Although I am a US Marine Vet as well as a former law enforcement officer, my PTSD torture did not start there.

Beginning at the age of 5 or younger, I was sexually molested and ritually abused by a much older neighbor. I honestly can't tell you how long this lasted. I believe I have blocked lots of the memories out of my mind. I have lots of flashbacks that will turn my stomach.

Like most male victims of sexual abuse (about 1 in 6 that are reported), I never told anyone until around 25 years old. The sheer embarrassment and shame were enough to keep it a secret. I knew it was wrong somehow, but I honestly didn’t understand what and why this was happing to me. Even though, I always felt like it was my fault, even though I know it was not. Somehow (like in countless other stories) there is a way different predators can sense that you are already a victim. I was once again groomed, isolated, tricked, and then forced (using blackmail as well as the threat of violence) to do things I still can't forgive myself for by a rapists pedophile. This began around the age of 7 or 8 until I tried to kill myself at the age of 12. My brush with death may have ended my ritualistic raping, but I still had to deal with my mother. 

My mother is a cold, distance, angry, extremely sick, verbally, mentally, and physically abusive bi-polar woman, that is extremely unstable. She has not been treated or medicated for her mental illness since 1979-1980. The only reason I know this is because that was the time she nearly killed my brother and I. I was 5, my brother was 7. I simply lost a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. My mother is an OCD neat freak, and so if she saw a paper on the floor, I would be blamed for it and probably would have gotten beaten for it, so I  placed it in the trash can like a good boy. I had no idea that paper had the phone number to get ahold of my father who was working out of state at the time. When she began to beat us, I had to attack my own mother to stop her from killing my older brother. After that particularly bloody and violent incident, she decided she better seek out medical treatment before she actually killed her children. So, she checked herself into a mental institution.

I was already suffering from (undiagnosed cases of PTSD, severe clinical depression that represented as anger, and violent outbursts (lots of screaming and yelling), and severe irritation. Every symptom of an abused and battered child was present, but no one took the time or cared enough to stop and really see me. I was just labeled a “difficult and emotional child.” I was sent to see a psychiatrist and social workers for years. I was tested for learning disabilities because I was failing in school but tested fine.

Fast forward to February 7th, 2015. I had just had lumbar surgery on January 30th, 2014 to repair congenital spinal stenosis of the lumbar spine. I was exhausted and was asleep in bed for nearly 24 hours. I got up to take a piss. I was in my bathroom when I began to feel as though I was going to collapse. I was able to make it back to the edge of my bed where I did collapse. 

Not knowing what was happening, I called for my wife (who just so happen to be an RN and at home). When she saw me leaning over the side of our bed literally dripping sweat onto the floor with the complexion of Linda Blair in the (Exorcist movie), she thought I was having a heart attack. 

She called 911, I was rushed to our local ER, I was diagnosed with massive bilateral pulmonary embolisms (blood clots). The ER, ICU, Neuro Surgeon doctors all explained to me that the right ventricle of my heart was severely and morbidly enlarged. The hearts septum (the center divider, was severely deviated due to the pressures associated with trying to pump blood into my left pulmonary artery which was 98% blocked. 

The doctors kept saying, you are going to die pretty much any time now, so you better say your goodbyes now before it's too late. I asked him if it was possible if there was any other treatment option. He explained that because of the surgery 7 days ago, there was an open surgical wound in my back. The medication they would have to give me was called TPA. TPA is a potent clot melting medication. But it can be quite dangerous as well. It can also cause other blood vessels in your body (including any surgical wound) to bleed severely (internally and externally). When treating for an embolism, you want to dramatically slow down the body's ability to create a clot. I had a significant lumbar spine surgical wound that was as deep as my spinal cord. The Neurosurgeon explained to me that giving me the TPA would not save my life because I was too close to death. The medication didn’t have enough time to work. Secondly, even if I were able to hold on (which was extremely unlikely), I would be paralyzed from the waist down. I would lose all function 100% guaranteed. 

I asked if there was anything else they could do. The intensive care doctor said that he did hear of a procedure that could be attempted. Again, again, and again, he would keep telling me that it would most likely not work because I was too close heart failure (which my heart started to go into as the alarms began to go off). After all the warnings, he did offer it to me as a possible option. 

I honestly did not know what to do. I had my wife two of my three children there and my pastor my oldest daughter was in California and couldn't be there. I honestly didn't know what to do. Should I die here with my family, or on some operating table in the Cath Lab? So, I looked at my wife of 23 years and said "Your my wife, my love, my nurse, what do I do?" She immediately said DO IT!! As you could most certainly imagine, this had to be the most emotional moment of my life, saying goodbye to my wife and children.

Off to the Cath Lab to have (for all intents and purposes) an experimental procedure to save my life. Narrowly escaping that surgery using the "EKOS” machine (you should look it up) off to the ICU I went. It was February in Northwestern Montana, so I was in for a long dark nite. It was the longest, most fearful, loneliest, uncertain, unnerving night of my life. They were giving me lots of Morphine and Ativan. I was constantly falling asleep but waking myself up by loud snoring. Every time I would wake up by snoring, I thought “Oh no is this it? Am I about to die?” Then my lungs began to hurt very bad even though the massive doses of Morphine. Again, was this a sign of imminent death? I didn't know, and no one explained to me what to expect. All I wanted, was to see the Sun once again and to stay warm. Well, miracles do happen, and I apparently survived the night. I spent 4 days in the ICU, and 10 in the hospital.

The doctors were amazed. The Pulmonary specialist / ICU Intensive care doctor was astounded. He had never seen anything like it. He was confident that I was going to die. That is why he ordered so much Morphine and Ativan. This type of medication therapy is typical helping those who are going to die to pass comfortably. I ultimately ended up with 40 hours of treatment on my left lung and 20 hours on my right lung. 

At first, I was absolutely ecstatic that I survived the ordeal. But soon after I noticed lots of changes in my behavior.

I couldn't seem to do the things I loved to do before. All I wanted was to stay home, to isolate myself even from my own family. I was angry all the time. And at times I honestly felt I had somehow "missed the bus in some way." I sometimes feel like I wished I did die that day. 

Since in this forum we all suffer from PTSD, I don't feel the need to go over the symptoms, but I assure you, I exhibit most, if not all of them. I just past my 3 year anniversary of that horrible day. And still after 3 years, when I close my eyes and think about it, or I tell the story it seems like it just happened yesterday and this big tough guy Marine Cop can’t keep the tears back. Why? The doctors kept saying me that everything I was feeling was normal. They kept feeding me anti-depressants as well as anti-anxiety medications. All they were doing was turning me into a fat zombie with no passion for life. I had zero sex drive with a tough time ejaculating (I know that's a bit much, but I am quite sure others can relate). 

My general practitioner reached his limit as far as PTSD treatment. He had no other treatment options except this medication called Fetzima. It was the absolute worst medication he could have given me. This medication could have landed me in jail. One of the worst side effects is “extreme aggression,” and I was exhibiting this side effect. Thank God my wife being an RN saw this behavior, realized that it was not like me and called a psychiatrist on my behalf. The psychiatrist told me I had to stop that medication immediately. Altogether, I lost almost 6 months of work due to this medication error. I now have a new doctor.

I finally began to see a psychiatrist that will handle any mental health medications. He put me on Lamictal. This really helped for a while. But just this past Christmas it has not been as effective. I have lots of breakthrough anger and irritation. Especially with my family. I DON’T WANT THIS!

In July of 2017, I underwent yet another spinal surgery. This time it was a big one. I ended up getting a 4 level cervical fusion. Due to the lengthy one year recovery period and potential for injury caused by going hands-on with an inmate or arrestee, it forced me to leave my job with the Sheriff’s Department.

It has been 3 years since the embolism, 6 months since the fusion surgery, 6 weeks since right-hand carpal tunnel surgery, and 1-day sense left-hand carpal tunnel surgery. I have been sitting in my house staring at the walls now for over 6 months now.

I feel like a prisoner in my home and in my head. I lost my way home the day they took me by ambulance to the ER, and I truly can’t find my way back. I was having pretty severe neck pain as well as the substantial anxiety disorder issues. The meds were just not cutting it, so I decided to try medical marijuana as a treatment option instead.

I have seen the horrible effects of long-term narcotics use and where it can lead. I WILL NOT GO THERE! It’s been a little over a month now, and as far as the pain goes, the cannabis is working. The anxiety is a bit different though. It works, but it’s all about what strain and at what time you take it. Since I’m stuck again for another 6 weeks, I hope I can sort out the correct schedule for me.

As a Christian, an officer, and a Marine, it took a lot for me to even think about medical marijuana as an option. After lots of research, I have come to the conclusion that it is the safest and most comprehensive treatment option for me. So unashamedly I'm going to continue on my path. If any of you have any questions, please feel free just to ask.

As a Marine (0351), I didn’t get to see a theater of war during my time. I served from 1992-2000. As a young man, and being born and raised in Connecticut, I wanted to reenlistment after 9/11. My wife begged me not to stating I had already put my time in and I was now a father of 3 children. She and I worked out an agreement. I would not volunteer, but if the Marine Corps called me looking for prior servicemen, I was going. She agreed. It just never happened. Now as an older and wiser man I am thankful for that.

My struggling is with knowing when the next time my body is going to turn on me again. I didn’t see it coming before. I legitimately had no symptoms except a slight fever, rash around my body in places, and being extremely tired. I am now 44. I have had 6 surgical procedures since 40. When will it stop?

I am not shaking in the corner somewhere. I am just not able to live a normal healthy life like everyone else. People just don’t understand what happened to me or how it changes a person. The person before the event is not the same as the one after. They can get angry at you and assume that you hate them, but after using the cannabis, I have been able to see a bit more clear that I am so focused on my own thoughts and feelings that I can’t see theirs. It’s not on purpose, I just couldn’t see it.

I have many days where I just want it to all to be over. I am a devoted Christian Man, and I genuinely believe in the grace of God. I know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. I am just tired. I am just a man, and I can’t see the end from the beginning. I can’t make sense out of the horrible events in my life. Maybe in heaven, it will all make sense.

I don’t want to kill myself, I just want it to end. I want to be me again. I just don’t know how to get there.

If you have any words of wisdom, I would surely appreciate them. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

~Jon