior enlisted Marines, Wilson feels as though the open-door policy toward mental health will have a trickle-down effect within the Marine Corps and make others more accepting of those who ask for help.

“The reason they seek treatment may not even be combat related, it could just be stress,” Wilson said. “The Marine Corps has not written the book on managing post-traumatic stress … but we are doing everything we can to wrap our heads around it. … This is just one of the ways we are doing that.”

At both Marine Combat Training Battalion and Headquarters and Support Battalion, Sergeants Major Therester Cox and Christopher Garza said the message to Marines afraid of seeking treatment is that there is no stigma at the School of Infantry and they will not see any backlash for getting help.

“Get out, get help and don’t be afraid,” said Cox, 39, of Jacksonville. “To me, No. 1, everybody is a man or woman first. You’re important to somebody. … Now add to the fact that you are a United States Marine. It’s very important that Marines understand they need to get help because the Marine Corps is counting on you. You aren’t able to do anything for the Marine Corps if you aren’t taking care of yourself as an individual.”

The group is led by Navy Lt. Crystal Shelton, a clinical social worker who devotes her time between clinical appointments to interacting with the Marines and sailors as they train students, hoping to build awareness of resources and to minimize any stigma associated with mental health treatment, she said. The program is designed to be used for early intervention, she said, and it is also used to help people determine whether or not they are having a problem; but in order to help, someone needs to ask for it.

“Right here, what is happening is what other places are trying to model themselves on,” said Shelton, 38, of Jacksonville. “We’re trying to send the message that waiting (to get treatment) doesn’t help the situation. By waiting it usually makes things worse in their life. It you think there is an issue, come in and talk to someone. You don’t have to wait until you can’t do your job anymore.”

Confidential resources

Navy chaplains, who are embedded within Marine units, often find Marines and sailors confiding in them when things in life aren’t going as planned. Trained to non-clinically identify symptoms of suicide, post-traumatic stress and other ailments, chaplains have access to resources they can make available to Marines such as counseling, retreats and more.

For Navy Cmdr. Marc Massie, 43, of Camp Lejeune, the best part of being a chaplain is that he can assist servicemembers with any problem and it will be kept 100-percent confidential. Chaplains are bound by law to maintain confidentiality regardless of the topic discussed even if the servicemember confesses homicidal, suicidal or fratricidal intents.

“Confidentiality means that it doesn’t matter what a servicemember says to a chaplain, it will not be repeated to anyone else,” said Massie, the station command chaplain for New River Air Station. “The reason the military does this is because it gives the servicemembers a safe place to go. The doctors, nurses and MCCS are great, but they are not 100-percent confidential.”

Whether real or imaginary, many Marines and sailors have fears that asking for help will ruin their career, he said, and part of what chaplains do is try to break down those walls and make it OK to talk. If someone were to walk in his office and confess that they were suicidal, which has happened in the past, Massie said that a chaplain will do whatever it takes to get the servicemember whatever assistance they need before they leave their office and even offer to go with them.

Sometimes, according to Massie, going to talk to a counselor can be a scary thing, especially when a Marine or sailor must tell their command they will be attending therapy. Massie said he has assisted many servicemembers in telling their command that they will be attending therapy and doesn’t allow the command to poke and prod, which often times makes the servicemember uncomfortable.

“I’ve counseled atheists, Wiccans and every other denomination,” Massie said. “It doesn’t matter if you even believe in a religion. We come at things with a human approach and just talk to people. We become a friend with them and check in on them from time to time to make sure they’re doing OK.”

It’s one more example of letting troops know that they’re not alone.

“I think most Marines would be surprised if they knew how many of their peers has asked for help,” Massie said. “It’s not as uncommon as people may think.”

Just ask Jimenez, the staff sergeant working to find his way back.

“There are people going through the same thing,” he said. “I feel alone but I know I’m not alone. That really helps when you’re fighting your own battle.”

thomas.brennan@jdnews.com 

http://www.stripes.com/news/us/marine-s-inner-struggle-is-the-fight-of-his-life-1.276930?=&utm_source=Stars+and+Stripes+Emails&utm_campaign=Daily+Headlines&utm_medium=email

Suffering in Silence: Psychological Disorders and Soldiers in the American Civil War

Angelo Crapsey, 1861

Angelo Crapsey, 1861

By SARAH A. M. FORD
Kutztown University of Pennsylvania

Did soldiers of the American Civil War suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and other psychological disorders? It has only been several decades since mental illness attributed to war conditions was clinically recognized. Recent research has shown a strong positive correlation between war time events such as witnessing the death of comrades, friendly fire or IED explosions and post-traumatic stress disorder.1 With a conflict as devastating as the American Civil War, it would be logical to hypothesize that Civil War soldiers were subjected to events that put them at risk similar to today’s soldiers. There is a strong relationship between attributing events during the Civil War and psychological affects; for instance revolutionary weaponry developments, medical procedures, psychological warfare, and hand to hand combat could have invoked psychological ailments. Data compiled from diaries and letters will affirm the presence of psychological disorders in soldiers who fought in the war. From this body of evidence, it is clear that soldiers of the American Civil War did indeed suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and other psychological disorders.

Soldiers facing death, 1861
Photo: Library of Congress
The most common disorder that results from exposure to combat is called post-traumatic stress disorder or more commonly known as PTSD. According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, there are several categories of symptoms for PTSD. The symptoms include the experience of actual harm or threats to be harmed physically and or emotionally, intrusive symptoms that include flashbacks, disturbing dreams or memories, negative changes in cognition, the avoidance of stimuli associated with the event and changes in arousal levels. In order for there to be a diagnosis, symptoms must be present for over a month and the level of stress has to be significant enough where everyday activities are negatively affected.2

Another common and relatively novel disorder is Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). This is a neurological disorder that inhibits cognitive functioning as a result of an injury to the head. Symptoms include moderate to severe amnesia, headaches, changes in personality and accumulating more sleep than normal.3 This disorder is becoming widely recognized and diagnosed more frequently in veterans today. Over 30 percent of all casualties in Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) and Enduring Freedom (EF) were associated with the head or neck area.4 As many as ten to twenty percent of OIF/EF veterans have been diagnosed with TBI.5 It is plausible to assume that Civil War soldiers, who were not provided helmets, would have suffered from TBI if they experienced in injury to the head or neck region. General Anxiety Disorder and Depression are both common psychological disorders that plague many veterans today. Soldiers who experience traumatic events, such as the death of a comrade or innocent civilians, may experience depression as a result. It is logical that countless men of the Civil War era may have suffered from depression or general anxiety disorder.

The first mentions of symptoms correlated with PTSD dates back three thousand years ago; four thousand years before it would be clinically recognized. Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics depicted the emotions and fears soldiers felt while in combat. The Greek historian Herodotus wrote, in 480 B.C, of a Spartan soldier who was taken off the front lines due to his trembling and later took his own life in shame.6 In the seventeenth century any disorder associated with depression or changes in personality was termed melancholy or nostalgia. Symptoms similar to PTSD were called Soldier’s Heart and Da Costa Syndrome during the mid and late nineteenth century.7 The catalyst for the recognition of PTSD was the outbreak of World War One. The Great War had some of the worst casualties in human history as a result of revolutionary weaponry that redefined warfare. The psychological effects of this war were often seen in the returning veterans as many experienced involuntary ticks and shook unaccountably.8 This later would be termed Shell Shock.

While not to the extent of the First World War, The Civil War had revolutionary weapon and technological developments that negatively affected soldiers physically and mentally. This included the Minie Ball, a cylinder shape bullet that was more aerodynamic, making it more precise and effective. Instead of a round bullet that would break the bone, the Minie Ball would completely shatter it.9 Another technological development that changed the world as well as warfare was the railroad. For the first time in human history, mankind would not have to rely on horses or their own two feet to transport them. This drastically changed warfare by allowing supplies and troops to move into the most remote areas at record speeds. This meant that more soldiers were exposed to significantly more carnage than past wars. A soldier was no longer confined to a specific geographical location allowing them to fight in more battles. Witnessing this novel amount of gore would have been a severe trauma that could have produced anxiety and other psychological symptoms associated with PTSD.

Wounded soldiers in a Union hospital
Photo of Library of Congress
The Civil War is unique in that it took place during a time of great weaponry and technological developments but it was only decades shy of medical advancements that could have saved countless lives. Disease rather than bullets proved to be a significant factor in the death toll of the Civil War. For every one death in combat, there were two deaths caused by disease. The lifesaving technique of sterilization was a foreign concept to Civil War physicians and as a result thousands of soldiers succumbed to infections.10 The omnipresence of decay and death of thousands of sick men only added to the carnage witnessed not only by soldiers but nurses and doctors. On a daily basis, medical teams witnessed horrific wounds, ghastly amputations and men succumbing to their injuries and illnesses. Procedures and surgeries performed by army surgeons and physicians also left Civil War veterans literally scarred for life. The survival rate for a man going into surgery was roughly eighty percent depending on the location of the wound. The fatality rate was directly related to the proximity of the injury to the core of the body.11 Anesthetics, like ether and chloroform, were used for many surgeries which made the procedures much more humane.Though the fear of having to endure surgery invoked great anxiety, the fear of life after surgery was an even greater anxiety to face.

In a society that relied on physical labor for maintaining a livelihood, living without a limb meant a lifetime of unemployment. Farmers, mill workers, railroad workers or dock workers were all required to be physically able to complete the tasks required of them. An amputee could not continue working in the physical labor market. To make matters worse, majority of the men who fought in the Civil War were from lower economic classes. The socioeconomic status of an amputee would have been lowest amongst the ranks partly because there would be very few jobs that could accommodate their special needs. The anticipation of failure to provide for themselves and their families conjured major stress and anxiety.

The biological needs of humans are crucial for both physical and mental health. If humans are bereaved of biological necessities then they are at greater risk of psychological ailments. In war, especially the American Civil War, even the most basic of human essentials, such as food, water and shelter, are unavailable to soldiers putting them at an elevated risk of psychological danger.

Food supplies were frequently limited and insufficient for the amount of calories a soldier would expel. The water was often contaminated with germs making soldiers sick. Septic water is especially dangerous because it carries many diseases like cholera and dysentery. A diary entry by Union soldier Henry Tisdale implies that he got sick from drinking the water at his camp “Unwell today for diarrhea, causing me to feel weak. Think it caused by drinking too much of the aqueduct water we have here.”12 Not only were the soldiers on alert for enemy attacks but also had to worry if their next drink or meal was going to make them ill. Due to the insufficient and inadequate food and water, many soldiers did not have the caloric intake needed to support straining activities. Union soldier Cornelius Platter wrote “3 mile to our right and went into camp 8 mile South East of Jonesboro at 8 oclock — This has been the hardest days march we have had. Distance marched 22 mile.”13 A malnourished soldier would have had difficulties executing long endurance orders like this and would have been pushed to the brink of exhaustion. On top of malnutrition, each soldier was subjected to the weather and its unforgiving nature. Evolutionary instinct would be to seek shelter from the elements, but this cannot be done in war. Joseph Waddell from the Indiana Volunteer Division wrote “Off early and marched to Black River a hard rain late in the evening two men killed on the road with lightning.”14 Soldiers had very little protection, which would have affected their sense of safety. With unavailable resources and basic needs going unmet, these men were at an elevated risk of developing psychological disorders.

Arguably one of the most intense contributing factors to psychological effects and disorders were the prisoner of war (P.O.W) camps. Some of the most detestable incidences in the war occurred inside these camps. Psychologically, people are put in situations with numerous traumas, such as ubiquitous death, fighting and abuse, making P.O.W camps a minefield for psychological disorders. Camps like Salisbury, Libby, Douglas and the most notorious Andersonville were overpopulated and did not have proper supplies for the number of prisoners it contained. At one point, Andersonville detained thirty-two thousand men but the original capacity was for only ten thousand men. When Sherman’s soldiers liberated Andersonville, they found some prisoners completely emaciated. At the end of the war when supplies were scarce, rations were withheld. “No rations issued yesterday to any of the prisoners and a third of all here are on the very point of starvation…” Prisoners would fight, even kill, other prisoners for whatever they might have in their possession that could aid in their survival. “Have just seen a big fight among the prisoners; just like so many snarly dogs, cross and peevish.” The fight to survive in hellish places like Andersonville, Libby, Salisbury and Douglas was exceedingly stressful. Witnessing the intense trauma of death on a daily basis was more than enough to produce PTSD.

A unique factor of the Civil War was that units were very often created by geographical location. A town’s entire male population, brothers, friends and neighbors, would fight together. A Union soldier from Michigan found the body of his best friend who was shot and killed. During the chaos of battle, the soldier kneeled down to clear the blood off his friend’s face, while bullets and shells exploded around him. He had lost his sense of urgency and experienced heightened arousal level, which put him in physical danger. This is an example of a soldier’s psychological state putting them at physical risk. This psychological state would be even more compromised when a soldier fought their own kin. The famous motto of the Civil War was Brothers Fighting Brothers. Families were torn apart by this war as brothers would often fight on opposing sides. James and Alex Campbell were two brothers who fought on opposing side. When war broke out, James went to the Confederate Army with the Union Light Infantry also called the 42nd Highlanders and Alex went to the Union 79th Highlander Regiment. At the Battle of Secessionville in eighteen sixty-two, the two brothers were fighting against each other. Not only would losing the support system of a family member be stressful but the thought of intentionally killing a relative would be a severe psychological trauma that could generate PTSD.

Psychological warfare has been a vital part of combat for thousands of years. Biblical writings of Gideon portrayed of soldiers blowing horns, let out a fierce cry and breaking objects as a result the Mindianite soldiers were so beside themselves with fear that they committed suicide. (Judges 7:1-22) The Civil War was no stranger to these psychological tactics. The phrase “Rebel Yell” originates from the Civil War and was a weapon used to instill fear in the Union soldiers. Similar to the battle cries of the Native Americans, Confederate soldiers would yell, shout or chant certain phrases or noises to invoke fear in their enemies and many times it did its job. The sounds were described anywhere from Indian wooping noises to the shrieks of a wild animal and these yells implored great fear into the Federal soldiers. “….the Union troops were startled by the most hideous of modern war cries, known as the ‘rebel yell’…This was the first time the Vermont boys had heard that fiendish sound, and it is not too much to say that they were appalled by it for a moment, and thought their time had come to be ‘wiped out.” Fear is a great weapon in combat; unfortunately this great weapon is lethal to a soldier’s psyche.

Witnessing an event is just as catastrophic to the psyche as being a victim of a trauma. Many soldiers did not have to experience combat to receive the full effect of war. Thomas Smiley, a confederate soldier, described the horrifying event that he witnessed at the Battle of Chancellorsville to his aunt. “The large brick house at Chancellorsville took fire and burnt up with about two hundred wounded Yankees who were so badly hurt that they could not move and their own soldiers did not help them any. Later in the day the woods took fire and a great many more helpless men perished.”15 At the battle of Seven Pines, a Confederate soldier was horrified not by fighting but from what he heard on that day. The soldier, lying wounded on the ground, described the cries and screams for help from the Union soldiers as they lay in the ditches too wounded to move. A heavy rain came and the water had accumulated in the ditches and the wounded men were slowly starting to drown.16 Stories like this would find their way back to the small towns and cities, terrifying the men who were eligible for enlistment or conscription. Joseph Waddell wrote of a young man who was sobbing because he was called up by the draft. “I heard a sound of lamentation…. A negro woman informed me that it was a soldier crying because he had to go to the war!… Several men and women stood in the street, some laughing and others denouncing the recruit”.17 Severe anxiety plagued the prospective soldiers as the news of the bloodshed and atrocious fighting trickled from the battlefield to home.

The amount of hand to hand combat in the Civil War left soldiers particularly vulnerable to PTSD, depression or any battery of psychological illnesses. This is the last major American war and one of the last major wars in the world to significantly utilize hand to hand combat. After the twentieth century, the technologies gained in World War One, such as planes, bombs and machine guns, did most of the heavy labor. While linear warfare was the fighting style of choice in the Civil War, almost every battle had some form of hand to hand combat . Union Naval Officer William Ferguson testified to Major-General Hurlbut as to what he witnessed when he arrived at Fort Pillow after the massacre “[There were] Bodies with gaping wounds, some bayoneted through the eyes, some with skulls beaten through, others with hideous wounds as if their bowels had been ripped open with bowie-knives…”18 This archaic style of fighting is tremendously personal and has exceedingly negative effects on a person’s psyche. To defeat the enemy, one must look into their eyes and take their life. Hand to hand combat is arguably one of the leading causes in the development of PTSD.

The evidence of psychological effects and disorders as a result of combat is clearly illustrated in the suicides of the soldiers. Numerous soldiers took their own lives rather than live to see another fight. Many men wrote home telling their loved ones about the unfortunate souls that would rather die by their own hand then fight for a chance of survival. Jacob Stouffer wrote about his friend Absolam Shetter saying, “he had been in trouble and at times in a State of despondency-this with the troubles and Excitements around us-deranged his mind and on yesterday morning ended his existence by hanging.” Newell Gleason, a lieutenant colonel, was described as a fearless leader but had experienced nervousness and anxiety after the Atlanta Campaign. Gleason had difficulty sleeping and battled with depression. In eighteen eighty-six, Gleason committed suicide as a result of his time spent in the Union Army. A majority of the suicide victims were Confederate veterans. Besides the fact that they lost the war, the South lost twenty percent of its population. Families were torn apart by this war. Fathers and mothers lost sons, brothers lost brothers and wives lost husbands. The men that were lucky enough returned from war found their homes and lands destroyed. They lost everything. The war and its surrounding events could have thrown the soldiers into a depressive state leading to psychological ailments.

Understanding events and conditions that contribute to PTSD and psychological disorders help to create a mental picture of the soldier’s experiences. These events are correlated to psychological disorders but neither confirm or deny a conclusion. Examining individual soldiers provides insight into the effects of the war. It also makes the connection personal and the event feel real instead of words on a paper. The next three case studies are the smoking gun evidence that there were indeed psychological disorders as a result of the Civil War. More importantly, they were all real people who were once very much alive and they were all victims of something far greater than themselves.

Albert Frank was a soldier in the Union Army. At the Battle of Bermuda Hundred near Richmond, Frank was off the front line and sitting on top of a trench. He offered a drink from his canteen to a fellow soldier sitting next to him. While the soldier was taking his drink, a shell exploded and decapitated the man, covering Frank with blood and pieces of brain. Frank experienced a complete loss of cognitive functioning being unable to speak, communicate or understand his fellow soldiers. He was later found on the floor shaking and making bomb noises. The only thing he would say was “Frank is killed.”19 He was taken to the Government Hospital for the Insane in Washington D.C and declared mentally insane. Witnessing such an intense trauma had affected Frank greatly. He was re-experiencing and reenacting the event and he associated himself to the trauma in a negative way saying he was the one killed. These are indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Angelo Crapsey from Potter County, Pennsylvania eagerly enlisted in the Union army in 1861. Early in his military career, a sergeant in his unit committed suicide by placing his rifle between his knees and putting the muzzle in his mouth. This event would have a profound impact on Crapsey. As Crapsey started to engage in combat, his glorified perception of war began to fade away. “Rebels charged on us & we had to run, run for [our] lives…through an open field & we had showers of bullets sent after us.”

Crapsey became more withdrawn and the radiant spirit he possessed prior to the war disappeared. At the Battle of Fredericksburg Crapsey was taken prisoner and he spent time in at Libby Prison. While contained, Crapsey developed a case of lice infestation and frequently tried to rid himself of the pest even after they had subsided. After his release he fought at the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, Gettysburg. Upon his discharged, he returned back home to Pennsylvania were he experienced illusions, involuntary ticks and violent fits. On August 4, 1864, Crapsey said he was going out to hunt but instead stuck a gun in his mouth and shot himself; the same way the sergeant had done three years prior. Major General Thomas Kane said that he “loved no one of his men more than Angelo. He came up to his ideal of the youthful patriot, a heroic American soldier.” Crapsey embodied the image of the ideal soldier and possessed a luminous spirit that was contagious. Unfortunately, he lost himself in the tremendous force that was the Civil War.

Just like the soldiers in the Great War, Angelo had experienced involuntary ticks and violent fits. World War One soldier’s ticks and fit were attributed to constant bombardment at battles like Verdun and Somme. Angelo fought at Gettysburg, the sight of the largest artillery bombardment in North American History. While the bombs never physically harmed him, they drove him to insanity. Angelo experienced a change in personality, diminished personal relationships, a loss of previous interest, flashbacks, disturbing memories, negative emotions and he associated the negative trauma to himself which created a sense of self hatred. It got to the point where Angelo could not find a way out of his own prison and the only solution was death. Angelo displayed numerous symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
Did soldiers in the American Civil War suffer from psychological effects and disorders? Through revolutionary weaponry developments, horrific medical procedures, psychological warfare, and the great deal of ferocious hand to hand combat, there appears to be a great deal of evidence for psychological effects in civil war soldiers. The Crapsey, Minor and Frank case studies provide significant evidence of psychological disorders as a result of Civil War combat. With this body of evidence the question can be definitively answered; psychological disorders are present in soldiers of the Civil War as a result of combat and or its attributing factors. Without a shadow of a doubt the Civil War psychologically scarred and damaged its soldiers. Those brave men put their “sacrifices upon the altar of freedom” and endured a fate worse than death by living their lives in silent suffering. The presence of psychological effects and disorders are evident in the soldiers of the American Civil War.

 

Marine battled back, yet fell to suicide

Farrell Gilliam was buried in Fresno Jan. 21, carried to his grave by Marine pallbearers and friends. (Courtesy Gilliam family.)

Farrell Gilliam was buried in Fresno Jan. 21, carried to his grave by Marine pallbearers and friends. (Courtesy Gilliam family.)

 

 

By Gretel C. Kovach MARCH 28, 2014

*GRAPHIC LANGUAGE

He rarely spoke of it. Not to his family or best buddies, fellow Marines or medical staff watching over him.

But Cpl. Farrell Gilliam had endured far more by the time he died this year at age 25 than most people could comprehend.

The Camp Pendleton infantryman survived three months of combat in 2010 with the “Darkhorse” 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment in Sangin, Afghanistan — one of the deadliest battlegrounds of the war.

Amid firefights and insurgents’ bombs, Gilliam saw limbs strewn across the ground. He loaded broken, bleeding bodies for medical evacuation, and grieved for the friends they could not save.

Gilliam’s tour ended early when his legs were blown off by an improvised explosive device, or IED. “Farrell’s Fight,” his struggle on the homefront that his big brother helped him chronicle online, included more than 30 surgeries and three years of rehabilitation.

It was a story of triumph over wounds that would have been fatal in earlier conflicts. A story that was coming to an end, but not how anyone who knew him expected.

 

Gilliam was months away from a medical discharge from the Marine Corps and a new life as civilian college student. Physically, he had one surgery left to remove hardware in an arm. Psychologically, he was suffering from invisible wounds he hid behind smiles and upbeat banter.

Or so his family discovered on Jan. 9, when Gilliam committed suicide by shooting himself in the head in his barracks room in San Antonio.

Gilliam finally succumbed to his battle wounds, said Sgt. James Finney, his former squad leader in Afghanistan. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger — to him Gilliam was killed in action just like the other 25 from their battalion.

“It was an 8,000-mile sniper shot,” said Finney, 27, now an infantry instructor. “His passing was directly due to a situation because of his wounds received in Afghanistan. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

The suicide rate for active-duty troops spiked in 2012 to nearly one a day, a record during this era of warfare and twice as high as a decade before. At least 350 took their lives that year, more than the number of service members killed in combat. (Final numbers for 2012 and a year-end tally for 2013 are pending, a Pentagon official said.)

Last year, 45 Marines committed suicide and 234 tried to. It was by far the highest number of suicide attempts for the service since at least 2003.

Among veterans of all the armed forces, at least 22 commit suicide daily, according to estimates from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Gilliam’s death blindsided his family and friends. Amid their raw first waves of grief, anger and irrational guilt, they pray that sharing his story might inspire others to stop suffering silently. Or spur a family to intervene. Or close a gap in support or education.

“I want no family to have to go through the pain that we are going through. If there’s just one person who gets that help that saves them … then it’s worth it,” said Gilliam’s brother, Daniel Lorente, 30, of Palo Alto, who cared for him full time as his non-medical assistant early in his rehabilitation.

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam and his brother Daniel Lorente in a Palo Alto fire truck in 2011 on the way to Gilliams flying lesson with a cousin. Courtesy photo

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam and his brother Daniel Lorente in a Palo Alto fire truck in 2011 on the way to Gilliams flying lesson with a cousin. Courtesy photo

Combat

As a teenager, Gilliam scored high on tests but was uninterested in school. He was introspective and brash, a gun-lover who wanted more excitement than the Navy had offered his parents. He enlisted with the Marines at age 17 so he could serve his country and “blow s* up.”

“He just wanted to be a grunt,” said his mother, Lisa Gilliam of Fresno.

After a sea tour, Gilliam volunteered for combat. He deployed in October 2010 as an infantryman and designated marksman to Sangin, a Taliban stronghold in southwestern Afghanistan where U.S. Marines were taking over from British forces.

Four Marines died in a bomb strike on the first day. Gilliam served on the quick-reaction force, manning the Mark 19 grenade launcher or .50-caliber gun, pitching in with litter teams after roadside bomb attacks and shootouts.

When he called home Christmas Day, apologizing for upsetting his mother by missing the holiday for the first time, he sounded like a man fighting to survive.

“Is it bad?” Lorente asked. “Are you guys doing OK?”

“We are taking hits. S* is just rough right now,” Gilliam said. “We are doing everything we can.”

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam (right) on a 2010-2011 deployment to Sangin, Afghanistan.

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam (right) on a 2010-2011 deployment to Sangin, Afghanistan.

Gilliam shielded his mother from the worst so she wouldn’t worry. But Lisa Gilliam, a pediatric nurse practitioner specializing in surgery and trauma care, realized after that phone call that her son was going to need help.

“I could tell in his voice,” she said. It was exhausted. Haunted. “I knew he was not going to come home the same as he left.”

A week later, on Jan. 5, 2011, Farrell Gilliam stepped on an IED. The Marines were walking through a desert neighborhood of mud-walled compounds near their base, toward a distant radio tower.

Gilliam, a team leader, was at the back of the patrol. About 10 Marines had trod ahead, marking a narrow path as they went, before he triggered a pressure plate buried in the dirt.

Finney heard the explosion. He looked back and saw a cloud of dust. No one answered him on the radio but he could hear yelling. When he crested the hill, he saw Gilliam inside a bomb crater.

One of Gilliam’s grenades had detonated in the explosion, mangling his side. His feet were blasted away and his right arm broken.

Gilliam was the first from their squad of “Regulators” to be wounded. “I didn’t want to believe it, but at that point we’d kind of gotten used to guys getting hurt,” Finney said.

By then, 24 had been killed with the battalion. Gilliam and the Lima Company quick-reaction force had responded to 18 urgent casualty evacuations, most of them limb amputations.

Navy hospital corpsmen and Marines worked rapidly to stop Gilliam from bleeding to death. They cinched his legs with tourniquets, stuffed his guts back in his belly and injected him with morphine.

One Marine held down Gilliam’s thrashing body while another calmed him, assuring him he would be fine.

On the drive to Forward Operating Base Nolay, a corpsman jammed his fingers in Gilliam’s wounds to keep him awake. To keep him alive until the medevac flight crew finally put him to sleep.

Gilliam was terrified he would die on that helicopter, like a squad leader from his company, Sgt. Ian Tawney.

Lisa Gilliam heard her son speak of it only once. It was after he arrived on Jan. 9, 2011, at Bethesda, Md., and the National Naval Medical Center. He was in the intensive care unit, suffering terrible flashbacks.

“What are you afraid of?” a chaplain asked.

Gilliam recounted every detail. His voice was hoarse from the breathing tube that had just been removed. He was crying.

“I remember putting one of my guys on the medevac. They took off and he died later,” his mother recalled him saying.

Then one day they put him on the helicopter, too. And Gilliam was afraid. So afraid.

“That I was going to die later, too,” he said.

REHAB

Both legs had to be amputated above the knee because of debris rammed into his flesh, trauma from the explosion and infection. Gilliam also lost half of his abdominal muscles, a section of arm bone and portions of his testicles.

On the upside, his brain and face were intact, he kept both arms, and with help from hormone treatment, he could expect to father a child normally.

When Lisa Gilliam’s husband, from whom she was long separated, called saying their son was badly wounded and may not live, she screamed into the phone as if he were dead.

Gilliam’s family members thought he was protected in the war zone by his training and armored Humvees.

“I didn’t know what an IED was. I had to look it up,” Lisa Gilliam said. “What the hell are they out there doing looking for IEDs? I thought they were shooting guns behind bunkers like you see in the World War II movies.”

Her daughter Sarah, 22, just didn’t understand. “I thought she was trying to tell me he was dead. I couldn’t comprehend: he’s lost his legs but he’s alive?” How could that be?

Gen. James Amos, commandant of the Marine Corps, pins on Cpl. Farrell Gilliams Purple Heart medal while the young Marine is in the Intensive Care Unit at Bethesda, Maryland Jan. 28, 2011.Courtesy photo

Gen. James Amos, commandant of the Marine Corps, pins on Cpl. Farrell Gilliams Purple Heart medal while the young Marine is in the Intensive Care Unit at Bethesda, Maryland Jan. 28, 2011.Courtesy photo

The first year of recovery was rough for Gilliam. He was overcome by bouts of anger, fear, depression and frustration, even as he fantasized about returning to combat.

“I remember him saying, ‘We need to hurry up and get me better so I can go back.’ I was like, ‘You are going to kill Mom if you go back!’” his brother Lorente said.

Gilliam responded: “What? This time around if I step on an IED, I’ll just get new (prosthetic) sticks and I’ll be fine!”

Medications clouded his mind and made him vomit regularly for five months straight. He flushed them after one surgery, then had to order more to cope with the pain.

illiam sometimes slipped into what his mother called “black moods.” He would sit, unresponsive, for hours or even days at a time.

“He would just, like, check out. He would be fine and then it would be like turning off a light switch and he would just be somewhere else. You couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t talk to him,” she recalled.

In time, those dark spells grew shorter and less frequent.

These were normal struggles for a young man coming to terms with half his body blown away, according to his father, Mike Gilliam, a civilian defense worker from Ridgecrest, Calif. Family and fellow Marines tried to help him adjust.

“His first sergeant told him, ‘You ain’t got that much to be angry about.’ He knew it. He just had to get over it and get some perspective. And he was,” Mike Gilliam said.

“You’ve got lots of guys out there who lost both their arms and one leg and they just lay in their bed twitching. Or they get their brain rattled and they don’t think straight anymore. They lose their jaw.

“Good grief, he came out pretty good. The politicians, they loved to pose with him. He was a photogenic case,” he said. A handsome young man with dark almond eyes and a mischievous grin whose bedside visitors included the president and the commandant of the Marine Corps.

Gilliam got over his “attitude problem,” his father said, and tried to recover as quickly as possible. Soon he was zipping around corners of the VA Palo Alto on one wheel of his chair, a move immortalized as a “Farrell turn” at the hospital where Gilliam’s portrait still hangs.

“Every time I saw him, he was in good spirits,” said Finney the former squad leader. Even while coming out of physical therapy, which can be tiring and painful. “He always acted like he was going to beat it.”

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam is reunited with his unit for the first time in May 2011 at Camp Pendleton, at a memorial ceremony for 25 killed in action serving in Sangin, Afghanistan with the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment. Courtesy photo

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam is reunited with his unit for the first time in May 2011 at Camp Pendleton, at a memorial ceremony for 25 killed in action serving in Sangin, Afghanistan with the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment. Courtesy photo

 

TEXAS

In October 2011, Gilliam transferred to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, home to one of the nation’s top rehabilitation programs for the more than 1,500 Iraq or Afghanistan war veterans with an amputated limb.

He would be far from family in California, but they thought the Center for the Intrepid — with its surf tank and other amenities — offered him the best long-term chance of recovery.

Gilliam moved into the wounded warrior barracks at Fort Sam Houston, among its detachment of about two dozen Marines and equal number of staff members.

On Jan. 5, 2012, he celebrated the first anniversary of his “Alive Day,” when Marine amputees mark the moment they cheated death in combat, and toast those who weren’t so lucky. Gilliam wrote on his Facebook page: “One year ago today I got blown the f* up, but I’m here on the river walk in San Antonio getting hammered with my buddies.

“SUCK IT TALIBAN, YOU LOSE,” he wrote.

More than 500 people hit “like” on the post. After a long string of supportive comments, including jabs at Taliban living in caves, Gilliam wrote: “this just made my day.”

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam with his grandmother, Theresa Stavens, brother Daniel Lorente, and mother Lisa Gilliam in Bethesda, Maryland March 2011 on Gilliams first outing from the hospital. Courtesy photo

Cpl. Farrell Gilliam with his grandmother, Theresa Stavens, brother Daniel Lorente, and mother Lisa Gilliam in Bethesda, Maryland March 2011 on Gilliams first outing from the hospital. Courtesy photo

During visits home last year for the holidays, he seemed to be thriving. Independent again, full of life and plans for the future. And more outgoing than before he was wounded.

Gilliam had reconciled himself to a wheelchair because his missing abdominal muscles made it difficult to use prosthetic legs. But he didn’t let that confine him.

He bought a big truck with hand controls and drove it to New Mexico to see a friend. Cruising with his sisters, he would dance in the driver’s seat to anything from Angels & Airwaves rock to classical music.

Gilliam ate only organic food, worked out diligently and adopted the Paleo Diet. On Thanksgiving, he propped his cookbook on the counter and mixed up pumpkin muffins with almond flour.

“I was in awe,” his brother Lorente said. “Whatever they are doing in San Antonio has changed my brother into this young man who was going to be able to take over the world if he wanted to.”

There was a nice young lady in the picture. A part-time job waiting for him and studies toward an English major at Arizona State University, for which he had already started online classes.

Gilliam loved reading — especially Kipling, Wordsworth and Emerson — a pastime he shared with his good friend James McCain. The two were going to be roommates after Gilliam left the Corps.

Gilliam had served with the U.S. senator’s son, a 25-year-old Marine veteran, before deploying to Afghanistan. When they reconnected after Gilliam was wounded, McCain was impressed to find “practically the only other person on the planet” who knew about the philosophy of naturalism.

He was “a really deep young guy I really enjoyed talking to,” McCain said. They spoke almost every day.

“The sweetest guy I ever met really. There wasn’t an angry bone in his body. When I would get pissed off, I would end up calling him. ‘Jim, we’ll be alright,’ he would say. That taught me a lot about life,” McCain said.

Gilliam never mentioned wanting to kill himself, not even in jest, McCain said. But he remembers the one time his friend revealed the burden of his wounds.

They were drinking beers one afternoon about six months ago. Gilliam was on the couch when McCain got in his chair to wheel over some refills. “Man, this is the best beer-getting chair!” McCain joked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome when you don’t have to be stuck in it the rest of your life,” Gilliam said.

McCain and Gilliam celebrated New Year’s with friends in Arizona. After exchanging a pile of books, Gilliam left on Jan. 3 for Texas. “‘Alright man, see you soon,’ he said. And that was it,” McCain said.

“He seemed fine. His normal self.”

TRIGGER

Gilliam told his sister Sarah that he had a great time in Arizona and didn’t want to return to San Antonio. “He didn’t want to sit in his room and wonder when he would see everybody again. It just went downhill from there,” she said.

He sat alone in the barracks drinking a bottle of Scotch, ignoring his sister’s protests.

“It was an overwhelming sense of isolation, from everybody and everything,” Sarah said.

A couple days later, on Jan. 5, on what he now called his “Survival Day,” Gilliam wrote a long post on Facebook. He ruminated over each moment of the IED attack and thanked everyone by name who helped him.

“Three years ago today I won (or lost) a game of hide and seek with an IED in Afghanistan,” he wrote.

“Doc Brown, Doc Gojar, Gutierrez, Griff, and Finney, and countless other surgeons, doctors, nurses and corpsmen helped keep my name off the KIA list.

“Every morning I wake up and realize that I am actually alive, I think about all of you,” he said.

He mentioned his hope that stem cell technology could give him a new pair of legs, then wrote: “I love you guys. I think about you every day and will continue to do so until I can no longer think due to Alzheimer’s, dementia, or death. Thank you.”

On Jan. 9, three years to the day after he returned to the United States from Afghanistan, Gilliam sent a mass text to his closest relatives and friends.

“I love you. Far more than you know,” it said.

Responses filled all of their phone screens: I love you too, brother; Love ya, Gilly …

Sarah was worried. “How ya doing by the way?” she texted.

No response.

“Seriously though are you ok?”

No response.

“IF YOU REALLY LOVED ME YOU WOULDN’T MAKE ME WORRY.”

An hour after that, a barracks resident heard the gunshot.

The family of Camp Pendleton Marine Cpl. Farrell Gilliam, from left, sister Erin Gilliam, brother Daniel Lorente, mother Lisa Gilliam, and sister Sarah Gilliam, at Seaport Village in San Diego on Saturday. Cpl. Gilliam, who was terribly wounded in Afghanistan, recently took his own life. Marines and relatives don't consider it suicide and is petitioning to have his name on a stone memorial with the other 25 members of the battalion killed in action. Hayne Palmour IV

The family of Camp Pendleton Marine Cpl. Farrell Gilliam, from left, sister Erin Gilliam, brother Daniel Lorente, mother Lisa Gilliam, and sister Sarah Gilliam, at Seaport Village in San Diego on Saturday. Cpl. Gilliam, who was terribly wounded in Afghanistan, recently took his own life. Marines and relatives don’t consider it suicide and is petitioning to have his name on a stone memorial with the other 25 members of the battalion killed in action. Hayne Palmour IV

AFTERMATH

Lisa Gilliam saw two Marines at her door and thought they were gathering donations.

They said her son had passed, but she couldn’t believe it. She screamed: “How do you know? How do you know!”

Gilliam didn’t appear to suffer from depression, PTSD or suicidal tendencies. He quit all medications several months earlier, as far as his family knew.

“The universal reaction was, ‘Where did this come from?’” his father said. “No one was under the impression that he was going through any kind of battle in this regard.”

To this day, he can’t accept it. Maybe a brain lesion or seizure was to blame, he wonders, though naval investigators ruled the shooting a suicide.

Lisa Gilliam was disturbed to learn that her son hadn’t received psychological treatment for two years.

He didn’t seem to need it, she agreed. As in the civilian world, the military can’t force personnel into psychological care unless they appear in danger of hurting someone, she was told.

“He put on a great face in the day. But I think nights, alone in the barracks there at San Antonio, were probably hell for him. The Marine Corps and the military in general, they need to look at these different stages. They can’t say just because they aren’t showing signs, that there’s nothing going on upstairs,” she said.

When the troops return home, “the war is not over for them. It rages for them in their heads and their hearts. Farrell’s physical was the least of his problems, apparently. We didn’t think so, but look at where we are at now.

“That’s what PTSD is. It’s like a tumor that you can’t see. If it’s not treated, it’s going to kill you.”

As a family, they have so many questions about Gilliam and other combat veterans.

Why bother to heal their bodies if you can’t heal their minds? Why do wounded Marines have single rooms instead of being forced to buddy up? Why couldn’t Gilliam live with a Jack Russell therapy dog like he wanted? Why is it so easy to sneak a gun into the barracks?

And the most important question of all. The one they know can never be answered: Why did he leave them?

As the Corps grapples with fallout from 13 years of combat, it encourages Marines to look out for each other and for signs of distress. Many are reluctant to ask for help because of the stigma against psychological care, a fear of appearing weak and mistrust of medical providers who haven’t seen combat.

“We are a stubborn breed,” said Capt. Ryan Powell, a spokesman for the Marine Corps Wounded Warrior Regiment.

PETITION

After Gilliam died, Marines who served with him in Sangin started talking about the battalion’s 26th KIA.

Mark Soto, the father of a “Darkhorse” Marine who struggled with suicidal impulses but got help, started a petition. It asks the Corps and Defense Department to add Gilliam’s name to the memorial stone at Camp Pendleton for the 5th Marine Regiment war dead.

It quickly gained more than 1,000 supporters.

Jim Binion, whose stepson Sgt. Matthew Abbate was killed in Sangin, encouraged readers of his “Hella Sick Clothing” blog on Facebook to sign the petition.

When some objected to Gilliam being counted among the KIA, Binion replied: “Farrell woke up to pain every day, and PTSD like you can only think of in nightmares, and one night the demons got him.

“If you have a problem with us pushing for Farrell, feel free to leave the page. But I know what Matt expected from me. He would not leave a brother behind.”

Finney, the former squad leader, said Gilliam deserves respect for being one of the few Americans who volunteered to be a Marine grunt. On top of that, “he goes to a combat zone and receives a Purple Heart. It makes him 1 percent of 1 percent of 1 percent.”

Then he quoted from Henry V. The same words Gilliam used on Memorial Day 2012 when he beseeched the public to “remember our fallen, so they will not die.”

“Our 25, the giants of our generation, who fell in battle against the mighty Taliban, in the far off lands of a place called Afghanistan. A place the rest of us will never leave.”

Then from Shakespeare: “He which hath no stomach to this fight let him depart. But we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers! For he today that sheds his blood with me shall always be my brother.”

McCain said he doesn’t understand why one of the strongest people he ever met wanted to end his own life. “We never will,” he said. “He’s just gone and I will always love him.”

Lisa Gilliam is proud of her son, but angry too. “He overcame so much. He was wounded to a horrible degree and yet he, he got through it. He did everything they asked him to do.”

So many surgeries, they stopped counting. All of his physical therapy. Learning to respond gracefully when children pointed and stared.

To kill himself, “sorry for my French, but it’s a big f* you to everybody, to everybody that had a part in his care and helping him come so far,” his mother said.

The family is strong and will persevere, but “it’s devastating,” his brother Lorente said, starting to weep. “It was such a battle on the homefront. It was a battle for us as a family for so long. I hate to see my Mom have to suffer, and my sisters …”

Sarah is angry too, they all are. “But maybe that’s the whole problem — he fought for so long and he just couldn’t anymore,” she said. “It’s easy to think you did this to me. But it wasn’t about any of us. It was about what he was going through.”

Then there’s the guilt. “We wish we could take the pain away. We wish we could have done more,” said his sister Erin, 20.

 

While in treatment during the summer of 2011 at the VA Palo Alto Polytrauma Center, Cpl. Farrell Gilliam stayed up all night building a Lego toy that he donated to a childrens program. Courtesy photo

While in treatment during the summer of 2011 at the VA Palo Alto Polytrauma Center, Cpl. Farrell Gilliam stayed up all night building a Lego toy that he donated to a childrens program. Courtesy photo

Now they mourn him, each in his own way.

Gilliam had a generous and gentle heart, his relatives said. When Sarah needed a kidney transplant in December, he argued with his mother that he should be the one to donate since he was younger.

When Erin admired a $1,500 special edition set of Harry Potter books, he gave them to her at Christmas. “He was very insightful. He took the time to know people,” Erin said.

Gilliam’s father had returned to work immediately after Gilliam was wounded. He didn’t know what else to do. No one knew what to say to him then, and they know even less now.

“You see your son in a box, you find out what you believe,” Mike Gilliam said. For him, it’s the resurrection. “I anticipate seeing him again. … He got a head start on the rest of us. But we will see him.”

What to feel is more difficult.

“Everybody around me is screaming their heads off. I’ve got nothing. I’m just kind of dealing with the situation. I am kind of waiting until the lights are out and everybody is tucked into bed and there is nobody around.

“A parenting thing you know, you deal with the problems after nobody else is around,” he said.

A son dies young, before his father — Mike Gilliam expects he will be dealing with it for years.

“What he was going to be. I miss that” most of all, he said. “What he was gonna be …”

FINAL REST

Strangers and friends. Medical staff from both coasts. Marines who fought with him in Afghanistan. Hundreds and hundreds across the country paid their respects after Gilliam died.

“They came from all over,” his brother Lorente said. “It was really moving how many people’s lives he touched. It was absolutely humbling.”

It started in San Antonio at the airport.

“We have the privilege and the honor today to be escorting a fallen warrior home to his final resting place,” the announcer said. Everyone in the terminal froze and fell silent.

Gilliam was loaded into the cargo hold of the plane under the scrutiny of his staff sergeant. The Marine escorted his body, standing vigil beside him every moment, until he was buried.

When the plane landed in San Jose, firefighters shot two arcs of water over the aircraft in salute. Police stopped Friday afternoon traffic to make way for the hearse and more than 100 Patriot Guard motorcycle riders.

On the drive to Fresno, every overpass was crowded with people. Firefighters standing at attention atop their trucks. A Marine honor guard. Sheriff’s deputies. Forestry workers.

Finney, Gilliam’s former squad leader, was among the Marine pallbearers who carried his coffin draped in red, white and blue.

After a volley of rifle fire in salute and the playing of taps, the Gilliams released a flock of white doves at Beth Israel Cemetery in Fresno, where he was buried Jan. 21 with full military honors.

Gilliam’s sisters tattooed his final text message prominently on their bodies. When she feels sad, Erin Gilliam rubs the flesh of her inner bicep where her brother’s words are inked. Sarah Gilliam has the words on her wrist.

“If anything good comes out of this,” Sarah said, “I just want it to be that somebody gets help that nobody thought they needed.”

Farrell Gilliam in 2008, on a sea tour with 1st Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment.

Farrell Gilliam in 2008, on a sea tour with 1st Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment.

gretel.kovach@utsandiego.com; (619) 293-1293; Twitter @gckovach; Facebook: U-T Military

 

 

 

 

 

Iraq war vet introduces military suicide bill

By Ashley Fantz, CNN

The first Iraq war combat veteran to serve in the U.S. Senate introduced legislation on Thursday aimed at reducing the number of military veterans who commit suicide. No matter the cost of the measures urged in the sweeping bill, “that is the cost of war,” Democratic Sen. John Walsh of Montana told CNN.

Every day, 22 veterans commit suicide.

To Walsh, that is more than a number. From 2004 to 2005, he commanded an infantry battalion of the Montana National Guard in Iraq. When the unit returned home, one of Walsh’s soldiers committed suicide.

When Walsh became adjutant general of the Montana National Guard, a few more guardsmen died by suicide.

“Far too often, we’re leaving our veterans to fight their toughest battles alone,” Walsh said. “Returning home from combat does not erase what happened there, and yet red tape and government dysfunction have blocked access to the care that saves lives. It is our duty to come together for real solutions for our heroes,” Walsh told CNN on Thursday.

The Suicide Prevention for America’s Veterans Act is collaboration between Walsh and the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America. Founded in 2004, IAVA is the first and largest organization for new veterans and their families, with 270,000 members nationwide.

The next step for Walsh is to get a co-sponsor for the bill. He said he’s already received bipartisan support behind the scenes.

The veterans organization is working on getting a similar bill in the House, said IAVA political director Kate O’Gorman.

What’s in the bill?

Among the bill’s key objectives is to give veterans more time to receive mental health treatment.

Currently, when a service member separates from active duty — whether they are transitioning to being a veteran or becoming a Reservist or a member of the National Guard — they have five years to receive care from the Department of Veterans Affairs, O’Gorman said. Sometimes it can take longer than five years for service members and veterans to realize they’re experiencing the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress and other mental injuries.

About 25% of IAVA’s members, O’Gorman said, have experienced a delayed onset of PTSD after getting out of the service.

Many times, five years is just not long enough for veterans who are dealing with the stigma of mental health issues. It can take many years to emotionally come to grips with the diagnosis alone, and then it takes time to find and receive the right care.

To address that, Walsh’s bill would extend the time to receive mental health treatment from five years to 15 years.

The legislation also seeks to improve the quality of mental health care providers by making their jobs more competitive with the private sector, O’Gorman said. Right now there are more than 1,000 open jobs at the VA for mental health care jobs, including psychiatric nurses, physician assistants and psychiatrists, among others, she said.

The bill will introduce a pilot initiative that would allow a student to have their loans repaid if they work for the VA, O’Gorman said.
It also calls for annual reviews of care programs within the Defense Department and the VA to ensure resources are being used effectively to help service members and vets struggling with mental health issues.

Further, the legislation points out that the VA and the Defense Department use two different computer systems and mandates that those systems be amended so that they speak to each other more seamlessly.

The legislation would also try to streamline the way the Pentagon and the VA prescribe medication. Currently, they use different drug prescription protocols, Walsh and military experts told CNN, and that can create a difficult situation.

For example, a service member overcomes the hurdle of admitting they need care, seeks help from a DOD doctor and, after several tries, gets on a drug that works for him or her.

When that warrior become a veteran, they go to a VA doctor only to be told that the drug the DOD doctor gave them is not available under VA protocols.

The bill was introduced the same week that Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America held its annual Storm the Hill initiative. Teams comprised of four veterans whoses live have been rocked by a fellow warrior’s suicide met with lawmakers in Washington. The veterans shared their stories, and implored those in power to do something substantial to address the problem.

Dollar costs and mental costs

It’s unclear how much it would cost to do everything the bill lays out, according to Andrea Helling, Walsh’s spokeswoman. Walsh is waiting for the Congressional Budget Office to provide a figure, she said.

But the senator stressed that it will cost far more in years to come if changes are not made soon to improve mental health care.

The legislation comes at a time of fierce belt tightening in the armed forces. In February, the Pentagon said it would reduce the size of the Army to pre-Word War II numbers, retire the a popular A-10 “Warhog” attack jet and reduce some benefits for warriors.

“This is a budget that recognizes the reality of the magnitude of our fiscal challenges, the dangerous world we live in, and the American military’s unique and indispensable role in the security of this country and in today’s volatile world,” Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel said in February.

“There are difficult decisions ahead,” he said. “That is the reality we’re living with.”

Downsizing due to modernization and budget constraints began under Hagel’s predecessor, Robert Gates.

The Iraq and Afghanistan wars are the longest continuous battles the United States has fought.

The Iraq war lasted from 2003 to 2010 and Afghanistan has been raging since soon after the September 11, 2001, terror attacks. President Barack Obama has said that the United States could withdraw all troops from Afghanistan by the end of 2014.

More than 2 million Americans have served in combat in those two wars. Researchers estimate that as many as 300,000 service members may meet criteria for PTSD and between 200,000 and 300,000 have suffered a traumatic brain injury from mild to severe, according to Dr. Stephen Cozza with the Center for the Study of Traumatic Stress.

The nonprofit think-tank RAND Corporation estimates a third of veterans likely have TBI, PTSD or depression, which puts the overall number affected at around 600,000.
A large body of research indicates PTSD is associated with increased likelihood of suicidal behavior.

Beyond the bill

A large body of research indicates PTSD is associated with increased likelihood of suicidal behavior.

Walsh was sworn into the U.S. Senate in January after Montana Gov. Steve Bullock named Walsh, his lieutenant governor, to serve the remainder of Sen. Max Baucus’ term after he became U.S. ambassador to China. Walsh is running for election in November.

Walsh’s legislation, IAVA’s O’Gorman told CNN, has bipartisan support. And the goal is to get it passed by Memorial Day, far before an election is a concern.

Walsh said lawmakers must also address suicides amongst military family members, too.

The Pentagon is currently not tracking the number of suicides among relatives. CNN recently explored the topic and spoke to dozens of relatives who said they had contemplated or attempted killing themselves.

Warrior suicides and military family member suicides are “connected,” Walsh said.

Speaking about a warrior under his command who had been deployed three times whose wife was left to care for triplets, Walsh said he understood that families have been under extreme stress for years.

The relatives have made “enormous sacrifices,” he said.

http://www.cnn.com/2014/03/27/politics/military-suicide-legislation/index.html?c=&page=>

Ending it all by their own hand: Corps probes Marine suicides

Sgt. Martin Scahill and his wife Genevieve Scahill are pictured in this family photograph. (Courtesy of Genevieve Scahill)

Sgt. Martin Scahill and his wife Genevieve Scahill are pictured in this family photograph. (Courtesy of Genevieve Scahill)

By: Brett Kelman and Drew Schmenner
The (Palm Springs, Calif.) Desert Sun

As the sun rose over the sleepy desert town of Yucca Valley, Sgt. Martin Francis Scahill stood in his backyard, a black 12-gauge shotgun pressed against his chin, a single shell in the chamber.

After contemplating suicide for months, Scahill pulled the trigger. His body fell backwards onto the ground, the shotgun landing between his legs.

It was 6:30 a.m., April 5, 2010, the day after Easter Sunday. Blood seeped into the sand.

Forty-five minutes later, two deputies from the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department rang the doorbell at the Scahill home, waking his wife, who was asleep on the couch. Together, they found the body in the backyard. Scahill’s belongings were scattered around his bedroom.

A laptop was left open, lingering on an image of his infant daughter, Emma. A gun box was open with a revolver inside, unloaded. A box of shotgun shells sat on a nightstand, one shell missing. A notepad rested on the bed, covered with messages his wife scribbled during an argument the night before.

“I loved you.”

“I want to separate.”

Scahill, 25, was a man desperate for help he could not find. Alcohol abuse had strained his marriage and threatened his job, but he continued to drink, bragging about downing 18 beers or a half-gallon of whiskey every night. Scahill’s family had a history of suicide, but when he threatened to take his own life he was never taken seriously.

Five weeks after Scahill shot himself, a military investigation of his suicide would contradict itself, reporting that the Marine’s death was both unsurprising and yet impossible to foresee.

The investigation report, which was partially redacted by the military, said Scahill did not demonstrate any suicidal warning signs before his death, and that any indications of his intentions were either “too subtle” or “masked by his morose sense of humor.”

However, the same report said that Scahill’s suicide did not come as a shock to his immediate family. To them, suicide was “not a matter of if, but when,” the report said.

Scahill is one of at least 16 service members — 15 Marines, and one sailor — who committed suicide from 2007 to 2012 while at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms. That tally does not include one Marine from the Combat Center who killed himself while deployed to Iraq in 2008.

The military has not yet released base-specific suicide data from 2013. A Combat Center spokesman said he could not confirm how many Marines had killed themselves at the base last year because he could not speak for the multiple battalions that operate at the base.

Even with incomplete statistics, suicide is the second leading cause of death for Marines in this desert, with a death toll surpassed only by vehicle deaths, according to a yearlong investigation by The Desert Sun. The dual crises of crashes and suicide are compounded by alcohol abuse, and together, speed, depression and booze make the peaceful deserts of Southern California as dangerous as a war zone.

Since 2007, there have been 60 combat deaths of Twentynine Palms service members. During the same time period, at least 64 Marines and sailors have died non-hostile deaths while either stationed or training at the Twentynine Palms base.

The Desert Sun investigation found that, although Marines at Twentynine Palms are no more likely to take their own lives than Marines at other bases, they are twice as likely to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of their suicide. About half of the Marines who killed themselves while at the Twentynine Palms Combat Center had used alcohol, according to a review of reports from police, coroners and the military. Throughout the entire Marine Corps, only about one-quarter of suicides are confirmed to be alcohol-related.

From 2007 to 2012, both the Twentynine Palms Combat Center and the Marine Corps as a whole averaged an annual suicide rate of 19 deaths per 100,000 troops. According to the American Association of Suicidology, the overall U.S. suicide rate is about 12 deaths per 100,000 people. This rate doesn’t statistically compare to the Marine Corps because 95 percent of Marines are men, who are four times more likely to commit suicide than women. The Marine Corps argues that if the civilian suicide rate is adjusted for Marine demographics, it would equal 22 deaths per 100,000.

Pvt. Kythe Yund is pictured with his wife, Stephanie, in this family photo. (Courtesy of Karin Varner)

Pvt. Kythe Yund is pictured with his wife, Stephanie, in this family photo. (Courtesy of Karin Varner)

A growing crisis

The military first recognized its suicide crisis in the mid- to late 1990s, when each military branch launched its own prevention programs. In 1999, the U.S. Department of Defense created the Suicide Prevention and Risk Reduction Committee, which formalized how suicides and suicide attempts were reported.

Despite the creation of prevention programs, the rate of military suicide rose over the next decade, climbing from 10.3 suicides per 100,000 military members in 2001 to 18.03 suicides per 100,000 military members in 2011.

In 2010, suicide supplanted transportation accidents as the leading cause of non-combat death in the military, according to a 2012 Armed Forces Health Surveillance Center report.

In 2012, military suicides reached a record 351, surpassing the number of troops who died in Afghanistan that year. Forty-eight of those deaths were Marines.

Another 45 Marines killed themselves in 2013.

Both former Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta and current Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel have said that military suicides are among the most frustrating problems they’ve encountered. Panetta said in 2012 that military suicides were on the rise “despite increased efforts and attention” from both the defense department and the Department of Veterans Affairs. Last year, Hagel stressed that suicide prevention programs are so critical that they should be immune to wide-sweeping military budget cuts.

The Marine Corps operates a host of initiatives as part of its suicide prevention program, and base services include counselors, medical personnel and a 24-hour suicide helpline. In 2009, the Marines started annual suicide prevention training for non-commissioned officers, called “Never Leave a Marine Behind.” In 2011, the training expanded to include all Marines. In 2012, a new order required every battalion and squadron to appoint a suicide prevention officer.

But the existing efforts aren’t enough, according to the Department of Defense Suicide Prevention Task Force, a group of experts that spent two years studying suicide in the military. In 2010, a task force report found suicide prevention efforts were hampered by a troubling lack of communication on military bases. Commanders, clinicians and counselors weren’t talking about Marines who were at risk of suicide, and when they did talk, their conversations were stymied by medical privacy laws, which were often “misunderstood and over-interpreted,” the report said.

A year after the task force report was released, the Marine Corps launched its Force Preservation Council program on every base, encouraging battalion leaders and social support officials to share information about Marines who may be suicidal. In Twentynine Palms, the councils meet monthly.

“If there are Marines who are facing challenges in their lives, there are people that may have pockets of information,” said Lt. Col. Michael A. Bowers, commanding officer of the base’s headquarters battalion. “We want to make sure that everyone does have that information … and there are no gaps in what we know.”

One year after the council formed, the Marine Corps expanded its reach, launching a mandatory mentoring program at all bases, including in Twentynine Palms. Under this program, each Marine is required to meet monthly with a mentor — like a platoon commander or sergeant — to discuss life in the Marine Corps. Mentors use these meetings to look for six signs of trouble: disciplinary problems, relationship turmoil, substance abuse, money problems, mental health and social withdrawal.

If a mentor decides that one of his Marines is struggling, he can send the case up the chain of command, where battalion commanders use the council to connect with support services. Bowers believes the program is effective if Marines know the aim of the council and mentors is preventive, not punitive.

“They know they’re not going to the principal’s office to get scolded,” he said. “They actually know there are a lot of professional people caring about them and trying to get them back on track.”

The Marine Corps launched an in-depth study of suicide victims after the task force in 2010 said the military makes an admirable effort to record deaths, but not enough to understand suicide. Currently, suicide data is compiled into the Department of Defense Suicide Event Report (DoDSER), but the report offers only a superficial understanding of the suicide crisis.

“It’s inadequate on a whole bunch of levels,” said Dr. Alan Berman, a member of the suicide prevention task force. “Most profoundly, methodologically, (the DoDSER) relies on a single interview, oftentimes with somebody who didn’t observe the decedent in the days prior to death.”

Berman is executive director of the American Association of Suicidology, the organization hired to examine how Marines who committed suicide acted during their final days and weeks. They hope to discover a common “trajectory toward death” and early warning signs that could save others, Berman said.

The organization has begun psychological autopsies of Marines who died of suicide from 2010 to 2012. The results of the study should be out in May or June, Berman said.

Tragic end to the spiral

One of the Marines in the study is Pvt. Kythe K. Yund, a Twentynine Palms Marine who shot himself in Joshua Tree on June 17, 2011, the day before his 22nd birthday. Researchers from the American Association of Suicidology interviewed Yund’s mother, Karin Varner, for 90 minutes, starting the examination with Yund’s childhood.

“If it helps save another parent from losing their child,” Varner said, “I will do whatever it takes to even just help one family not have to go through it.”

Yund was a quiet child whose parents divorced when he was 3. There was a history of suicide on his father’s side of the family, and when Yund was in high school, he attempted to kill himself by overdosing on painkillers at his father’s home in Washington, his mother said.

This suicide attempt should have disqualified Yund from military enlistment, so it is unclear how he managed to join the Marines. A recent Harvard University study suggests that recruitment screening is far from perfect. About half of Army soldiers who attempt suicide while in the service admit to prior attempts before they enlisted, the study said.

Yund enlisted in the Marines Corps in November 2007, then was assigned to the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment in Twentynine Palms as a rifleman. While deployed to Iraq in 2009, Yund witnessed one of his friends die from a gunshot to the head. He returned home early from Iraq because his wife, Stephanie, almost died after giving birth to their daughter, Kyndel.

Stephanie lapsed into a coma and suffered short-term memory loss after gaining consciousness.

Back home, Yund drank heavily and abused drugs. He was punished for using cocaine, demoted from lance corporal to private. Unnerved by Yund’s behavior, his wife returned to her home in Illinois with Kyndel. The couple eventually started divorce proceedings.

On the day Yund killed himself, he was scheduled to meet with his superiors about another disciplinary matter, which could have led to another demotion. Varner believes the shame of another punishment, and the embarrassment it may have caused his wife and daughter, triggered her son’s suicide.

On a Friday about 5:42 a.m., Yund shot himself with a 12-gauge shotgun in his bedroom.

His roommates told police that Yund had spent the night before at home, drinking a little, but did not seem upset. At the time of his death, Yund’s blood-alcohol content was .03.

Varner spoke to her son for the last time five days beforehand. He called her on the phone, sounding more relaxed and hopeful. He was leaving the Marine Corps in about a month, and was anxious to move to Illinois to try to reconcile with his wife.

Yund also asked his mother to research counseling options in Illinois. He wanted help, but had avoided counseling in the Marine Corps after his fellow Marines mocked him.

“Some of the other mothers I’ve talked to have gone through the same thing with their child,” Varner said. “They would go ask for help through the Army, Marine Corps, whatever, and their child would be ostracized later because of it, so that’s why a lot of them didn’t go seek help.”

This refrain is common for family members of suicide victims, said Kim Ruocco, manager of suicide outreach for the Tragedy Assistance Program For Survivors (TAPS), a Virginia group that helps the family members of deceased military members.

If the military truly wants to combat suicide within its ranks, it must destigmatize counseling and prioritize the importance of mental health, Ruocco said.

“If you were sprayed by poisonous gas, you wouldn’t expect to just suck it up,” Ruocco said. “If you broke your leg … you wouldn’t expect to just keep going until it was infected. You’d get immediate, comprehensive care and get back on the battlefield. That’s the way we’ve got to start thinking about behavioral health.”

Ruocco said it is especially hard to reach out to Marines, a proud group tied close to the rough and tough identity of the Marine Corps. She speaks from experience — her husband, Maj. John Ruocco, an accomplished Marine helicopter pilot, killed himself in 2005.

John Ruocco had battled depression since the mid-1990s, when two helicopters collided during a training exercise, killing several of his friends. A memorial service was held for the fallen men, but within Ruocco’s squadron, discussion of the crash was taboo. He suffered in silence for a decade, eventually hanging himself in a hotel room near Camp Pendleton, a Marine base in San Diego County.

“When it happened to me, when my husband died by suicide, I remember saying: ‘I didn’t even see it coming,’ ” Ruocco said. “But then as I got over the shock and the grief, and I looked back, I thought ‘Wow there were many times within his life span and his career where he had trauma or loss. … We should have gotten help way back when. I think pretty much every survivor I’ve talked to says that.”

A rattled mind

After five months together, Cpl. Richard McShan and his girlfriend were struggling with trust. It was the evening of March 29, 2009, and they had each had a few drinks at a bowling alley in Twentynine Palms. Sometime after midnight, when they returned to her apartment on Bagley Street, she caught him snooping through her text messages.

McShan apologized, but she demanded he leave. The Marine went outside to load his clothes into his car, prepared to leave, at least for the night.

“You can’t forgive me, can you?” McShan asked.

“Not right now,” his girlfriend said.

Furious, she stormed back inside, leaving the Marine alone in the driveway, standing between their cars.

Seconds later, she heard the gunshots.

McShan had pressed a 40-caliber handgun against the right-rear of his skull, squeezing the trigger twice. He fell backwards, somehow still alive, the gun clattering onto the ground near his feet.

An ambulance rushed McShan to the Hi-Desert Medical Center in Joshua Tree, where he was hooked to a ventilator. Two hours later, as the sun rose, a helicopter flew the comatose Marine to Desert Regional Medical Center in Palm Springs. Doctors there said McShan had no hope of recovery.

Two days later, at the request of his family, medical staff turned off McShan’s ventilator, letting him slip away. He was pronounced dead at 2 a.m. on April 1, 2009.

McShan, 23, the son of a 20-year Army veteran, was born in Germany but grew up in Colorado Springs, playing trumpet and football at his high school. He joined the Marine Corps shortly after graduation, Sept. 11, 2005. He was stationed in Twentynine Palms with the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, deploying once each to Iraq and Afghanistan.

McShan came back from those deployments haunted by nightmares, his girlfriend told authorities. She also said that McShan had told her he had attempted to shoot himself once before, but was saved when the gun misfired.

But to Paul McShan, the father of yet another dead Marine, this suicide didn’t compute. His son Ricky had been a happy young man, brimming with competitive spirit, who loved being a Marine.

There had to be more to this story, the grieving father thought.

“I started digging and digging and digging, trying to find out why,” Paul McShan said. “We discovered that he had at least four concussions and one where he was blown out the top of a Humvee. His shoulder was dislocated and he was knocked out for three or four minutes. So my conclusion after all that digging was that his brain short-circuited.”

This theory is backed up by a growing body of evidence. In recent years, scientists have discovered a strong link between concussions and suicide, a possible explanation for the disconcertingly high suicide rate in the military.

In 2013, a study released by the National Center for Veterans Studies at the University of Utah said that military personnel were significantly more likely to report suicidal thoughts if they had suffered at least one traumatic brain injury. The study surveyed 161 service members, many of whom had been injured in Iraq.

Of the service members who had not suffered brain injuries, zero percent reported suicidal thoughts, the study said. Of those who suffered one, 7 percent reported suicidal thoughts. Of those who suffered more than one brain injury, 22 percent reported suicidal thoughts.

“Up to now, no one has been able to say if multiple (traumatic brain injuries), which are common among combat veterans, are associated with higher suicide risk or not,” said Craig J. Bryan, assistant professor of psychology at the University of Utah, who led the study. “This study suggests they are …”

Researchers believe that concussions and brain injury increase the likelihood of suicide through a neurodegenerative disease called chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or “CTE.” Symptoms of CTE include irritability, memory loss, dementia and suicidal tendencies.

In 2012, a study from the Boston University found evidence of CTE in the brains of four military veterans, each with a history of traumatic brain disorder. Three of the veterans had been exposed to explosions during deployment. The fourth, a 28-year-old with post traumatic stress disorder, had suffered four concussions caused by a bicycle accident, a football collision, a military incident and a vehicle accident. Two years after his last concussion, the veteran committed suicide by shooting himself.

According to the study, the veterans’ brains were indistinguishable from those of many professional football players, a group that has been studied more extensively, showing a strong link between head injuries, CTE and suicide. The Boston researchers have found CTE in the brains of dozens of football players, both at the college and professional levels, including some that have killed themselves.

Brain injuries also double the odds that military service members will develop post traumatic stress disorder, which further increases the risk of suicide. A new study, published in December, examined 1,648 Marines and sailors that had recently returned from deployment. About half of them were stationed in Twentynine Palms, said Dr. Dewleen Baker, a psychiatrist at a Veterans Affairs center in San Diego who co-authored the study.

Baker said the study has established a strong link between brain injuries and PTSD, but researchers still don’t understand how one causes the other. It is possible that both brain injuries and PTSD spring from similar traumatic events, like bomb blasts, but also possible that concussive injuries make it more difficult for the brain to recover from emotional hardship, Baker said.

Either way, links to PTSD and CTE have uncovered the true long-term danger of brain injuries, a field of study that was once ignored. High-tech imaging can be used to visualize brain injuries better than ever before, and with the right tools, researchers can even “see” PTSD, a once-hidden condition now revealed as over-activity of the amygdala, a portion of the brain that deals with excitement and fear.

Today, brain injuries stand on a precipice where other conditions have stood before, ready and waiting to be better understood, Baker said.

“My analogy is that in the ’40s and ’50s, we didn’t really understand heart attacks,” Baker said. “Nobody understood the details, and so there was a lot of treatment that didn’t happen when someone had a heart attack. They would put people in a room and have them rest and hope they got better. But when we began to research and image the heart, and find ways to test the heart, we found many ways to fix and prevent the damage. And now we are in the early stage of this kind of understanding in regard to head injuries.”

Alcohol abuse in the ranks

Of the 15 Marines who killed themselves while at Twentynine Palms from 2007 to 2012, seven, or 46 percent, had alcohol in their system. That’s nearly double the percentage reported throughout the Marine Corps, according to a four-year average compiled from DoDSER statistics.

As suicide rates have climbed in the military, so has drinking. From 1998 to 2008, the share of service members who were binge drinkers increased from 35 to 47 percent, and the number of heavy drinkers rose from 15 to 20 percent, according to a 2012 report from the Institute of Medicine, a nongovernmental agency under the National Academy of Sciences. Binge drinking and heavy drinking were more prevalent in the Marine Corps than other military branches.

In December 2012, the Marine Corps launched a random alcohol screening program, becoming the first military branch to do so. The rules were also the strictest: Twice a year, Marines must be given Breathalyzer tests while on duty, and they can be referred to substance abuse counseling at even the slightest hint of alcohol. Commanders can send a Marine to counseling if they have a blood-alcohol content of .01 — which could be triggered by a single beer. If the Marine has a blood alcohol content of .04, their fitness for duty can be challenged.

Since October, more than 1,000 Marines from the Twentynine Palms Combat Center’s headquarters battalion have been screened for alcohol while on duty. Only one was sent to substance abuse counseling after testing positive, said Capt. Justin Smith, a base spokesman. Smith said he could not release results for the other battalions at the base.

If an alcohol screening program like this had existed just two years earlier, it might have saved Sgt. Scahill, the Marine who shot himself in his backyard in Yucca Valley.

At the time of his death, Scahill had a blood alcohol content of .08. It is unclear if he drank that morning or was still drunk from the night before, but neither would have been out of character for Scahill, whose long battle with alcohol predated his job and his marriage.

Back in 2007, after returning from his second deployment to Iraq, Scahill confessed to drinking 18 beers a night during a post-deployment health assessment. Scahill repeated this admission to medical personnel at least four more times over the next year, according to a military investigation.

Although Scahill had reported “excessive drinking,” he was never required to go to substance abuse counseling. Because he had not been involved in an “alcohol-related incident” during his service, he was never obligated to get help for his problem, according to the investigation.

Scahill’s drinking continued after he married his wife in November 2008, immediately after returning from his third deployment to Iraq. In 2009, Scahill joined the tank battalion at Twentynine Palms, where his alcohol abuse was no secret. According to interviews with fellow Marines, included in the military investigation, Scahill would drink excessively during his off-duty hours, drinking exclusively for the purpose of getting blackout drunk. He frequently came to work hung over or smelling of alcohol, and showed up for work drunk at least twice, according to the report. His fellow Marines hid his abuse from his superiors, trying to protect his career while ultimately enabling his addiction.

Scahill’s drinking was a problem at home, too. On the day before his suicide, Scahill got in a drunken argument with his wife, Genevieve, who accused him of texting an ex-girlfriend. By the evening, Scahill was so drunk that his wife refused to allow him to hold their 11-month old daughter. Furious, Genevieve slept on the couch.

Early the following morning, she woke up her husband, sending him to physical training at the Marine base. Before he left, she told him she was tired of his drinking and wanted to go to her mother’s house in Los Angeles. It was an empty threat.

Scahill left for training but returned soon after, insisting that physical training had been canceled. As he walked into their daughter’s room, Genevieve fell back asleep.

The gunshot didn’t wake her.

“I still blame myself a little bit. I wish I had seen the signs,” Genevieve said during an interview with The Desert Sun. “I wish I would have gotten off of that couch and followed him.”

Although Scahill didn’t leave a suicide note, he did send a text message to some of his fellow Marines, perhaps a final cry for help.

“Hey man, I’m not coming to work today,” the text said, according to a military investigation report. “I’m going to blow my f—ing brains out.”

Another Marine, who assumed Scahill was joking, wrote back: “GTG,” military slang for “good to go.”

The message prompted a commanding officer to call police, sending the deputies to Scahill’s door.

Genevieve said her husband’s suicide first came as a shock, but in hindsight, the clues of his looming death were everywhere.

Both Scahill’s father and grandmother had killed themselves. Scahill had once told his wife that his father told him the only good way to commit suicide was to shoot yourself in the head.

One night, when Genevieve was pregnant, a drunken Scahill said he sometimes heard a voice that told him he was no good and that people would be better off without him. He denied it the following morning.

Later, only a few weeks before he died, Scahill showed off two guns to some of his friends. Upset at their rowdy behavior, Genevieve confronted them, telling her husband to put the guns away. He responded by pulling the trigger on an unloaded shotgun, saying, “You don’t care what I do?”

Scahill bought that shotgun — which he would later use to kill himself — about two months before his death. According to the military investigation report, Scahill would joke to his fellow Marines that he might accidentally shoot himself while cleaning the gun.

In January 2010, while attending a suicide prevention course at the Marine base, Scahill protested, insisting that “if someone is going to do it, they’re going to do it.”

Scahill had the numbers “5150″ tattooed on his right forearm — a reference to the section of California law that deals with people with mental health issues who are a threat to themselves or others. Scahill had confirmed the meaning of the tattoo during chats with other Marines.

Finally, the most terrifying clue was also the most cryptic. After Scahill was gone, his wife found one of his books, arrows drawn in the corners of the pages. At first, the scribbling seemed undecipherable. However, when she flipped through the pages with her thumb, she discovered the drawings were a flip book, a rudimentary cartoon where stick figures played out a gruesome suicide scene.

Genevieve had seen this before. It was the same scene she and deputies had found in the backyard.

“The stick figure man was him waving goodbye to everybody. He took a gun, he put it under his chin,” Genevieve said. “The cartoon was everything exactly what I saw. He followed the cartoon.”

http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/article/20140324/NEWS/303240031/Ending-all-by-their-own-hand-Corps-probes-Marine-suicides

Vet Launches Suicide Prevention Campaign: ‘I Am A Suicide Survivor … And I Am Not Embarrassed By It’

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Out on a mission one day in northern Iraq in 2009, a convoy of gun trucks grinds through rising dust. In the turret of the lead truck, Spc. Andrew O’Brien, 21, crouches behind his .50-caliber machine gun. His job: to watch for IEDs, improvised explosive devices. He swivels anxiously to watch the passing landscape for the deadly bombs hidden in trash bags, squashed cartons, dog carcasses, maybe that discarded truck tire.

From up ahead, another convoy approaches: U.S. military police in heavily armored vehicles known as MRAPS, supposedly invulnerable to bomb blasts. As they squeeze past, O’Brien and the gunner in the lead MRAP rotate their guns away from each other. Anonymous under their helmets, goggles and dust scarves, they nod to each other in a silent salute.

Not long after, they hear a ka-rump and there goes the slow-rising column of black smoke. O’Brien knows that other convoy got hit.

Back at Forward Operating Base Summerall that evening, O’Brien and his crew are lined up for formation. They cast sideways glances at a wrecked MRAP, the one whose gunner had nodded to O’Brien. A bomb dangling from a tree had detonated into the gunner’s hatch. What’s left of the MRAP is partially covered with a tarpaulin, and the sergeant is telling O’Brien and his guys not to look under that tarp; it’s off-limits.

He couldn’t help himself. Until then, the war had seemed almost distant. He wanted to know the worst. That could have been his truck, his guys. He thought seeing the worst would make him hyper-aware, help him spot IEDs and keep his own crew safe. After formation, he snuck around and lifted the tarp and peered inside. The wreckage hadn’t yet been cleaned of human remains.

O’Brien, now 25, is a lean, good-looking young man; his chiseled features and quick grin give little hint of the torment that moment created, of the nightmares that crushed his spirit and drove him toward suicide. “It was the worst thing I’d ever seen in my life,” he told me.

 

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Andrew O’Brien, second from right, seen here with his fellow soldiers in Iraq.

 

His outfit, the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division, went home to Schofield Barracks in Hawaii that spring and the nightmares that had begun in Iraq followed him. Inside the wrecked MRAP he would see the bodies of his crew, guys he’d grown as close to as brothers. “It was like the worst thing you experienced in your whole life, happening over and over again, every night,” he said. “It became exhausting.”

Guilt, shame and anger boiled inside him. He felt guilty for disobeying his sergeant’s order not to look at the wrecked MRAP, ashamed that he had damaged himself and ended up diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. “I hated civilians because they didn’t know what I’d been through and … you just come back angry at the whole world,” he said.

Back then, he felt he couldn’t talk to anyone about what was going on, not even to an Army psychiatrist. “I felt I was alone,” he said. “I thought everybody else was fine and I was just the weak guy who couldn’t handle it.”

So in November 2010, just over a year after returning from Iraq, he went home, scooped up four bottles of prescription pills and washed them all down with a few beers. Then he went around punching holes in the walls with his fists. “All of a sudden I felt the pills kicking in and felt myself dying and quickly realized I had made a mistake,” he wrote later in a post online. His consciousness fading, he shakily dialed 911.

When he woke up in intensive care, his older brother, a soldier who’d served in Afghanistan for 15 months, was on the phone. “He told me how much he loved me. He said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I said, ‘You’ve seen much worse, I don’t have a right to feel this way.’”

His brother’s answer, O’Brien said, “changed my whole life. I was hearing it from another veteran. He said that the worst thing you saw was the worst thing you saw, you don’t need to compare that to anybody else. You should be proud of what you did.”

After he was released, O’Brien felt he had an entirely new perspective on PTSD, suicide and how to handle emotional turmoil. He asked the base chaplain if he could brief soldiers, in order to pass on what he’d learned. “The suicide briefings we had were a joke — guys would just be laughing,” he explained. “I wanted to show them like it really was.” But the answer was no.

O’Brien soon left the Army when his contract ran out on Feb. 13, 2011, and for two years he bounced around, working at this and that, unsure of what he wanted to do with his life. Then he happened to see the latest statistics on military suicides, and his idea of briefings hardened into resolve, and then a plan.

Unofficially, on his own, he began arranging to speak with groups of soldiers, parents, veterans — anybody — about PTSD and suicide, telling them what he’d learned about navigating the tricky and sometimes dangerous transition from the battlefield to civilian America. These talks turned into a national campaign to spread his message: If you are suffering from war trauma, you are not alone. And it’s not a sign of weakness to get help.

In his brother’s words, the worst thing you saw was the worst thing you saw.

Too many don’t get that advice, with tragic results.

“I am a suicide survivor from PTSD and I am not embarrassed by it,” O’Brien says in a video posted on his website. Suicide “is hard to talk about. But it needs to be talked about. By me not being embarrassed by it and sharing my suicide attempt, I am helping other servicemen and women understand that it’s okay to be affected by the war. It is war and it comes with being in war.”

He backs up to explain. “Soldiers go through three transformations: The first is becoming a soldier, which is easy — they break you down and build you back up. The second is coming back from war and trying to become the person you were before.” That’s where people can get stuck, he said, short of the third transformation: “Realizing that’s not gonna happen and you have to be the person you are now.”

Everywhere he speaks with troops — most recently in August at Hawaii’s Schofield Barracks, where he attempted suicide almost three years ago — he says he meets people who admit that they, too, have gotten stuck and considered or even attempted suicide but were reluctant to get help.

“This stigma, this thought that if you have PTSD you are weak, the thought if you have issues you are weak,” O’Brien says, “that is what is killing our troops.”

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This article is part of a special Huffington Post series, “Invisible Casualties,” in which we shine a spotlight on suicide-prevention efforts within the military. As part of the series, The Huffington Post contacted military service members and veterans who have considered suicide to learn what saved them from that irrevocable step.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/21/suicide-prevention-campaign_n_3866633.html?utm_hp_ref=tw

$250K awarded to help Alabama Veterans suffering from PTSD

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David Lynch Foundation Announces $250,000 Grant to Teach Transcendental Meditation to Alabama Vets with PTSD.

Birmingham, Alabama, The David Lynch Foundation (DLF) has announced a $250,000 grant to provide Alabama veterans suffering from Post-Traumatic-Stress-Syndrome  (PTSD) an opportunity to learn Transcendental Meditation (TM).

The DLF was established by the film-maker David Lynch in 2005 to fund the implementation of scientifically proven stress-reducing techniques for those in need including, veterans with PTSD and their families;

John Harrod, Executive Director of the Alabama Transcendental Meditation Program and a full-time TM teacher, will host a presentation at the Hoover Library – Main Branch Wednesday evening March 5th at 6:30 P.M. P.M. to introduce the Alabama PTSD project and discuss the tremendous benefits TM brings to veterans with PTSD. Veterans who attend the events will be eligible to learn Transcendental Meditation at no cost.

“”Thousands of veterans with PTSD have already learned TM and it has been transformative” says Harrod.  “The U.S Government now spends between $ 4-6 billion dollars a year trying to help vets, but no treatment has proven widely effective.  Transcendental Meditation is extremely effective, and brings immediate and ongoing relief and benefits.”

A recent study published in the July 2013 issue of Military Magazine found the twice-daily practice of the Transcendental Meditation among vets with PTSD at Fort Gordon, Georgia markedly reduced symptoms of PTSD, some by as much as 50% in the first few weeks.

Last week, the Journal of Traumatic Stress announced the publication of a new scientific study showing that African war refugees who learned Transcendental Meditation experienced an immediate and dramatic reduction in PTS symptoms by as much as 90%.

Significant Reductions in Posttraumatic Stress Symptoms in Congolese Refugees Within 10 days of Transcendental Meditation Practice

And the U.S. Department of Defense and the U.S. Veterans Administration is currently conducting a $2.4 million research study on TM as a treatment. The results of that research will be announced later this year.

“There are thousands of Alabama veterans who suffer with PTSD”, says Harrod. Meditation has come to the forefront as a something that works..  Vets say they get their lives back.  It’s simple to learn and to practice and all any vet has to do learn is to come to this presentation.

Anyone interested or wanting more information can also contact John Harrod at jharrod@tm.org or by phone at 250-979-7073.

Anyone wanting to learn more about TM and PTSD can go to www.tm.org and www.davidlynchfoundation.org

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The Marlboro Marine: 2004 and Today

marlboroTwo lives blurred together by a photo.

By Luis Sinco, Times Staff Photographer

Times photographer Luis Sinco made James Blake Miller an emblem of the war. The image would change both of their lives and connect them in ways neither imagined.

The young marine lighted a cigarette and let it dangle. White smoke wafted around his helmet. His face was smeared with war paint. Blood trickled from his right ear and the bridge of his nose.

Momentarily deafened by cannon blasts, he didn’t know the shooting had stopped. He stared at the sunrise.

His expression caught my eye. To me, it said: terrified, exhausted and glad just to be alive. I recognized that look because that’s how I felt too.

I raised my camera and snapped a few shots.

With the click of a shutter, Marine Lance Cpl. James Blake Miller, a country boy from Kentucky, became an emblem of the war in Iraq. The resulting image would change two lives — his and mine.

I was embedded with Charlie Company of the 1st Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment, as it entered Fallouja, an insurgent stronghold in Iraq’s Sunni Triangle, on Nov. 8, 2004. We encountered heavy fire almost immediately. We were pinned down all night at a traffic circle, where a 6-inch curb offered the only protection.

I hunkered down in the gutter that endless night, praying for daylight, trying hard to make myself small. A cold rain came down. I cursed the Marines’ illumination flares that wafted slowly earthward, making us wait an eternity for darkness to return.

At dawn, the gunfire and explosions subsided. A white phosphorus artillery round burst overhead, showering blazing-hot tendrils. We came across three insurgents lying in the street, two of them dead, their blood mixing with rainwater.

The third, a wiry Arab youth, tried to mouth a few words. All I could think was: “Buddy, you’re already dead.”

We rounded a corner and again came under heavy fire, forcing us to scramble for cover. I ran behind a Marine as we crossed the street, the bullets ricocheting at our feet.

Gunfire poured down, and it seemed incredible that no one was hit. A pair of tanks rumbled down the road to shield us. The Marines kicked open the door of a house, and we all piled in.

Miller and other Marines took positions on the rooftop; I set up my satellite phone to transmit photos. But as I worked downstairs in the kitchen, a deep rumble almost blew the room apart.

Two cannon rounds had slammed into a nearby house. Miller, the platoon’s radioman, had called in the tanks, pinpointed the targets and shouted “Fire!”

I ran to the roof and saw smoldering ruins across a large vacant lot. Beneath a heap of bricks, men lay dead or dying. I sat down and collected my wits. Miller propped himself against a wall and lighted his cigarette. I transmitted the picture that night. Power in Fallouja had been cut in advance of the assault, forcing me to be judicious with my batteries. I considered not even sending Miller’s picture, thinking my editors would prefer images of fierce combat.

The photo of Miller was the last of 11 that I sent that day.

On the second day of the battle, I called my wife by satellite phone to tell her I was OK. She told me my photo had ended up on the front page of more than 150 newspapers. Dan Rather had gushed over it on the evening news. Friends and family had called her to say they had seen the photo — my photo.

Soon, my editors called and asked me to find the “Marlboro Marine” for a follow-up story. Who was this brave young hero? Women wanted to marry him. Mothers wanted to know whether he was their son.

I didn’t even know his name. Shell-shocked and exhausted, I had simply identified Miller as “A Marine” and clicked “send.”

I found Miller four days later in an auditorium after a dangerous dash across an open parade ground in the city’s civic center. Miller’s unit was taking a break, eating military rations.

Clean-shaven and without war paint, Miller, 20, looked much younger than the battle-stressed warrior in the picture — young enough to be my son.

He was cooperative, but he was embarrassed about the photo’s impact back home.

Once our story identified him, the national fascination grew stronger. People shipped care packages, making sure Miller had more than enough smokes. President Bush sent cigars, candy and memorabilia from the White House.

Then Maj. Gen. Richard F. Natonski, head of the 1st Marine Division, made a special trip to see the Marlboro Marine.

I was in the forward command center, which by then featured a large blowup of the photo. “You might want to see this,” an officer said, nudging me to follow.

To talk to Miller, Natonski had to weave between earthen berms, run through bombed-out buildings and make a mad sprint across a wide street to avoid sniper fire before diving into a shattered storefront.

“Miller, get your ass up here,” a first sergeant barked on the radio.

Miller had no idea what was going on as he ran through the rubble. He snapped to attention when he saw the general.

Natonski shook Miller’s hand. Americans had “connected” with his photo, the general said, and nobody wanted to see him wounded or dead.

“We can have you home tomorrow,” he said.

Miller hesitated, then shook his head. He did not want to leave his buddies behind. “It just wasn’t right,” he told me later.

The tall, lanky general towered over the grunt. “Your father raised one hell of a young man,” he said, looking Miller in the eye. They said goodbye, and Natonski scrambled back to the command post.

For his loyalty, Miller was rewarded with horror. The assault on Fallouja raged on, leaving nearly 100 Americans dead and 450 wounded. The bodies of some 1,200 insurgents littered the streets.

As the fighting dragged on for a month, the story fell off the front page. I joined the exodus of journalists heading home or moving to the next story.

More than a year and a half would pass before I saw Miller again.

Back home, I immersed myself in other assignments, trying to put Fallouja behind me. Yet not a day went by that I didn’t think about Miller and what we experienced in Iraq.

National Public Radio interviewed me. Much to my embarrassment, the Los Angeles City Council adopted a resolution in my honor. I became a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Bloggers riffed on the photo’s meaning. Requests for prints kept coming.

In January 2006, I was on assignment along the U.S.-Mexico border when my wife called. “Your boy is on TV. He has PTSD,” she said. “They kicked him out of the Marines.”

I’d spoken with Miller by phone twice, but the conversations were short and superficial. I knew post-traumatic stress disorder was a complicated diagnosis. So once again, I dug up his number. Again, I offered simple words: Life is sweet. We survived. Everything else is gravy.

As the third anniversary of the U.S.-led invasion approached, my editors wanted another follow-up story.

So in spring 2006, I traveled to Miller’s hometown of Jonancy, Ky., in the hollows of Appalachia. I drove east from Lexington along Interstate 64, part of the nationwide Purple Heart Trail honoring dead and wounded veterans, before turning south.

Mobile homes and battered cars dot the rugged ranges. Marijuana is a major cash crop. Addiction to methamphetamine and prescription drugs is rampant.

Kids marry young, and boys go to work mining the black seams of coal. Heavy trucks rumble day and night.

Miller showed me around. At an abandoned mine, he walked carefully around a large, shallow pool of standing water that mirrored the green wilderness and springtime sky. He picked up a chunk of coal.

“Around here, this is what it’s all about,” he said. “Nothing else.

“It was this or the Marines.”

Often brooding and sullen, Miller joked about being “21 going on 70,” the result, he said, of humping heavy armor and gear on a 6-foot, 160-pound frame.

Before he was allowed to leave Iraq, he attended a mandatory “warrior transitioning” session about PTSD and adjusting to home life.

Each Marine received a questionnaire. Were they having trouble sleeping? Did they have thoughts of suicide? Did they feel guilt about their actions?

Everybody knew the drill. Answer yes and be evaluated further. Say no and go home.

Miller said he didn’t want to miss his flight. He answered no to every question.

He returned to Camp Lejeune, N.C. His high school sweetheart, Jessica Holbrooks, joined him there, and they were married in a civil ceremony.

Then came the nightmares and hallucinations. He imagined shadowy figures outside the windows. Faces of the dead haunted his sleep.

Once, while cleaning a shotgun, he blacked out. He regained consciousness when Jessica screamed out his name. Snapping back to reality, he realized he was pointing the gun at her.

He reported the problems to superiors, who promised to get him help.

Then came a single violent episode, which put an end to his days as a Marine.

It happened in the storm-tossed Gulf of Mexico in September 2005. His unit had been sent to New Orleans to assist with Hurricane Katrina relief efforts. Now a second giant storm, Hurricane Rita, was moving in, and the Marines were ordered to seek safety out at sea.

In the claustrophobic innards of a rolling Navy ship, someone whistled. The sound reminded Miller of a rocket- propelled grenade. He attacked the sailor who had whistled. He came to in the boat’s brig. He was medically discharged with a “personality disorder” on Nov. 10, 2005 — exactly one year after his picture made worldwide news.

Back home in Kentucky, the Millers settled into a sparsely furnished second-story apartment. Four small windows afforded little light. The TV was always on.

Miller bought a motorcycle and went for long rides. He and Jessica drank all night and slept all day. He started collecting a monthly disability benefit of about $2,500. The couple spent hours watching movies on DVD, Coronas and bourbon cocktails in hand. Friends and family gave them space.

Miller had hoped to pursue a career in law enforcement. But the PTSD and abrupt discharge killed that dream. No one would trust him with a weapon.

But at least he didn’t have to go back to Iraq. He started to realize he wasn’t the only one traumatized by war.

“There’s a word for it around here,” Jessica said. “It’s called ‘vets.’ ” She talked of Miller’s grandfather, forever changed by the Korean War and dead by age 35. Her Uncle Hargis, a Vietnam veteran, had it too. He experienced mood swings for years.

Sometimes, Miller’s stories about Iraq unnerved his young bride. He sensed it and talked less. Nobody really understands, he said, unless they’ve been there.

On June 3, 2006, the Millers renewed their vows at a hilltop clubhouse overlooking the forests and strip mines. It was a lavish ceremony paid for by donors from across the country who had read about Miller’s travails or seen him on television. Local businesses pitched in as well.

His father and two younger brothers were supposed to be groomsmen but didn’t show up. His estranged mother wasn’t invited.

Miller looked sharp in his Marine Corps dress uniform of dark-blue cloth and red piping. Jessica was lovely in white, her long hair gathered high.

Instead of a honeymoon, the young couple traveled to Washington, D.C., at the invitation of the National Mental Health Assn. The group wanted to honor Miller for his courage in going public about his PTSD. Its leaders also wanted him to visit key lawmakers to share his experience.

As a boy, Miller confided, he had embraced religion, even going so far as to become an ordained minister by mail order. He knew the Bible verses, felt the passion for preaching.

That’s how he found his new mission: to tell people what it was like to come home from war with a broken mind.

Three days after their wedding, I tagged along as the young couple flew to the nation’s capital. Easily distracted by the offer of free drinks for an all-American hero, Miller stayed out until 3 a.m. He was hung over when he met with House members a few hours later.

Miller chatted up GOP Rep. Harold Rogers, the congressman from his district. He smoked and frequently cursed while recounting his combat experiences. I cringed but stayed on the sidelines, snapping photos.

Miller shuffled from one congressional office to the next, passing displays filled with photos of Marines killed in Iraq. As he told his story over and again, the politicians listened politely and thanked Miller for his service. One congressman sent an aide to tell Miller he was too busy to meet. No one promised to take up his cause.

After Miller picked up his award, he took a whirlwind tour past the White House and Lincoln Memorial, but his mind was elsewhere. At a bar the night before, free booze had flowed in honor of the Marlboro Marine. Miller wanted more.

“Let’s get drunk,” he said.

I returned to Los Angeles the next morning, thinking I would catch up with Miller in a couple of months.

A week later, Jessica called. After they got home, Miller’s mood had become volatile. He was OK one minute and in a deep funk the next, she told me. Then he’d disappeared. She hadn’t seen him for days.

Could I come to Kentucky and help?

Why me? I thought. I am not Miller’s brother. Or his father. I could feel the line between journalist and subject blurring. Was I covering the story or becoming part of it?

I traveled all night to get to Pikeville, Ky., and soon found myself with Jessica, making the rounds of all the places Miller might have gone. I wanted to be somewhere else — anywhere else.

Finally, the next morning, Jessica saw her husband driving in the opposite direction. She did a U-turn, hit the gas and caught up with him down the road.

He got out of his truck. A woman sat in the passenger seat.

“Who is that, Blake?” Jessica demanded. “Who is she?”

He said her name was Sherry. They had just met, and he was helping her move. Jessica didn’t believe him.

I thought: Didn’t I attend this young couple’s fairy tale wedding just 10 days ago? Now, here they were, in a gas station parking lot, creating a spectacle.

Jessica grilled Miller. He bobbed and weaved. He appeared sober and sullen. Then he dropped a bomb. He didn’t want her anymore and had filed for divorce.

“You guys might want to go home and talk,” I suggested.

There, the tortured dialogue escalated.

Jessica pleaded with Blake to stop and think. They could quit drinking, she said. They’d get help for him and as a couple. Maybe they could move away — anything to work it out.

Miller slumped on the couch. I sensed his unease and feared he would become violent, so I stayed for a while even though I felt intrusive. But he remained strangely calm, albeit brooding and distant.

I returned the next morning. He called his attorney and put the phone on speaker. If uncontested, the lawyer said, the divorce would become final in 60 days. Jessica went to the fire escape to gather herself.

Miller remained unmoved, chain-smoking. The local newspaper had been calling him about rumors that he was getting divorced. It was a major local story. Finally, he wrote a statement. He asked for compassion and respect for their privacy.

The next day, I found Miller in a back bedroom at his uncle’s house. He told me that he had come close to committing suicide the night before. He had thought about driving his motorcycle off the edge of a mountain road.

He showed me the morning newspaper. His divorce was the lead story.

I felt torn. I didn’t want to get involved. I desperately wanted to close the book on Iraq. But if I hadn’t taken Miller’s picture, this very personal drama wouldn’t be front-page news. I felt responsible.

Sometimes, when things get hard to witness, I use my camera as a shield. It creates a space for me to work — and distance to keep my eyes open and my feelings in check. But Miller had no use for a photojournalist. He needed a helping hand.

I flashed back to the chaos of combat in Fallouja. In the rattle and thunder, brick walls separated me from the world coming to an end. In the tight spaces, we were scared mindless. Everybody dragged deeply on cigarettes.

Above the din, I heard what everybody was thinking: This is the end.

I’ve never felt so completely alone.

I snapped back to the present, and before I knew it, the words spilled out.

“I have to ask you something, Blake,” I said. “If I’d gone down in Fallouja, would you have carried me out?”

“Damn straight,” he said, without hesitation.

“OK then,” I said. “I think you’re wounded pretty badly. I want to help you.”

He looked at me for a moment. “All right,” he said.

luis.sinco@latimes.com

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-marlboroman11nov11-blurb,0,5435312.blurb

10 Actions for Responding to a Veteran in Crisis

1620522_657754587621156_365710197_nFor more than a decade now, our country has been at war in two very different locations, with very different missions. In that time, more than 2.2 million troops have deployed and served in those bloody conflicts. They have endured unimaginable heat, bitter cold, and sand storms that peel the skin off your bones; they’ve missed births of children, weddings of friends, anniversaries of parents, and funerals of fallen brothers; they’ve witnessed the wholesale slaughter of innocents and savage acts of hatred and violence, as well as acts of such immense bravery, honor, and sacrifice as to change forever their version of courage.

But living through all that does something to you.

The civilian world often says with a bewildered shake of its collective heads, “We’ve lost so many young people during these wars.” But in truth, only those who were there, or loved those who were there, have truly suffered the losses. Since only 1% of America puts on a military uniform, the rest of America has remained largely untouched. It is the 2.2 million who bear the greatest burden; most of them lost someone they knew, sometimes right before their eyes. It’s also the 6,500 families who are devastated by the death of their loved one, who welcome home a flag-draped coffin, and who mourn in silence for years afterward.

Living through all that does something to you, too.

Tens of thousands of combat-weary warriors are now being discharged out of the military, often without a game plan as to what they will do next. Many of them entered the military right out of high school, so being a warrior is the only job they’ve ever had. And translating their specific skill set to civilian employment is tricky.

Now, after eight years of service, they take off the uniform that is their identity, turn in the weapon that they feel closer to than their own mother, leave behind a highly structured, mission-driven system with a clear chain of command, and enter into a world that looks utterly insane to them—a place where phenomenally popular “reality TV” is comic book dumb and bears no resemblance to the hard, cold reality they’ve lived.

Many of them are using their GI Bill and entering college, but are quickly learning that school is a different kind of battlefield, fraught with insensitive professors, clueless peers, and (thanks to getting their bell badly rung by an IED or two) new learning difficulties. Most are adapting, growing, and building new lives for themselves that make all of us proud. But some of them are really struggling.

Some don’t know how to handle the disorienting re-entry, not to mention the bad memories that sometimes run in their heads like horror movies they can’t turn off. So they drink, they drug, and they isolate themselves, partly because they are trying to achieve some inner quiet, and partly out of fear that one day they might completely lose control.

If that sad day comes, and the rage gets away from them, they usually rage against the people they love, often because even in their presence, the combat veteran feels misunderstood and very alone. Sometimes they aim their rage at themselves and put a 9mm in their mouths, wanting just to ease the crushing guilt they feel over having survived when their brothers didn’t.

But either way, when a battle-hardened combat veteran is involved, these won’t be your typical 911 calls. These guys are not only trained to kill, they’re desensitized to the sights, sounds, and sensations of killing; the usual hesitation in pulling the trigger has been trained out of them. Imagine your SWAT team being called out twice a day for 365 days in a row. Tactically, that’s the amount of experience you could be up against when you encounter a combat veteran.

These situations will require heightened awareness and additional skills to bring the incident to a positive resolution. The following are guidelines to help you navigate your way through the situation and reach the other side safely.

1. Look for clues that your subject is a veteran. Optimally, your dispatcher should routinely ask callers if they know whether the subject is a veteran. That will give you a leg up. The next obvious cues are things like dog tags, a military tattoo, combat uniform, desert boots, or a distinct military bearing. Also listen to what the subject says. Use of military words or phrases (e.g., “weapon” for gun, “squared away” for things being OK, “Groundhog’s Day” for the sameness of every day, etc.) are hard to stop saying after eight years. If the situation allows you to actually talk with the subject, ask him directly, “Have you ever served in the military?” If yes, see if you can get any additional information from him without escalating him, such as which branch he served in, where he deployed to, and how long ago he got home. The more information you obtain, the more leverage you’ll have to work with.

2. Once you’ve determined the subject is a combat veteran, take extra safety precautions. Most veterans I know carry a weapon on them all the time—usually a knife, sometimes a Ka-Bar. But some of them will also have a firearm in a gym bag or in their vehicle somewhere. Remember: their M4 was their guardian angel for many years. They feel tremendously vulnerable without something to replace it. If you’ve been called to a veteran’s home for a fight, domestic situation, or suicidal gesture, assume there are weapons and ammo in the house.

3. When a veteran decompensates, the situation can become violent very quickly. If at all possible, establish some distance between the subject and everyone else around him. Phrases such as, “Hey, let’s give him some breathing room, folks, give the guy some air,” can clear some people away without insulting the veteran. This type of non-confrontational response will also decrease the veteran’s sense of threat, which is crucial in helping the veteran to feel safe.

4. Keep in mind that the veteran’s actions may be somewhat or completely out of his conscious control at that moment. He’s probably in nine kinds of pain and probably hasn’t gotten the help he deserves. So if it is at all appropriate and feasible, thank him for his service. Even if you have to take him down and handcuff him, try to be as respectful as possible. Do what you can to help the veteran save face. Obviously, in a foot chase, you’re not stopping to make nice. If the guy is threatening you, you’re not thanking him for his sacrifice. But if, for instance, it’s a suicide gesture or the guy is in an argument with someone, thanking him changes the tone of the encounter and builds rapport, which is key to de-escalation and resolution.

5. Combat veterans can have some pretty dramatic responses to being startled. My advice: minimize the surprises. You can’t control noises on the street or what other people do, but if, for instance, you need to pull out a pad and pen, don’t just suddenly reach into your pocket—his warrior brain may kick in and think you’re attacking him. Cue him into what you’re doing by saying, “I’m just going to take some notes.”

6. A corollary to that is to do things that will calm him. For instance, maintain an exterior that looks relaxed and confident. Use supportive language. Control your own voice; he’ll sense anger or disgust in your tone, which he’ll interpret as being disrespectful. If one of his kids is crying or his girlfriend is screaming at him, find a way of separating him from that. Neurologically, he’s torqued up, and additional stressors like that can escalate things unnecessarily.

7. If you have any ties to the military yourself, or if your family member served in Iraq or Afghanistan, mention it. If you have any ties to New York City, tell him something like, “I personally appreciated you going over there and kicking the crap out of Bin Laden.” The more real you can be with him, the less likely his subconscious is to view you as an enemy when it comes time for you to take action and the more likely he is to drop his defensive posture.

8. Let him talk, as long as it is helping him wind down. Validate how tough his situation is (whatever that may be). If he’s ranting about something going on in his life, don’t argue with him, just nod your head and say something non-committal like, “Yeah, that sounds like a tough situation.” Time is your friend in these cases. Sometimes, the guy just needs to have a reason (jail) to regain control.

9. Think of the subject’s behavior as symptoms of an injury, not as a mental illness. I’ve never understood how a soldier witnessing his best friend or battle buddy getting blown apart makes him disordered. Far more empowering (and accurate) is that the soldier has been injured by the experience. An injury requires some care and some time, maybe even some adjustments afterwards, but doesn’t label the person as “broken.” If you approach the subject with the understanding that he is injured vs. emotionally disturbed, he’ll be far more likely to trust and connect with you.

10. If at any point the subject begins saying things that make no sense or are incongruous to the time and place, call the paramedics immediately and clear the area. If he starts shouting something like, “We’re three clicks away and under fire!” or if he starts calling out names of people who are not present, he is most likely experiencing a flashback and is living out a memory. That means he’s unpredictable. He may look straight at your uniform with the U.S. flag on it and, in his state, be absolutely convinced you are a suicide bomber about to detonate. He has no control over this behavior and cannot be “talked out of it,” and attempting to do so may agitate him further. If he appears to be living out a battle scene, create as large of a perimeter for him as possible, let him know that the “medics” are on their way “to help with the wounded” and alert EMS to the situation when they arrive. And remember, be respectful. These are symptoms of a significant injury.

Given what they’ve been through, our veterans deserve our most profound compassion and assistance. Special veteran courts are being established nationwide and are allowing many veterans to receive clinical care instead of getting lost in the legal system. They can, and will, heal, if we as a nation become savvy enough to work toward giving them a leg up instead of a hand out.

Alison Lighthall, RN, BSN, MSN,FIAS is the editor of The American Institute of Stress’s Combat Stress e-magazine. She is also president of Hand2Hand Contact, a veteran-owned and operated training and consulting company that helps civilian organizations to better understand, work with, and care for veterans. She served as a captain in the Army Nurse Corps from 2004–2007, and is a member of the ILEETA trainers organization.

- See more at: http://www.stress.org/10-actions-for-responding-to-a-veteran-in-crisis/#sthash.N2hv8aW3.dpuf

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Suicides in the Army declined sharply in 2013

FORT CARSON, Colo. — Suicides in the Army fell by 19 percent in 2013, dramatically reversing a rising trend plaguing the Army for almost 10 years.

There were 150 suicides among soldiers on active-duty status last year, down from a record 185 in 2012, according to Army data. The numbers include both confirmed and suspected suicides.

Lt. Gen. Howard Bromberg, chief of Army personnel, says he is cautiously optimistic in seeing success in Army programs to avert suicides by giving soldiers coping strategies for keeping a positive or optimistic outlook.

“I’m not declaring any kind of victory here,” Bromberg says. “It’s looking more promising.”

Within the ranks, it has meant that people such as Levertis Jackson, an Afghanistan War veteran whose despair led him several times to try to kill himself, have chosen life.

“It was like before, all my doors were closed, and I’m in a dark room,” says Jackson, 41, married and father of four. “(Now) I look for reasons why I need to continue to live.”

He left the Army last year after completing an experimental treatment plan at Fort Carson that helps soldiers cope with deadly, self-destructive impulses. Research results slated to be published in the Journal of the American Medical Association show a promising 60 percent reduction in suicide attempts by 30 soldiers who participated in the program.Efforts such as this one conducted by the National Center for Veterans Studies at the University of Utah and the University of Memphis are part of complex effort by the Army to reduce suicides. Larger initiatives include years of expanding behavioral health counseling.

“I think we’ve hit the turning point where people are really, really talking about behavioral health and the fact that it’s OK to have problems. It’s what you do with those problems that’s important,” Bromberg says.

The Army has spent tens of millions of dollars in a long-term study of suicide, teaming with the National Institutes of Health, and has developed a comprehensive program of instilling emotional resilience in soldiers.

Suicide researchers say the decline may be the inevitable result of the nation ending involvement in one war in Iraq and winding down its role in another in Afghanistan.

“I get the sense when I work with military people now, they just don’t seem as burnt out as they used to be,” says Craig Bryan, associate director of the National Center for Veterans Studies. “I mean there was a while there, they were just driven into the ground, even if they’d not been deployed, it was just keep going more, more, more, more.”

Bromberg agrees. “I think we’d be naive to think that this period of stress and strain doesn’t impact families and soldiers in some way,” he says.

Scientists may never know precisely what led to a steep rise in suicides that Defense Secretary Leon Panetta described as an epidemic.

Many agree it was fueled by the cumulative strain of fighting two wars at once, an unprecedented demand on an all-volunteer force in which family separations, multiple deployments and combat exposure became a way of life for years.

During periods of weeks or months, more troops were dying by their own hand than were killed in combat, according to military data.

The Army’s many suicides drove up totals for the entire military, leading to a record 351 such deaths among active-duty troops in 2012 — the deadliest suicide year on record for U.S. forces. The subsequent decline in suicides for the Army last year appeared to have the same effect, pushing down total Defense Department suicide numbers for 2013.

Though the Pentagon has not released its 2013 final figures, internal documents show 284 actual and presumed suicides among active-duty troops for the year through Dec. 15, a pace that would leave it significantly lower than 2012 suicides.Even as these deaths among active-duty soldiers declined last year, deaths among those on inactive status — members of the National Guard or reserve who were not called into active duty — remained at record levels.

The Army reported a record 151 suicides among these “citizens soldiers,” whose only contact with the Army are drills one weekend a month and two weeks of training each year. That’s an increase from 140 suicides in this group of soldiers in 2012.

The 150 suicides among active-duty soldiers in 2013 is the lowest number for that service branch since 2008. About one in five of those suicides last year were by soldiers who had never deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan, according to Army figures.

By Gregg Zoroya
USA Today
Published: January 31, 2014

Report: Suicide rate spikes among young veterans

WASHINGTON — The number of young veterans committing suicide jumped dramatically from 2009 to 2011, a worrying trend that Veterans Affairs officials hope can be reversed with more treatment and intervention.

New suicide data released by the department on Thursday showed that the rate of veterans suicide remained largely unchanged over that three-year period, the latest for which statistics are available. About 22 veterans a day take their own life, according to department estimates.

But while older veterans saw a slight decrease in suicides, male veterans under 30 saw a 44 percent increase in the rate of suicides. That’s roughly two young veterans a day who take their own life, most just a few years after leaving the service.

“Their rates are astronomically high and climbing,” said Jan Kemp, VA’s National Mental Health Director for Suicide Prevention. “That’s concerning to us.”

Reasons for the increase are unclear, but Kemp said the pressures of leaving military careers, readjusting to civilian life and combat injuries like post-traumatic stress disorder all play a role in the problems facing young male vets.

Female veterans saw an 11 percent increase in their suicide rate over the same span. Overall, suicide rates for all veterans remain significantly above their civilian counterparts.

The good news, according to the report, is that officials have seen decreases in the suicide rates of veterans who seek care within the VA health system. Of the 22 deaths a day, only about five are patients in the health system.

“What we’re seeing is that getting help does matter,” Kemp said. “Treatment does work.”

Now, she said, the challenge is expanding that outreach. Persuading younger veterans to seek care remains particularly problematic, because of stigma associated with mental health problems.

VA officials have boosted their mental health personnel and suicide hotline staff in recent years, but the outdated data doesn’t reflect those changes.

The report also notes that national rates of suicide have remained steady or increased slightly in recent years, indicating the issue is a larger national health problem, not simply a military and veterans issues.

-http://www.stripes.com/report-suicide-rate-spikes-among-young-veterans-1.261283
By Leo Shane III
Stars and Stripes
shane.leo@stripes.com
Twitter: @LeoShane

MILITARY SUICIDES DROP 2013

WASHINGTON (AP) - Suicides across the military have dropped by more than 22 percent this year, defense officials said, amid an array of new programs targeting what the Defense Department calls an epidemic that took more service members’ lives last year than the war in Afghanistan did during that same period.

Military officials, however, were reluctant to pin the decline on the broad swath of detection and prevention efforts, acknowledging that they still don’t fully understand why troops take their own lives. And since many of those who have committed suicide in recent years had never served on the warfront, officials also do not attribute the decrease to the end of the Iraq war and the drawdown in Afghanistan.

Still, they offered some hope that after several years of studies, the escalating emphasis on prevention across all the services may finally be taking hold.

With two months to go in this calendar year, defense officials say there have been 245 suicides by active-duty service members as of Oct. 27. At the same time last year there had already been 316. Each of the military services has seen the total go down this year, ranging from an 11 percent dip in the Marine Corps to a 28 percent drop for the Navy. The Air Force had a 21 percent decline, while Army totals fell by 24 percent.

The officials provided the data to The Associated Press on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to disclose it publicly.

Last year the number of suicides in the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines spiked to 349 for the full 12-month period, the highest since the Pentagon began closely tracking the numbers in 2001, and up from the 2011 total of 301. There were 295 Americans killed in Afghanistan last year, by the AP’s count.

Military suicides began rising in 2006 and soared to a then-record 310 in 2009 before leveling off for two years. Alarmed defense officials launched an intensified campaign to isolate the causes that lead to suicide, and develop programs to eliminate the stigma associated with seeking help and encourage troops to act when their comrades appeared troubled.

The Pentagon increased the number of behavioral health care providers by 35 percent over the past 3 years and embedded more of them in front-line units. It also beefed up training, expanded crisis phone lines and delivered more than 75,000 gun locks to the services to distribute.

“Suicide is often a perfect storm in an individual life, where many supports and many things come undone around a service member,” said Ami Neiberger-Miller, spokeswoman for the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors. “I think there’s been a lot of people encouraging our troops who are in trouble to seek help, that help is available, that help can work and that suicide is not the only option.”

While much of the suicide prevention effort involves similar studies and programs, each service has set up its own particular methods to deal with the problem.

Navy Capt. Kurt Scott, director of the service’s suicide prevention programs, said the Navy is working to recognize the causes of stress beforehand and then help sailors figure out ways to deal with it. Often stress is tied to family issues, including the strains of leaving for deployments, substance abuse, depression or financial problems.

A study released this summer in the Journal of the American Medical Association found no evidence of a link between suicide and troops who deployed multiple times to Iraq and Afghanistan combat zones over the past decade.

Scott said that sailors are receiving annual training, including sessions on how to identify stress in their subordinates or comrades. The training also helps sailors identify personal and work-related issues that might cause anxiety as they prepare to deploy, and then suggests ways to deal with the stress — including exercise or talking out the problems with chaplains or other troops.

The Marines have also targeted substance abuse as something that appears to increase the risk for suicides.

Adam Walsh, who works with the Marine Corp’s community counseling and prevention programs, said it’s too early to declare that suicides are declining in general. He said, however, that the Marines are updating an alcohol abuse prevention campaign and also now require that every battalion and squadron have a suicide prevention program officer.

The Army, which is by far the largest military service, has the highest number of suicides so far this year, with 124, while the Air Force had 43, the Navy had 38, and the Marines — the smallest service — had 40.

Army spokesman Paul Prince said the service has certified nearly 2,500 military and civilian leaders to be able to interact with soldiers on suicide prevention, and has conducted thousands of hours of training with the troops.

Price said suicide remains a daunting issue for the Army and the nation and “defies easy solutions.” So the service has expanded soldiers’ access to behavioral health services to improve their ability to cope with the stress that can be caused by separation, deployments, financial pressures, other work-related issues and relationships.

Lt. Col. Brett Ashworth, a spokesman for the Air Force, said airmen have a new program that emphasizes leadership responsibilities in the effort to prevent suicides and a new Air Force website includes tips on recognizing distressed personnel.

 

-Originally posted by AP News

http://bigstory.ap.org/article/apnewsbreak-military-suicides-drop-unclear-why

June 27, 2013 National PTSD Awareness Day Rally, S.C. State House 2:20PM

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CONTACT: Ashley Randall

                                                               Public Relations Director

                                                                                                Phone: (803) 873-6540

                                                                                                socialmedia@hiddenwounds.org

 

Hidden Wounds Host National PTSD Awareness Day Rally, S.C. State House

 

COLUMBIA, S.C. – On Thursday, June 27, 2013, Hidden Wounds will host a National PTSD Awareness Day Rally on the State House grounds in Columbia, S.C.  Columbia native’s and founding members Steven Diaz and Anna Bigham of Columbia-based non-profit Hidden Wounds, will lead this Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Awareness Rally beginning at 2:20 PM with closing remarks set for 3:30 PM.

 

Speakers include; The Honorable James E. Smith, Jr., Helen Pridgen, Director of SC AFSP, Mr. Bill Lindsey, Director of NAMI SC, Ms. Wendy Graham and Lisa Mustard, Directors for Psychological Health for the SC Army National Guard, Ms. Ashley Lambert-Wise, CEO Battling Bare, Ms. Amy LeClaire, Director of Suicide Prevention Dorn VA, Ms. Trisha Pruitt, Care Giver, and Lt. Dan Hoffman, USMC Ret., Vietnam Veteran.

 

Awareness Booths include; Team River Runner, PAALS, Sexual Trauma Services of the Midlands, Team Red White & Blue, Mental Health America S.C., Veterans Administration, NAMI, Battling Bare, Center for Health Integration, Hidden Wounds, American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Combat Veterans Motorcycle Association, Blue Star Mothers of the Midlands, and University of South Carolina Chapter of Student Veterans of America.

 

More than 6,500 American service members have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan and over 50,000 have been wounded. What those statistics do not take into account are the tens of thousands who suffer from invisible psychological wounds including post-traumatic stress disorder, traumatic brain injury and depression. The Veterans Administration and Department of Defense report 22 military veterans die by suicide each day in the United States, nearly 1 military veteran each hour.

 

Hidden Wounds has provided more than 210,000 counseling hours to military veterans nationwide.

 

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Hidden Wounds is a non-profit 501(c)(3) whose mission is to provide interim and emergency counseling services to ensure the psychological health and well being of military veterans and their families. www.hiddenwounds.org #GetInTheFight

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