Spent another week in the hospital

“Once a Nine-Charlie, always a Nine-Charlie.” That’s what the troops in Germany used to say about those of us who landed in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center’s Ward 9C, the inpatient psychiatric unit. I landed there for PTSD for the first of two times almost 20 years ago. I still have a raging and chronic case of PTSD. As a matter of fact, I just spent the last eight days in the inpatient psych ward and spent fully half of the month of February in the psych ward. I even lost a small side gig over it. For those who don’t know what it’s like to lose five people to death’s hand in a period of two weeks — two of them having been suicides — let me fill you in. It’s hard. And yes, it makes normally reliable people unreliable, especially when they already have their own demons to fight. If bosses can’t understand that, then I don’t know what to say. Obviously they haven’t had to deal with much loss in their lives. So, whoever wants to can give me a hard time for being unreliable lately can because I have been. Why? Because I’m just trying to stay alive.

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