military

darnold1975

Things I Trust More Than This Current Administration: Halloween Edition in 1980s Style

“If chaos had a costume, it’d show up wearing shoulder pads. Smelling like burnt popcorn. And insisting everything’s ‘under control.’ Bless its heart.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. And call upon the ancestors. Specifically Big Mama, who once banished a possum from her porch using nothing but a flip‑flop and the power of prayer. Because it’s Halloween season in Deep South Mississippi. And we need every spiritual reinforcement available to cope with this current administration. I’m not naming names. I’m just saying the vibes are giving “haunted VCR that eats tapes,” and the ancestors are tired. So gather ‘round the fire, clutch your candy corn like it’s a stress ball, and let’s talk about Things I Trust More Than This Current Administration: Halloween Edition in 1980s Style.

Before we get to this list, let me set the scene properly. Picture me standing in my kitchen. Wearing neon‑orange leg warmers. Holding a pumpkin‑spice latte that tastes like regret. And staring at the news like it’s a possessed Speak & Spell from 1985. The ancestors are pacing. The cats are judging. And I’m over here thinking, “You know what? I trust the ghost living in my attic. The one who only communicates by rearranging my Tupperware. Which is  more than whatever this administration is doing.”

It’s Halloween season. The veil is thin. The vibes are chaotic. And the spirits are whispering, “Make a list, baby. Make a list before you lose your religion.” So with full Southern sass. 1980s hairspray confidence. And the emotional support of three extremely opinionated cats. Let’s get into the things I trust more than this current administration. Hold onto your britches. It’s about to get spooky.

10 Things I Trust More Than This Current Administration

(with commentary from Piper, Coco, and Tinkerbell)

  1. A 1987 Ouija board I bought at a yard sale from a woman named Earlene who swore it only summoned “friendly spirits and one confused raccoon.”

Piper: “I’d trust the raccoon. He seems organized.”

  1. The structural integrity of a mall fountain after 400 unsupervised Gen X kids threw pennies, gum, and possibly a Walkman into it.

Coco: “Honestly, that fountain had grit. Unlike some folks.”

  1. The last slice of pizza from ShowBiz Pizza Place that’s been sitting under the heat lamp since Reagan was in office.

Tinkerbell: “It’s aged like fine wine. Government? Not so much.”

  1. A haunted Teddy Ruxpin whose batteries died in 1989 but still whispers “Hey there, friend…” at 3 AM.

Piper: “At least he’s consistent.”

  1. The neighborhood witch who sells ‘love potions’ out of her trunk behind the Piggly Wiggly.

Coco: “She’s never lied to me. Can’t say that about everybody.”

  1. The ghost of every VHS tape that got eaten alive by a VCR and now roams the earth seeking revenge.

Tinkerbell: “Justice for The NeverEnding Story.”

  1. A bowl of mystery candy corn that’s been in your grandma’s crystal dish since 1982 and has the texture of sidewalk chalk.

Piper: “I’d eat it before I’d trust them.”

  1. The clown from the 1986 Halloween carnival who smelled like Marlboros and existential dread.

Coco: “He had a plan. A weird plan, but a plan.”

  1. The demon that lived in your old Lite-Brite and rearranged the pegs at night.

Tinkerbell: “At least he was creative.”

  1. The spirit of every cat who has ever knocked something off a counter just to assert dominance.

All three cats in unison: “We understand leadership.”

Listen. If the ancestors wanted to send us a sign, they’d probably use a malfunctioning 1980s smoke machine, a neon‑green goblin, and a cassette tape labeled “DO NOT PLAY.” And honestly? I’d trust that whole production more than whatever this administration is doing on any given Tuesday.

Halloween teaches us many things. Don’t split up. Don’t investigate the noise. Don’t trust a politician who couldn’t find Mississippi on a map if you drew a big ol’ arrow and wrote “Right Here, Sugar.”

As my Aunt Loretta always said, “If the devil shows up wearing a Members Only jacket, at least you know he’s committed to a look.”

Now go forth and light your sage. Pet your cats like they’re furry emotional support therapists who accept payment in treats and gossip. And remember. If things get too spooky, too chaotic, or too reminiscent of a malfunctioning 1980s government PSA, just channel your inner final girl. I’m talking BIG hair, bigger attitude, and the kind of confidence only found in someone who survived a haunted roller rink. And still made it to homeroom on time.

Strut right past the chaos like you’ve got backstage passes to a Def Leppard concert. A fresh can of Aqua Net in your purse. And the ancestors cheering you on from the spiritual bleachers yelling, “That’s My Baby!”

Because when the world gets wild, you don’t crumble. You sashay. You sparkle. You stomp through the nonsense like you’re wearing rhinestone‑covered Reeboks. And the devil himself owes you money. And if anyone or anything tries to rattle your peace? Just give them that classic Southern side‑eye that says, “Bless your heart. But not today.”

Affirmation: I walk in humor, protection, and high‑volume 1980s confidence. No earthly foolishness can shake my spirit, my peace, or my hair.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Pete Hegseth vs. Basic Logic: A Battle He Keeps Losing

“Leadership isn’t about explosions, ego, or firing everyone who disagrees. It’s about protecting the people you’re responsible for.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Grab the ancestors. Every ancestor from the Delta to the foothills is gathering around the fire pit. And clutching their pearls whispering, “Lord, this fool again?”

Secretary Pete Hegseth is a man who has turned the Pentagon into a haunted Waffle House with missiles. He is also known as “Secretary of Cirrhosis,” “Pete Kegsbreath,” “Whiskey Pete,” “Colonel Vodka,” and “Secretary of Jägermeister.” He has once again turned the Department of Defense into a demolition derby run by a man who thinks leadership is just yelling “send it” at a map he can’t read. And firing anyone who doesn’t look like his reflection.

This is the saga of a man who wakes up every morning. Salutes himself. Flexes in the mirror. And then proceeds to commit international incidents so stupid they make raccoons look like Nobel Prize winners. Let’s dive into all of his stupidity.

Firing Gay and Trans Soldiers

Pete strutted into the Pentagon and declared, “We’re restoring traditional values.” While also having affairs and paying off women to keep their mouths shut. 

Translation: he fired gay soldiers, trans soldiers, and anyone who dared to have a personality. The ancestors collectively rolled their eyes so hard they sprained a spiritual muscle.

Disenfranchising Black Soldiers

Then he decided Black soldiers were “too political.” Which is rich coming from a man whose entire personality is a protein shake and a conspiracy theory.

He stripped them of roles, promotions, and dignity. And then acted confused when morale dropped faster than his approval rating.

Getting Rid of Female Service Members

Pete claimed female service members were “a distraction.” Which is hilarious because the only distraction in the Pentagon is Pete himself. He’s wandering around shirtless. Flexing. And mispronouncing countries.

He fired women left and right. Then wondered why the military suddenly had the emotional maturity of a middle school dodgeball team.

The USS Abraham Lincoln Horror Show

And then came the USS Abraham Lincoln scandal. Soldiers and their families reported horrific conditions that included:

  • Mold in the sleeping quarters
  • Sewage leaks
  • No working AC
  • Food that looked like it had already given up
  • Rats bold enough to request rank

Pete ignored every report. He said the ship was “fine.” He said the soldiers were “dramatic.” He said the rats were “part of the ecosystem.” The ancestors started lighting sage like it was a bonfire.

The Fishing Boat Fiasco

Pete claimed fishermen were trafficking drugs. They were literally just fishing. For fish. Not cocaine catfish. Not heroin haddock. Just fish. He bombed them anyway.

Bombing a School of 160 Girls

Pete pointed at a satellite photo and said, “That’s a terrorist camp.” It was a school. A school full of 160 girls learning math, science, and how to survive men like Pete.

Bombing a Wedding Ceremony

He later approved a drone strike on what he believed was “an enemy gathering.” It was a wedding. A wedding with a string quartet, a chocolate fountain, and a very confused officiant.

The Unlawful War in Iran

Pete misread a meme and declared war on Iran. Congress said no. The Pentagon said no. Pete said, “Too late, I already tweeted it.”

10 Crimes Committed by Secretary Pete Hegseth

  1. Bombing innocent fishermen who were literally just vibing.
  2. Bombing a school of 160 girls learning multiplication.
  3. Bombing a wedding because he thought the string quartet looked suspicious.
  4. Launching an unlawful war in Iran because he misread a meme.
  5. Firing gay soldiers for existing.
  6. Firing trans soldiers for breathing.
  7. Disenfranchising Black soldiers for having opinions.
  8. Removing female service members because he’s threatened by competence.
  9. Ignoring horrific conditions on the USS Abraham Lincoln.
  10. Declaring martial law in a Waffle House parking lot “for training purposes.”

The ancestors are now chain‑smoking imaginary cigarettes.

And there you have it. The tragic, comedic, catastrophic tale of Secretary Pete Hegseth. A man who proves daily that power in the wrong hands isn’t just dangerous. It’s slapstick tragedy. He is not a leader. He is not a strategist. He is a walking, talking cautionary tale wrapped in ego, chaos, and the belief that consequences are for other people. And after all of that, I would be an alcoholic too. Mic dropped. Floor cracked. Ancestors nodding in exhausted agreement. Thanks for reading! Get out and vote.

Affirmation: I release chaos. Embrace clarity. And refuse to let anyone with a title and a temper ruin my peace.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The Scott Bessant Treasury Trauma Diaries

“Corruption doesn’t need brilliance. Just a man bold enough to lie with confidence.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Grab the ancestors again. Because today we’re writing one unified, unhinged, fully roast‑blog about the most catastrophically incompetent Treasury leader ever to grace a swivel chair. His name is Scott “Member of the Closetocracy” Bessant. And we’re stitching in the employee diary so tight the ancestors themselves are flipping through it like it’s a family Bible. Settle in.

The ancestors are already pacing barefoot in the yard. Clutching sweet tea and muttering, “Lord, this boy ain’t right.” The Treasury Secretary has turned America’s finances into a haunted carnival ride. That is powered by lies, coverups, and the kind of corruption that makes calculators file HR complaints. This man walked into the Treasury Department like he was entering a casino he already owed money to. He came equipped with a briefcase full of lies. A moral compass that points directly to embezzlement. A smile that says, “I definitely deleted the wrong email on purpose.” And a leadership style best described as “raccoon in a bank vault” The ancestors have lit the sage. The interns have hidden the staplers. The diary has been opened. Let’s begin.

Scott Bessant has turned the Treasury Department into a Dollar Store clearance bin of chaos. His financial policies rattle when you shake them. His press conferences contradict themselves before he finishes the first sentence. His scandals are alphabetically organized. And we still ran out of alphabet.

He once said, “We’re financially stable.” While standing in front of a spreadsheet that looked like a heart monitor flatlining. He tried to explain inflation using a sock puppet named “Fiscal Freddy.” He once told reporters, “The missing funds will turn up.” As if billions of dollars are a set of car keys he misplaced in a couch cushion. Maybe JD Vance will find it there. And now we reveal the diary.

These entries were written in the margins of government notebooks. Smudged with tears and coffee. And the quiet despair of someone who has watched Scott Bessant try to explain basic math.

Day 12: Scott held a meeting to “clarify the budget.” He brought a whiteboard with the words: “Step 1: vibes. Step 2: trust me.” I have updated my résumé.

Day 27: He told us the missing gold bars were “on loan.” To whom? He winked. I cried.

Day 41: Scott introduced a new financial policy called “Money Momentum.” It’s just… gambling. He made us clap.

Day 63: He asked if we could “round down the national debt.” I asked if he meant mathematically or spiritually. He said, “Yes.”

Day 78: He hosted a mandatory team-building exercise called “Find the Fraud.” It was him. He was the fraud.

Day 102: He announced a new transparency initiative. Then he turned off all the lights and whispered, “Now no one can see the numbers.”

Day 119: He started a Treasury TikTok series called “Budget Daddy.” I have submitted my resignation.

Day 140: He tried to “manifest financial stability.” He lit incense. The fire alarm went off.

Day 167: He declared himself “The People’s Accountant.” The people did not ask for this.

Day 200: He tried to pay for lunch with a commemorative coin. The cashier refused. He said, “This is why the economy is failing.” I whispered, “No, sir. You are.”

10 Things That Made Scott Bessant the Bandit a Corruption Hall-of-Famer

  1. The $4 Billion Disappearing Act He said it “evaporated.” Sir, money is not steam.
  2. The Propaganda PowerPoints He spent millions on slides that said “Everything is fine” in Comic Sans.
  3. The Fake Audit He hired a magician. A literal magician.
  4. The Gold Bar “Samples” Samples of what, Scott?
  5. The Treasury TikTok Debacle He made interns film him juggling staplers while saying, “Watch me balance this budget.”
  6. The Cayman Islands “Business Trip” He returned with a tan and a suspicious necklace.
  7. The Emergency Budget Meeting He showed up with a whiteboard that said: “Step 1: Panic. Step 2: Blame Janet.”
  8. The National Debt Raffle First prize: Lunch with Scott. No one entered.
  9. The Coverup Coverup He lied about lying about lying. A corruption turducken.
  10. The Treasury Escape Room He locked reporters inside until they “understood economics.” They emerged traumatized.

And that is the full saga of Scott Bessant. The U.S. Treasury leader who turned the nation’s finances into a haunted carnival ride. He is the human equivalent of a bounced check. The spiritual embodiment of a malfunctioning calculator. The reason the ancestors keep muttering, “Put that boy in a time-out.” His legacy will be remembered as a treasury held together with duct tape. A budget written in crayon. A department powered by caffeine, prayer, and denial. And after all of that, I would stay in the closet also. Mic dropped. Floor cracked. Ancestors nodding. Diary closed. Treasury still smoking. Thanks for reading! Vote these fools out!

Affirmation: I rise above chaos. See through manipulation. And refuse to bow to fools with power.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

I’ve Had It Podcast: The Southern Sass Survival Guide for Blue Dots in Red States

“Sometimes the only thing keeping me from losing my already lost religion is two Oklahoma women yelling about petty grievances.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Invoke the ancestors. Preferably the messy ones. The ones who show up wearing house shoes. Clutching a gas‑station fountain drink. And whispering, “You’re gonna wanna sit down for this one.”

Because today, we gather in the sacred, humid, mosquito‑infested, spiritually charged arena to praise. Roast. And spiritually hydrate the chaotic holiness that is the I’ve Had It Podcast. The only place where two white liberal women from the red MAGA plains of Oklahoma have somehow built a sanctuary for every exhausted blue‑dot soul trying to survive in a country where people still proudly drink out of Stanley cups like it’s a personality trait. Let me set the table like MeeMaw used to that is loud. And with sweet tea strong enough to dissolve enamel.

Jennifer Welch and Angie “Pumps” Sullivan aren’t just podcasters. They are the patron saints of Petty Grievances. The matriarchs of Messy Liberation. And the spiritual mothers of every liberal woman trapped in a red state. While trying not to throat‑punch someone at the grocery store.

Jennifer, the sarcastically blunt atheist queen, speaks with the kind of clarity that only comes from years of saying, “No, actually, that is stupid” out loud. She’s the type of woman who could walk into a revival tent. Sneeze. And accidentally deconstruct someone’s entire theology. On a side note I’ll also say that she is an Olympic level Pickle Ball Champion like we’ve never seen before in the history of the world.

Then there’s Pumps. Lord help us all. Pumps is a recovering evangelical, the HBIC (Head Beaver In Charge), the teeny weenieologist, the MeeMaw Meat Curtains because she is much older than Jennifer. And apparently the patron saint of Asexuality in the Bible Belt. Her last sexual encounter was somewhere around 1,000 days ago. And Jennifer multiplies that number tenfold with each episode until the math starts giving Old Testament genealogy. We’re approaching, “And on the 40,000th day, Pumps rested.”

And presiding over this circus of holy chaos is Kiley. The beautiful lesbian gaytriot producer who keeps the entire operation from combusting. She’s the glue, the duct tape, the Queer Logistics Coordinator who ensures Jennifer and Pumps don’t accidentally start a small fire while recording. She produces the hilarious fuckery with the precision of a woman who knows exactly how chaotic these two can be.

As a white liberal sarcastic woman myself from the red MAGA state of Mississippi, these ladies have become my emotional support podcast. They take the isolation of wanting equal rights for everyone. While surrounded by neighbors who think democracy is optional. And turn it into a family. A loud, hilarious politically petty family that supports all marginalized groups and stands up for democracy. Despite the red hatred swirling around them.

And let me tell you. And their nicknames for politicians? Baby, they speak fluent Southern shade. People like Donald “Cankles McTaco Tits” Trump, Moses Mike Grindr Johnson, the late Lindsey “Lady” Graham, “Big Titty” Bryon Knoem, “Smokey-eyed sociopath” JD Vance, “Lyin’” Ted Cruz, Flamboyant Jesse “Lady” Waters with Fox News, Natalie “The Bunny Boiler” Harp, Markwayne “Booster Box” Mullin, and others. I heard that recently they both spoke with Mitch “Dead Not Dead” McConnell for twenty minutes from his life support rehabilitation unit. They roast public figures with the same energy my Aunt Linda uses when she says, “I’m not saying she’s trashy. But she does own a leopard‑print Bible cover.”

They expose the closetocracy, the folks who legislate against the very community they enjoy on weekends, with surgical precision and the comedic timing only two women who have truly had it can deliver. Are they crass? Yes. Do they speak my language? Absolutely. Do they have a low tolerance for stupidity? Honey, they have a negative tolerance.

And Pumps, sweet Pumps, if she would stop vaping like she’s trying to summon a Civil War ghost, Jennifer might finally unclench. And if she would please stop pooping in Styrofoam cups like she’s conducting a science fair project, the online audience would stop peeing on ourselves from laughing. Get it together, Pumps. At least the saggin’ dragons are secured.

These women have been my morning oxygen for over a year. They are my people that are  hilarious. And, at times, inappropriate. Unfiltered. Compassionate. And petty in all the right places. If you’re a prude. Easily offended. Or still clinging to conservative Christianity where some Christians use scripture as a mascot for cruelty, this is not your ministry.

But if you’re like me a blue dot in a red state. A queer person whose family can’t quite figure out acceptance. Or someone who needs laughter more than judgment. These ladies feel like home. They are the family I needed. The humor I craved. And the reminder that democracy is worth fighting for even when surrounded by folks who think Jesus rode a dinosaur. And if island living as a blue dot in a red state is what it takes, then baby, I’ll take my new family without question.

So let me say this with the full force of my ancestors, my sass, my trauma, my cats, and my last functioning nerve. The I’ve Had It Podcast isn’t just entertainment. It’s survival. It’s community. It’s the comedic resistance movement for every marginalized person living in a state where Hobby Lobby aisles are filled with people who think equality is a threat to their throw pillows.

Jennifer, Pumps, and Kiley have built a refuge for the tired, the queer, the liberal, the fed‑up, the chronically sarcastic, and the spiritually dehydrated. They’ve given us permission to laugh at the absurdity of our political landscape. To call out hypocrisy with humor. And to find joy in the middle of a country that feels like it’s being run by people who failed eighth‑grade civics. And who ate boogers and glue but never outgrew those behaviors.

I will be a loyal gaytriot as long as these ladies are around. I will follow them into the trenches of democracy, petty grievances, and Pumps’ colon‑control journey. I will take this island living. This blue dot existence. And choose my new family without hesitation.

Thank you, ladies, for your humor, your compassion, and your unapologetic refusal to tolerate bullshit in this tumultuous time. You are the laughter that keeps us fighting. CACAW!!!! Mic dropped. Floor cracked. Humidity rising. Ancestors hollering, “That’s Right, Baby!” Thanks for reading! Please tune in every day to the I’ve Had It podcast for political news with lots of humor.

Affirmation: I honor my truth, humor, identity, and my chosen family. I choose joy. I choose community. And I choose to laugh loudly. Even in the places that try to silence me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The Blood on Mississippi Soil: Why Silence Is No Longer an Option

“Silence is the oldest accomplice of violence. And Mississippi has been silent for far too long.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal, y’all. Because my ancestors are pacing the porch tonight. I can feel them in the humidity, the cicada buzz, and in the way the air gets thick right before a storm. They’re whispering. Tapping their feet. And shaking their heads the way old Southern aunties do when they’ve had enough of the foolishness. And Lord knows Mississippi has given us more than enough foolishness wrapped in Bible verses. Dipped in denial. And served with a side of “the South will rise again” delusion.

Because let’s tell the truth. The “Christian” community down here loves to shout about sin until it’s time to call out violence against Black bodies. Then suddenly everybody’s quiet. Clutching pearls. And humming hymns like silence is salvation. They’ll condemn a teenager’s skirt length before they condemn a system that keeps killing Black people. They’ll preach forgiveness while refusing accountability. They’ll talk about “God’s love” while ignoring the blood on their own soil. And I’m done pretending that’s holy.

Mississippi has always been a place where racism isn’t just a belief. It’s infrastructure. It’s policy. It’s tradition. It’s the foundation poured into the dirt generations ago. And too many folks still treat it like sacred ground.

And now, again, violence has come knocking at the doors of Black families. Again, the state government refuses to investigate. Again, accountability disappears when the killer is white. Again, we are told to “wait for the facts.” While the facts are buried under good ol’ boy politics and backroom handshakes.

A one-year-old Black baby was shot and killed by a white officer over diapers. Let me say that again. A baby died because a grown man with a badge felt threatened by diapers.

A Black teenage boy was found dead under mysterious circumstances. And instead of answers, we get a cover-up thicker than Delta mud. Evidence missing. Stories changing. Officials shrugging like a child’s life is just a paperwork inconvenience.

And now, a Black woman found hanging from a tree in 2026. And the state wants us to believe it’s anything other than what it looks like. Mississippi has a long, violent history with Black bodies and trees. We know what this is. We’ve seen it before. Our ancestors saw it before. And the silence from leadership is louder than any confession.

This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t isolated. This is a pattern, a legacy, and a sickness that Mississippi refuses to treat because too many people benefit from the infection. And let me tell you something. I’m old enough now to stand up and say it plainly. I’m old enough to fight for marginalized groups which include Black folks, brown folks, Indigenous folks, immigrants, and anyone who doesn’t fit the whitewashed mold Mississippi keeps trying to force us into. I’m old enough to say that I’m proud that I didn’t buy into the racist ideology that some of my own family members still cling to like it’s heirloom china.

I broke the cycle. I chose humanity over heritage. I chose truth over tradition. I chose justice over comfort. And if that makes me the black sheep at the family reunion, hand me the potato salad because I’ll graze in the pasture with pride. I’m proud to say I’m not like them. Not molded by their fear. Not shaped by their hate. Not carved into the same brittle statue of “tradition” they keep worshiping like it’s holy. I’m proud to say I crawled out of the same Mississippi clay. And still managed to grow in a different direction. And it was one that didn’t twist my roots around racism and call it heritage.

If rejecting their ideology means I lose my seat at the family table, then pull the chair out from under me. If refusing to swallow their silence means I’m no longer welcome in their church pews, then let the hymns echo without me. If choosing humanity over hypocrisy means I have to walk away from religion entirely, then I’ll walk away barefoot. Head high and unbothered.

Because I refuse to be loyal to a system that kills Black children and calls it “procedure.” I refuse to be loyal to a state that covers up Black death and calls it “ongoing investigation.” I refuse to be loyal to a community that sees a Black woman hanging from a tree and calls it “unfortunate.” I refuse to be loyal to people who hide behind scripture while ignoring suffering. I refuse to be loyal to any ideology that demands my silence while it destroys lives.

Mississippi may be built on racism. But I am not. Mississippi may cling to its racist past. But I do not. Mississippi may worship its own mythology. But I refuse to kneel. I am not like them. I will never be like them. And if breaking away from their beliefs is the cost of protecting my soul, integrity, and humanity, then that’s a price I’ll pay in full with no regrets.

Let them keep their “South will rise again” fantasies. I’m rising in a different direction. One they can’t touch. Can’t claim. And sure as hell can’t control. That’s my mic drop. And I won’t be picking it back up. Thanks for reading! What are your thoughts?

Affirmation: I honor my ancestors by refusing to repeat their pain. I stand in truth. I stand in courage. And I stand in love even when I stand alone.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Memorial Day Mourning: When Patriotism Meets Disrespect

“A nation that forgets its fallen has already surrendered its soul.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Today, ancestors, I need you close. I need every grandmother who prayed over folded flags. Every great‑uncle who never made it home. Every lineage‑bearer who stood against tyranny with nothing but grit, fear, and a trembling hope that their sacrifice would mean something. I need them all gathered around this fire with me. Because my heart is breaking in a way I can feel in my teeth.

Memorial Day is supposed to be sacred. A day of reverence. A day where the air itself feels heavy with memory. A day where we whisper “thank you” to the ones who went in our place. I don’t care how they voted. What bumper sticker they had. Or what political arguments they hollered at the TV. They went. They stood in the line of fire so I didn’t have to. They carried the weight of a nation on their backs. And some never came home to tell the story.

And now. We are living in an era where their sacrifices are being mocked. Minimized. And twisted into political theater. Where illegal war chew up American lives for reasons that don’t hold water. Where the Commander‑in‑Chief has openly called fallen soldiers “losers” and “suckers,” according to multiple reports from former officials. And I swear, ancestors, I can feel you shifting in your graves like, “We did NOT fight fascism for this.”

Let me be clear. This isn’t about politics. This is about decency, honor, and basic human respect. And they are the qualities that should never be partisan. And yet here we are. Watching behavior that would’ve gotten any of our mamas slapped with a sandal for raising someone so disrespectful. Here are examples that are widely reported. Documented. And discussed. They are of how Donald Trump has disrespected veterans and fallen soldiers.

  • Calling fallen soldiers “losers” and “suckers”– reported by multiple sources which including former senior officials. My ancestors just collectively rolled their eyes so hard the earth tilted.
  • Skipping a WWI cemetery visit in France because “it was raining.” Sir, they fought in trenches full of mud, blood, and rats the size of emotional support animals. You can handle a drizzle.
  • Attacking Gold Star families-families who lost loved ones in service. The audacity. The disrespect. The spiritual malpractice.
  • Mocking Senator John McCain’s capture-“I like people who weren’t captured.” My ancestors are now pacing the room with hands on hips.
  • Using the military as political props-something every veteran I know despises. Because service is not a campaign backdrop.
  • Delaying military aid for political leverage-which put actual soldiers at risk. The ancestors have now lit their own charcoal.

And the emotional stability? Lord. It’s giving “someone sprinting down the interstate with their bra and underwear on the outside of their clothes.” It’s giving me chaos. It’s giving “not a single ancestor signed off on this behavior.” And the compassion? About as present as a cactus at a cuddle party.

This is not how you honor the fallen. This is not how you respect the living. This is not how you lead a nation that has buried far too many of its children. My ancestors fought authoritarianism with their bare hands. Their last breaths. Their prayers whispered into the dirt. And now authoritarianism is parading through our streets wearing a red hat and a tantrum. While insisting it’s the second coming of patriotism. It’s not patriotism. It’s performance. And it’s breaking my heart.

And so, on this Memorial Day. I stand here with the charcoal lit. And the ancestors gathered like a celestial neighborhood watch, I have to say it plainly. America cannot honor its fallen while allowing a man who dodged the draft five times to strut around pretending to be the patron saint of patriotism. America cannot claim to respect sacrifice while elevating someone who avoided service with the infamous “bone spurs” excuse. A condition that miraculously healed the moment the danger passed and the privilege resumed. America cannot pretend to value courage while applauding someone whose greatest battle was apparently against accountability.

Because let’s be honest. The disrespect being hurled at our veterans and fallen soldiers isn’t coming from a place of strength. It’s coming from a place of entitlement so bloated it could have its own gravitational pull. It’s coming from a man who has never had to work for anything. Who has never known the terror of a battlefield. Who has never stood in the boots of the people he mocks.

And the behavior? Hold my sweet tea. We are watching a grown man. A man who holds the highest office in the land. Who is behaving with the emotional steadiness of someone who discovered social media for the first time and decided to treat it like a 3 a.m. confessional booth. Extended blinking sessions like he’s buffering. Late‑night ranting on whatever platform will still have him like Temu Twitter. And typing like a raccoon who found a phone in a staff member’s purse at a memory care facility. And is now live‑blogging its escape attempt.

And the consistency? The only thing consistent is the stench both literal and the metaphorical odor of disrespect, chaos, and ego that follows him like a cloud of Axe body spray applied by a teenager who doesn’t understand dosage.

Meanwhile, our fallen soldiers. The ones who actually knew sacrifice. Who actually faced danger. Who actually gave everything. Are being used as props in a performance that dishonors everything they stood for. My ancestors fought tyrants who believed they were above the people. Above the truth. And now, authoritarianism is parading through our streets loud. Petty. Self‑obsessed. And wrapped in a flag it does not deserve to touch.

So, hear me clearly. I honor our fallen. I honor our veterans. I honor every soul who went in my place so I could live free. But I will not and cannot stay silent while their memory is dragged through the mud by someone who never carried anything heavier than his own ego. This Memorial Day, I stand with the ancestors, the fallen, and the truth. And to the one disrespecting them? Your performance is over. Your act is tired. And the nation you claim to love deserves better. Thanks for reading! God bless those who lost their lives and took a stand against fascism and tyranny. What are your thoughts?

Affirmation: I honor the brave. I speak the truth. And I stand with the ancestors who fought for freedom before me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

First Responders And Suicide

“Real heroes don’t wear capes. Real superheroes wear uniforms and badges and stethoscopes! Real superheroes are members of our military, law enforcement, and first responders. Pretend superheroes wear capes.”

-Dean Cain

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about first responder suicide. This is another group that seems to be looked over when discussing this topic. Having worked in the EMS field, I can tell you that sometimes I saw things that continue to haunt me to this day.

Individuals, who have also worked in the field, have told me, “they just left work at work.” And it was simple. In that case, “Congrats! You are the winner! And you were much stronger mentally, I guess.” But in my situation, I was trapped in a domestic violence situation where emotional abuse was normal. So, working myself to death while experiencing trauma in both my private and professional life, my mind was so overloaded that I developed PTSD from both situations.

Maybe it was the 7-year-old who was hit by a drunk driver and left for dead. Maybe it was the car wreck where sister and boyfriend we both killed. And older sister’s face was ripped off in the wreck. Maybe it was the murder that left a body with half a head from a shotgun blast. Maybe it was the screaming mother, who I had to tell that her child was dead. Maybe it was the mother on Mother’s Day that was told that her law enforcement son was killed in a drunk driving accident. Maybe it was the woman who was ejected from a vehicle after falling asleep behind the wheel, whose legs were pinned behind her head. Maybe it was the suicide scenes. Maybe it was putting a child in a body bag in front of a mother. Maybe it was the person hit by a train where chunks of meat were the only thing that remained. Maybe it was the disabled individual in a wheelchair who was raped by her cousin. Maybe it was the woman who was cut from ear to ear, because she was cheating on her boyfriend with a white man. Maybe it was working hard on a grandmother, in front of the family, begging for us to save her when we couldn’t. Maybe it was the male body that was found in a house that had been dead for several days. And the only way the neighbors knew something was wrong was because they smelled him through the walls. Maybe it was the little girl who innocently climbed up in her daddy’s pickup truck only to find a loaded gun and accidentally pulled the trigger leaving one of the bullets lodged in her brain. Maybe it was the little boy who was handed to a good Samaritan from inside his father’s eighteen-wheeler, only for the truck to explode because the jaws of life were not available. Maybe it was the car wreck where I had to sit in the dead passenger’s lap to work on the dying driver. Maybe it was the mother who died from a seizure and her little girl was left in the home alone for over 8 hours before the body was found. Maybe it’s the smells of decaying bodies that I continue to smell almost 30 years later. Maybe it was telling my boss that I was having flashbacks from a gruesome scene only to be told, “If you can’t handle it, pick a different profession. Maybe it’s the incessant scenes that I continue to replay beyond my control with questions about if we did enough. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

In the time that I worked, I saw enough trauma to last me a lifetime. There was no one to talk to about anything. Like I was told that there would be. Getting shifts covered was more important than the safety and well-being of employees. And somehow, sexual harassment and a near rape by a co-worker was viewed as though I brought it on myself. And eventually, trying to survive by living in my car and attempting to distance myself  from the domestic violence situation led me to a level of depression and despair that was somehow new to me. I was forced to keep unethical secrets which was “normalized behavior.”

A lot of people that I worked with were dealing with problems through narcotic diversion, sex with random partners, alcohol and drugs were seen as “off-day or working” coping skills. And the level of compassion for another human being “hitting the skids” to a level that was disturbing. There was not just one reason that I was having suicidal thoughts. But I had nowhere to turn for help that was “safe.” And the work environment was just as toxic.

Life said, “Here are the pieces. Figure it out.” And I tried to bury them so far down that I never wanted to revisit those fears and feelings again. For a long while, I was able to do just that. But when you have unresolved trauma there’s only one thing that you can be sure of, it will surface again. And almost 20 years later it would come forth vigorously. And it almost killed me.

First responders include police officers, firefighters, paramedics, EMTs, and telecommunicators. Due to the unique occupational stressors, the risk for mental health issues and suicide are at a much higher rates of depression, PTSD, suicidal ideations, and behaviors  (www.cdc.gov, 2021). And due to consistent exposure to traumatic events can impact the brain’s ability to process the experiences.

The Impact on Mental Health:

·        PTSD, depression, and anxiety: first responders are at a significantly higher risk of developing these.

·        Cognitive Issues: Trauma can lead to difficulties with memory, attention, planning, problem solving, which can affect daily functioning and relationships.

·        Secondary Traumatic Stress (STS) and Vicarious Trauma (VT): first responders can experience emotional and/or psychological distress from observing or hearing  about the trauma of others. And can lead to the symptoms of emotional numbness, irritability, sleep disturbances, and physical complaints.

·        Burnout and Compassion Fatigue: Demanding nature of the job and frequent exposure to suffering can lead to emotional exhaustion and reduce capacity for empathy (https//extension.usu.edu, 2025).

It has been said too many times, “Well you chose the profession.” And to that I respond, “Yes, I did. Who else would’ve done it? You?!” And then, of course, the sound of crickets followed. To this day I can say that I loved working in the field of EMS. But my brain took a beating. The trauma of the event doesn’t happen at that exact moment. It creeps. And if you are running back-to-back traumatic calls, then the brain never has a chance to recover. Also, when therapeutic help is seen as shameful or weak, this further ostracizes the employee to thinking that there is no way out. There are those “trauma junkies” as they are called that seem to enjoy the trauma. However, from working with those types of individuals, I have found that there is also a higher rate of alcohol and drug use.

Reducing the stigma will only happen when senior management are supportive of mental health efforts to keep all employees safe. And in the environment where I worked, the stigma couldn’t have been any stronger. People were allowed to work an extreme amount hours without sleep, which was very dangerous. In fact, an EMT who was in paramedic school, was allowed to work without adequate sleep and he wrecked an ambulance with a patient on board, because he fell asleep at the wheel striking a telephone pole. And sadly, there are currently no federal laws that regulate this. This problem is still left up to the digression of private companies. 

A national organization known as  the National Association of Emergency Medical Technicians have issued guidelines for managing fatigue in EMS personnel. This sets guidelines such as limiting shifts to less than 24 hours in duration and providing access to caffeine to help counteract fatigue. And offering naps. However, I can tell you that the only “nap” I was offered was during the time it took for a red light to change to green. And there is a recognized concern about EMS worker fatigue for both workers and the public. Research also shows that more than half of EMS workers report severe mental and physical fatigue, poor sleep quality, and inadequate recovery between shifts (www.ems.gov, 2019).

I can only hope that those entities that have an ambulance or some other type of EMS service abides by this. However, I can almost guarantee that senior administrators are more concerned with the dollar amount that is acquired at the end of the month. Because the low pay rate of EMS workers makes the individual “a dime a dozen.” And they will just be replaced if they can’t handle the stress. And this attitude combined with the difficult nature of the job is why I would still consider this working environment dangerous for the worker, as well as patients.

If you are or know someone in this profession, it is imperative that you and they both know the importance of “healthy” self-care. Asking for help is not a weakness. It’s the personal responsibility of the employee and the companies that employ them. Please make use of services that are provided. Thanks for reading! Stay safe.

Affirmation: I am allowed to ask for what I need.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Veteran Suicide

“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”

-Douglas McArthur

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss veteran suicide. I know that this topic has seemed to get old and fast. However, I believe that the more we talk about the harshness of life, the more the stigmas will begin to disappear.

In 2022, the most recent year for the current data, 6,407 veterans and 41,484 nonveteran adults died by suicide. The rate among veterans was 34.7 per 100,000 compared to 17.1 per 100,000 for nonveterans. Since 2005, veteran suicide has risen faster than any other group. And these rates are unacceptable.

The veterans who died by suicide in that year, 40% were under the care of the Veterans Health Administration. Among those patients, who were also diagnosed with a mental health disorder or substance abuse disorder, there were 56.4 per 100,000, which was twice the rate of those without a diagnosis. And among 1,548 veterans who died by suicide 64% were diagnosed with depression, 43% had an anxiety disorder, 40% had PTSD, and 32% had an alcohol use disorder. However, the highest suicide rates were associated with veterans who had sedative use disorder which include benzodiazepines, barbiturates, and opiates (www.rand.org, 2025). And the stigma about mental health in the military further increase this problem.

Aspects of Veteran Mental Health stigma:

·       Fear of judgment and perception:  Veterans worry about how seeking help will affect all areas of their lives and especially on career repercussions.

·       Military culture: The “warrior ethos” which emphasizes self-reliance and stoicism create barriers to seeking help.

·       Loss of security clearance: Some fear that seeking mental health treatment will lead to revocation of security clearances.

·       Impact on treatment: stigmas can lead to untreated mental health conditions, substance abuse and increased risk of suicide.

·       Self-stigma: Veterans may internalize negative societal views about mental health which can lead to shame, self-blame, and more reluctance to seek help (https://oxfordtreatment.com, 2025).

As an advocate for medical cannabis, I believe that our veterans should be given an ounce of cannabis the minute their feet hit US soil upon returning from active duty. As I personally deal with PTSD, there is not another medication on the planet that can bring me relief like cannabis can. And it’s such a safer alternative to alcohol, opiates, and benzodiazepine medications.

Currently,  the Safe Healing Act, which was introduced on February 4, 2025,  is designed to prohibit the Secretary of Veterans Affairs from denying a veteran benefit administered by the Secretary by reason of the veteran  participating in a State-approved marijuana program and other purposes. But unfortunately, there is only a 3% chance of being enacted (www.govtrack.us, 2025). And I consider this utterly ridiculous. There is an unmistakable problem with veteran suicide. It appears Big Pharma is still in the way of progress. I wonder how many people who oppose this bill must suffer, daily, with the horrible effects of PTSD, anxiety, and chronic pain that “Big Pharma” can’t seem to help?

Our returning soldiers are faced with horrors that no one understands until they’ve been there. And though I have never served our country, I can tell you that the above-mentioned mental health disorders have also almost taken my life many times. The symptoms are horrific in nature. Put chronic pain in the mix and suicide often seems like the only answer to have a break, though it be permanent, for even a moment of peace.

Veterans, in my eyes, should be held to the utmost respect. They should be the highest paid employees before professional athletes. And we as a country should make sure that the best treatment is available to them for the rest of their lives. Some have paid the price of their lives on the battlefield. And a high percentage of others pay with their lives when they return home. But instead of treating them like the heroes like they are, they are often discarded by the government that they so proudly serve. 

Is cannabis the only answer? Not at all. However, while they find the modality that works for them, I think that cannabis could lighten the load and make their futures seem a little brighter. Discarding them along with all the judgmental stigmas only adds to the problem. And until this is rectified, we will continue to lose those beautiful people who are willing, at any moment, to lay down their lives for our freedoms. Shame on the United States of America for treating them like that!

I know reading this is not easy. But we as a nation must stand up for these individuals who continue to pay the price every time, they open their eyes. Let’s get past the “reefer madness” ignorance and allow our veterans the opportunity to extend their lives at home. A special thanks and salute to one of my favorite veterans who I’ll call Joe. Thanks for reading! And God Bless America!

Affirmation: Bring out your inner warrior

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Attack On Freedom

“The attacks of September 11th  were intended to break our spirit. Instead, we have emerged stronger and more unified. We feel renewed devotion to the principles of political, economic and religious freedom, the rule of law and respect for human life. We are more determined more than ever to live our lives in freedom.”

-Then-New York City Mayor Rudulph Giuliani

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. There’s no way if you have lived since September 11, 2001, that you don’t remember when our great nation was sneak attacked by Middle Eastern “thugs” under the direction of an evil man on a dialysis machine. It was an attack on freedom similar to the attack on Pearl Harbor.

I will never forget the day that 9/11 happened. I was working for a local veterinarian during a truly horrible time in my life. I was in a horribly, abusive marriage where I never got to experience true freedom. I was also in the depths of addiction that was slowly killing me. And he made sure that I was also controlled by an extremely painful eating disorder. I was essentially a mess in every area of my life. 

The vet’s office that I worked at had a small television that was usually put on a news channel for waiting clients. That particular day I was busy being miserable, high and working at top speed. The area that I worked in was the puppy and kitten adoption center that was always busy. I was busy cleaning cages and feeding those cute babies when I took time out to go look for something in the main waiting area. I walked in and one of the receptionists said, “Dana, look at what’s just happened.” I turned to look at the television screen at a picture that you only saw in movies. I saw an area of a building where an apparent plane had crashed into it. I said, “Do you really have time to watch a movie?” They quickly said, “No. A plane was hijacked and flew into one of the twin towers.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and seeing. I said, “Wait! What?! That doesn’t even make sense.” And for many months following the thought was the same.

Even now I still don’t completely understand how someone could hate Americans to that extent. I took a moment to reflect on everything that I had experienced in life. I looked around to realize that Americans have turned on her own people as evidenced by racism, sexism, homophobia, gender phobia, transphobia, abuse, domestic violence, drug addiction, gang violence, child abuse, mass shootings, school shootings, dangerous elected officials and many other things. But this was so different. It’s almost the attitude of “You can’t come up in our house and kick our ass! We kick our own ass!”

For a moment though, our stature as a “free nation” had been “sucker punched.” Suddenly, whether someone was poisoning our families with their “gayness” wasn’t a big issue. The disruption of cohesiveness within society based on whether someone was wearing a blue or red bandana came to a screeching halt. Hurricane Katrina wasn’t even a meteorological thought. We, as a nation, sat in stunned silence at the harshness of our new realities. Members of our beloved families were now gone. Now we didn’t care if the people in power were red, blue or orange. We just wanted those responsible to pay and pay dearly. We no longer had such different beliefs about life as a whole. And then, the second plane hit.

At this point, it was absolute pandemonium trying to find the source of the betrayal and eliminate it quickly. And then in exactly 1 hour and 24 minutes, heroes from our families did their part to save others from their certain demise by overtaking the cockpit of yet another hijacked plane with a mission of killing as many Americans as possible. That brave group of people who decided that enough was enough said this, “Are you out of your mind?! Who in the hell do you think you are? Let’s roll.”

The skyline of New York City would lose the twin towers as they collapsed from total annihilation. The damage had just been too great. The North Tower of the World Trade Center stood for another 102 minutes. The South Tower stood  approximately 56 minutes after the second impact. Almost immediately, rescue efforts to find survivors and/or bodies began and would continue for the next nine months.

By May 2002, the World Trade Center site had been cleared. The rescue and recovery efforts consisted of more than 108,000 truckloads of debris and 1.8 million tons of wreckage that were removed along with many other people who were never found (redcross.org). On September 11, 2001, the terrorist attacks on the United States of America killed 2,977 people including hijackers. And of these, 3,000 children lost a parent (nymag.com, 2014).

 Lady Liberty at the direction of then President George Bush, was pointed in the direction of the Middle East where members of the terroristic organization, Al-Qaeda, and would soon make those “desert thugs” pay for many years to come. We were, again, becoming a group of people who stood with a united front and said, “Your attack on freedom will come at a heavy cost.” And it seemed like the term “functioning” would now have new boundaries.

President Bush addressed the workers and families at 9/11 ground zero by saying…”I can hear you! I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people-and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”

And he launched Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan on October 7, 2001. And expanded the “War on Terror” beyond Afghanistan which would lead to the invasion of Iraq. The attacks also led to the establishment of the Department of Homeland Security in 2002 and the Patriot Act (www.cfr.org, 2025). This led to a 20-year conflict that led to the loss of over  7,000 American lives (https://usafacts.org, 2024). 

Major players in the terrorists’ attacks and the aiding and protection of additional terrorists were Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin-Laden. They were both hunted down and eventually executed. Saddam was convicted by the Iraqi High Tribunal of crimes against humanity. And was sentenced to death by hanging. He was executed on December 30, 2006.

On May 2, 2011, the United States conducted Operation Neptune Spear, where SEAL Team Six shot and killed Osama bin Laden at his “Waziristan Haveli” in Abbottabad, Pakistan. He was buried at sea to prevent his grave from becoming a shrine for his followers (History.com, 2025).

When an organization or a group of people decide that American “infidels” are a waste of air and skin, the destruction was immense. And there had been no sneak attack on our nation since Pear Harbor in 1941.We, as a nation, have proven time and time again that when you attack the freedoms of the United States of America, your lives will be diminished like the innocent lives that were ended in the September 11thattacks. Thanks for reading! And God bless the United States of America.

Affirmation: I believe in the resilience and freedom of America. I live with patriotism which I hold true.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

National PTSD Awareness Day

“Always remember, if you have been diagnosed with PTSD, it is not a sign of weakness; rather, if is proof of your strength, because you have survived!”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to take time out from celebrating Pride, to give light to National PTSD Awareness Day. This one hit hard as I’ve lived with PTSD longer than I’ve lived without it. And there are so many of us who don’t make it to the other end of the tunnel. It’s an incredibly dark place to wake up to and go to sleep with every night.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) dates back to ancient civilizations and military conflicts. Terms used early on included “combat-related stress,” “shellshock,” “combat fatigue,” and “railway spine.” In the 1800s and early 1900s, the “talking cure: was popularized by Sigmund Freud and introduced in medical literature. And the treatment went from psychoanalysis to electric shock treatment. By the 1950s, the treatments had become more humane. However, now people would not admit to any traumatic symptoms due to the stigma. So, group therapy and psychotropic medications were introduced (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).

In the 1970s Vietnam veterans began experiencing a lot of psychological problems that persisted even after returning home. And survivors of domestic abuse were also included. In the 1980s, PTSD was officially recognized as a mental health problem. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders adopted the diagnosis where it has remained (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).

PTSD is a developed from a traumatic event. C- PTSD when a traumatic event continues for months and years or multiple events occur. The intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, insomnia, avoidance, memory problems, detachment from friends and family, feeling emotionally numb, hyper startle, irritability, trouble concentrating, impulsive behavior, paranoia, severe anxiety, nightmares, suicidal ideations and actions and uncontrollable thoughts about the event. And over time, these symptoms completely devour who you once were (MayoClinic.org, 2025).

I know that PTSD is typically related to soldiers. I am here to tell you that I never went into the military. But the PTSD that I deal with, as a result of domestic violence, grabbed hold of me and has never let go. It has completely stripped me of everything that I used to enjoy. I don’t care about relationships. I question people about their intentions, even if they’re pure and good. I’m constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop. I don’t have typical reactions to being scared. I could see a moth out, of the corner of my peripheral vision, and then jump and scream like Jeffery Dahmer was staring at me and about to take the first bite. I face the stigmas of both friends and family mainly due to a lack of understanding. However, the reasearch information is everywhere. Sometimes others just need to their own leg work. I have come to realize that instead of trying to find out how PTSD affects someone that you love, it’s “the easy way out” to just to be dismissive, embarrassed and judgmental instead. The attitude is “just change X behavior.” Without having a solution, the resounding message of “just make it go away” further ostracizes the person that you say you care about. And so the anticipated glimmer of hope dissipates further isolating the individual. And sadly, can lead to suicide.

PTSD is not about you, it’s about them. It’s just a diagnosis until it’s “you” that experiences it every day. It has taken me down to the point of putting a gun in my mouth. And because living in the abuse was so severe, I actually pulled the trigger after pointing the gun at my torso. It missed my heart by only a few centimeters. Nothing was messed up to the point of needing surgery. But self-harm is something that I’ve dealt with since I was a 13-year-old child. And I had no idea how to deal with all the overwhelming emotions of abuse. In that cold, dark closet where I began to self-harm, and as maladaptive as the behavior is, it worked. It was the only thing that worked to bring me back to complete balance. But the problem is that it became a true addiction issue that I continue to struggle with. And before you ask, yes I’ve done a lot of therapy. It’s not that the therapy doesn’t. It’s that the addiction is that strong. 

PTSD is a true injury on the brain. The brain’s job is to help you survive in any way possible. So, we reach for anything to help calm the barrage of intrusive thoughts, memories, smells and sounds. And once it’s been damaged through a traumatic event, it creates a “work around” solution. What typically works? Self-harm and substance abuse creates almost instant comfort. You don’t have to wait for 6-8 weeks to reach your therapeutic dose efficacy to begin working. It’s an immediate fix that some of have to use just to stay alive.

Cannabis was recommended when all other “Big Pharma” medications failed. And it has saved my life on a daily basis ever since. Cannabis seems to put a cloud over my brain saying, “Settle just for a moment.” And for that moment, I can take a break from the constant paranoia and overstimulation of a brain that wanted to do nothing more than survive. And that, is my battlefield. It wasn’t in Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam. My battlefield is everywhere I go. I fear people and social situations in a way that most cannot understand. 

It literally takes me about a week in advance to start prepping to leave my house just to go to pick up medications,that I,unfortunately have to take. But I don’t take anymore psych meds. I was extremely sick, coming off all the meds that I had been begging for over two years to be tapered off. And I got tired of waiting, so I did it myself. I don’t advise this way because it was a really miserable process. However, I was at a point of desperation. And now about 6 months later, I feel like a new human being after the toxic feeling of all the medications. All of my true feelings and emotions have awakened, and I really like feeling somewhat comfortable at times.

My personal opinion is that anyone returning home from the active duty should be handed an ounce of weed the minute they step off the plane to do with as they wish. And it would be perfectly ok if they gave it away. That’s like paying it forward in “Weed-O-Nomics.” As it stands, soldiers come home from a war that never ends. And they are committing suicide at a rate of 22 soldiers a day. And that is less than unacceptable.

As the topic of cannabis continues to circulate among social circles and national politics, I hope that veterans from our military will step out against the shame that is felt from social stigmas. And reach for the plant that can “help take the gun out of your mouth.” Cannabis doesn’t cure PTSD because it wasn’t the one who caused it. But it does make things much more tolerable.

Thanks for reading! Happy Pride everyone!

Affirmation: I am resilient and capable of healing.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife