Service to Civilian: A Journey Through PTSD

By Nathan Gould

In Service to Civilian: A Journey Through PTSD you will enter the mind of a combat vet who became a law enforcement officer after a tour in Iraq where comrades were killed and wounded. Policing the streets, he faced the balance between selfless service, integrity, bureaucracy, and the weight of the negative policing culture ar

• Language: English
• Publisher: Koehler Books
• Release date: May 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646633319

Nathan Gould

Nathan Gould is a veteran of the United States Army, a retired police officer, a stay-at-home dad, and an author. An Iraq War veteran, he retired from policing after having a PTSD episode while on duty. He has written poetry and short stories from a young age and has self-published two children's books: Mr. Mom's 1st day of School and A Mole Named Cole Dug a Hole. Nathan loves Jesus, chess, CrossFit, a steaming mug of coffee, and making foot-in-his-mouth sarcastic remarks. He spends his days loving his three kids and wife in the great state of North Carolina with their boxer-pit mix, Cookie.

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FORWARD OF FORGIVENESS

FIRST, I WOULD LIKE TO start by saying that what I’m about to tell you is no one’s fault. But there are people who made decisions that affected the lives of others, and no one is perfect. For my part, I forgive anyone who did or may have wronged me or anyone in my care. Whether they knew what they were doing or not, I forgive them. In turn, I also ask for forgiveness from those I have wronged, whether I knew what I was doing or not. I am truly sorry. In these pages I will unfold a story that may paint some people in a bad light. I am not intending to hurt or harm them. It is all to show how and why I developed post-traumatic stress disorder, commonly known as PTSD.

I also would like to note that this book is about my journey through PTSD; it is not everyone’s journey, but I hope it gives you insight into how PTSD develops and some constructive avenues toward regaining wholeness mentally, physically, and spiritually. This PTSD epidemic attacks your core values, poisons the best parts of who you are, and is a never-ending nightmare you just can’t seem to wake up from. If this sounds like you, I encourage you to seek help before the inevitable thoughts of suicide begin to overtake your mind as the only way of escape! Brother or sister, I do not know you, and you have no reason to trust me right now, but maybe after you read this account of part of my life, you will be convinced to embark on one of the hardest missions you will ever endure: the road to recovery. It is not for the faint of heart! The freedom from guilt/sin/shame or whatever is haunting you, is worth the pain of reliving your worst real nightmare. So, let’s start where all stories start, at the very beginning.

CHRISTIAN UPBRINGING

HERE’S A LITTLE BIT OF my background and where I come from, just to get you started. I was brought up in a Christian home in upstate New York. My family and I believed, and still believe, that you should treat others as you would like to be treated. I still believe that I need to show others love like Jesus has shown me, in that he gave up his life for you and for me, even though we continue to sin. I do not believe in killing, lying, cheating, coveting, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and follow the rest of the Ten Commandments to the best of my ability. We went to church every time the doors were open, it seemed. We only listened to Christian radio programs. We rarely watched TV and when we did, it was the Disney Sunday night movie that my father had taped on the VCR to watch later. There was no alcohol or drug use in our house. We learned not to swear, because if we did our mouths were washed out with soap or we had to eat a full raw onion with only water to wash it down. On top of that, we would have to write a passage from the Bible for punishment and memorization. During my freshman year of high school, my parents decided to homeschool us because the school system was too secular, and they wanted our minds not to be tainted by society’s evolutionary thought and other-worldly ways. During this time my siblings and I underwent intense psychological attacks, mainly from our mother.

When I was about five years-old my mother wished to teach me that the stove is hot. It was one of those electric stoves with the coils that turned red when they were hot. My mother held me in her arms and told me that the stove was hot, and she did not want me to touch it ever and then she proceeded to take my small hand and to place it on the hot coils. Before she could, I pleaded and cried that she wouldn’t make me do it and that I believed her that it was hot and I would not ever touch it, but I got burned that day.

Another time, I remember running away from my mother because I was going to get a licking for something I did not do. I remember a mixture of fear, righteous anger, and a not-caring-anymore attitude. I ran out of our yard, through the neighbors’ yards and into some brambles, cutting up my legs. I could’ve easily gone around the briars, but the pain made me feel better in a weird way. After running across a local street and then another open property, I came to a hill. The rocky mound used to be part of an old bridge of stone that crossed over the Cayuga outlet that ran through our small town. It was like a small tower that rose up on the edge of what we called the outlet that eventually ran into the Seneca river. As I stood upon this precipice, I contemplated what I would do next. I thought about jumping. I told myself, as I was only about twenty feet up, that I would just break a leg or get hurt and just be mad. So I didn’t jump. I just sat there crying. After what seemed like hours and I had cried all I could, I decided to walk home. It was dark when I got home, but I did not go in. Instead I went to a window and looked in to see my family at the dinner table eating. It did not look like anyone noticed I was not there. I waited until well after they were done to go inside, straight to my room, and go to bed. In the morning no one asked me where I was the previous evening. I don’t remember ever talking about any of it. It was just forgotten.

Another instance I remember was after I got my driver’s license as a teenager. My mother would have me drive every possible time we were in the car together. One of those times, we were heading to Wednesday night church in Syracuse, New York and my best friend was in the backseat. We were listening to our Christian radio station or a Christian cassette tape. Suddenly my mother turned off the radio without saying anything. I waited a few moments and then I turned it back on without saying anything. And just as quickly, without saying a word, my mother slapped me across the face as I was driving and turned off the radio again. She did it right in front of my best friend. For another hour we drove to church without speaking a word to one another and then again, after church was over, we drove home in complete silence.

This is just a small window into my upbringing. I only share this to give you an understanding of the psychological abuse which I believe also made me vulnerable to PTSD later on in life.

COLLEGE, MARRIAGE, AND THE ARMY

AFTER COMPLETING MY HOMESCHOOL EDUCATION, I was really in a very psychologically beaten-down state of mind. I could not wait to get out of the house and be on my own somewhere, anywhere; it didn’t matter. When I found out that one of my best friends was going to Eastern Nazarene College, I decided I wanted to go there, too. I did not think about it; I did not care about the details; I just wanted to go. My mother wanted me to go to a Jewish school somewhere between Rochester and Buffalo, New York. I felt like this was just another way for her to attempt to control me by determining my next major life decision. Thank God that didn’t happen because I wanted nothing more than to get away from