Vodka and Fireworks

We are over the halfway mark in this deployment and it's time to again get ready for the boys' homecoming and the weirdness that follows. Let's face it , ladies--the guys have been in a war zone for a year, living a life that is not what would qualify as a "normal" American life, and they are going to be fucking weird when they get home. The redeployment brief will have people there who are going to describe PTSD and what to look for, but it's mostly bullshit. The guys are all weird, but 99% of the time, it's not anything to run to the shrink over or try to have him committed to the loony bin. Don't let those idiots at the brief mindfuck you.

What do I mean when I say weird? I mean exactly that: fucking weird. Crowds are a no-go. Sitting facing away from a door is a no-go. Eating chicken can be an issue. And in the case of my husband, vodka is right out. He'd done some freaky shit since his first deployment, but the night he got smashed on vodka and was screaming about seeing dead people on the front porch was the first and only time he scared me. So vodka is now on the list of things he cannot do, and life is good.

Some examples for you: I've been picked up by my throat when I woke my husband up too abruptly (that was a one time deal); I've laughed my ass off at guys checking their cars for IEDs at Walmart. And my personal favorite, people diving under cars when they have heard fireworks go off or a car backfire, literally. One of my friends went to Disney and stayed to see the fireworks only to discover that her husband had taken off. She found him under their car in the parking lot. Very funny. But none of these things, however fucked up they might seem, is cause for mental health to get involved. They just require that we wives readjust the way we do things and have a bit of patience. So get ready for it, ladies. You are entering the Twilight Zone. Try to enjoy the experience.

I have yet to see one boy come home and not be strange, but of all the ones I've seen, only one can I honestly say had PTSD and needed help. When you dream so deeply that waking up does not end the dream and you beat the shit out of your wife thinking she's an Iraqi, you need drugs. But for the most part, all the strange shit they do is perfectly manageable.

Weirdness is not PTSD. My hubby calls it NTBS--No Tolerance for BullShit. Sounds about right to me.