Written by, Roy Smith

Sleep for most people is something they look forward to at the end of a long day.  The same used to be true for me.  I would look forward to relaxing in my bed after a long day at school or hunting or fishing.  All that changed once I went to war.  Then the nightmares found me and sleep ceased to be a respite from the day’s stress and fatigue. In the intervening years, I have learned a fair amount about sleep and dreams and especially nightmares. 

Sleeping with PTSD is like having the power to stop time and relive a moment over and over again clearer and more vivid each time. What is strange about this is that you can even change characters.  There is no one in the memory who you cannot become. Even worse there is no way to escape it on some nights no matter how many times you wake up.  The nightmare is still there waiting for you to fall asleep again.  I even sometimes continue the nightmare right where I left off. It is hard to explain.

The sheer pain of a memory can be as real if not at times even worse than the actual experience itself. My nightmares are of things I have done in my past or some variation of what actually took place in real life.  Only somehow, my nightmare can find a way to make it worse than it actually was.

I used to wake up and not know where I was. It would take me a moment then I would get up and check every window and lock in the house. This happened three times one night with my wife Jordan before she began to ask me questions.

“Is everything safe?” She asked me one night as I got back into bed for the second time that evening. I grumbled yes and rolled over not looking forward to returning to sleep again.

“Next time you wake up since you have already checked the house how about I tell you where you are and who I am. That way you will hear me, remember you already checked the house and then you won’t have to get out of bed.” I grumbled an inaudible reply and once again went back to sleep. It was an hour later when I woke up to a loud clap of thunder. In Florida it can sound just like a grenade or mortar going off.

I sat upright in the bed again fully alert and not knowing where I was and out of nowhere I heard this voice, “it’s all right you’re home and I am here.”

For a moment I didn’t understand and then my eyes adjusted and I looked over to her. Her words that first night didn’t help much but she kept repeating them throughout the night and many other nights after that.  Over  the next several months each time I woke up she said the same thing. I got used to hearing it, and somehow she got used to saying it. A year later I still can hear her. She is even more in tuned though and can tell when my dreams start taking a turn for the worst.

Not everyone has a Jordan. I have learned to be able to use a song to do the same thing. Just hit play right after you wake up from the nightmare the moment you figure out where you are. It will take a couple of nights. Pick a good song, one that you have no negative associations with. After you hit play try to clear your head take a couple deep breaths and try again. It will get easier. Sometimes, you just need something to truly remind you that you are home. It can be hard to remember when you have spent so many months or years away fighting and trying to survive.

There are simple things though that can help you sleep through the night. Do not watching movies that trigger memories, don’t listen to music or sounds that can recall a traumatic experiences. Sometimes it’s the journey to find positive imagery and surroundings that can lead to the greatest moments of self discovery.

Unfortunately for me, when it comes to nightmares it’s never over. Sometimes I can go three or four days without having a nightmare or reliving a horrific memory. I consider that a good week. What separates Combat War Trauma (CWT) from PTSD is the fact that soldiers are trained for war but not for the affects that war can have on them psychologically. Sometimes it’s the training that haunts me. Sometimes it’s the mission, the orders, the bodies, the people, the place. The smell of blood can send me into a flying rage even to this day. Trauma I do believe is more than just a scar on the memory it’s a scar on the soul.