The War That Came Home

By Andrea Carlile

She held a weapon given to her by a stranger to end her own life. Except the stranger was her husband, a former war hero of Operation Iraqi Freedom who had somehow lost himself to an illness she did not understand. How would she carry on? Would she survive?

The War That Came Home is one spouse’s journey to face the lingering effects of war. Facing many obstacles as the battles escalate throughout her harrowing account, author Andrea Carlile walks toward an uncertain future while recollecting a colorful past. Through her tale, she represents the battered woman, the veteran’s spouse, and the wife and mother in marriage. Each is vividly brought to life as she engages in the war that enters her home. Through her discovery, she finds her heavenly Father and the hope to overcome her own hell.

Her story is an example to any who need the inspiration to face their own personal battles with the wars faced in life—to the battered, the broken, the veteran, and the spouse. Take the journey and discover your own feelings of hope and strength.

This story of Andrea and Wes Carlile will be featured in the documentary When War Comes Home, by the Emmy award winning producer and director, Michael W. King.

For more information on this Tallwood documentary please visit
http://whenwarcomeshome.org/.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477217443

Andrea Carlile

Andrea Carlile is the spouse of a twelve-year military veteran and received her Master’s Degree from Indiana Wesleyan University. She speaks at universities, conferences, military events, and community forums in hopes of inspiring others with her story and raising awareness about PTSD. She currently works as the Resource Development Director at Dove Harbor, a transitional shelter for women and children in crisis and instructs at Ivy Tech’s School of Business. Andrea lives in Anderson, Indiana, with her husband and two daughters.

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© 2012 Andrea Carlile. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/19/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1742-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1743-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1744-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012910357

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Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. [Biblica]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Foreword

What does the butterfly mean?

Acknowledgment

Chapter 1 Endings and Beginnings

Chapter 2 The Wedding and the Divorce

Chapter 3 The Separation

Chapter 4 New Life

Chapter 5 Entering the Darkness

Chapter 6 Rock Bottom

Chapter 7 The Final Chapter

Chapter 8 Self-Discovery

Chapter 9 A New Beginning

Chapter 10 PTSD

Chapter 11 The Letter of Love

Chapter 12 The Miraculous

Chapter 13 A New Journey

Chapter 14 Bumps Along the Road

Chapter 15 The Way Which is Purposeful

Chapter 16 The Journey to the Mountain Top

Chapter 17 New Therapies

Chapter 18 Reaching the Mountain

Epilogue

Notes

To our darling Julienne Carol

and Ella Elizabeth, this is for you.

Love, Mom and Dad

This tale, ready to unfold before you, is entirely true.

However, some names have been changed or

omitted to provide privacy.

FOREWORD

As Wes and Andrea’s pastor, I am committed to them through the good and bad days of their lives, and it has been my privilege to offer their personal story to you in hopes that you may find in it a resource and lifeline to make every day count and not lose heart in the battles you face. The story you hold in your hands has been lived by two real people who have pulled back the veil on their pain and struggles with PTSD to give hope and encouragement to all who are facing similar situations. The grace and courage to live every day with the deep wounds of war is not an easy assignment. When the war came home with Wes, Andrea’s peaceful home front was confronted with a new reality: loving Wes and trusting God while fighting demons she was unprepared to face. However, in her weakness, God’s strength was made perfect. You will discover in the pages of this book how battle-tested families can emerge stronger when they face their adversity, holding on to an unstoppable faith, undying hope, and unending love. My prayer is that whomever reads this will find peace in the middle of their storm and see their futures restored—in body, mind, soul, and spirit. Grace to all.

Pastor Tad Finch

Senior Pastor

Rock Assembly of God

Pendleton, Indiana

What does the butterfly mean?

Each life that is broken, must experience transformation in order to be whole. Nothing represents this concept more accurately than a butterfly, once a lowly caterpillar who transforms into something beautiful and free. Join the Transformation Movement to discover how your life can be changed to impact others. Visit my website www.changeandempower.com and like my Facebook page www.facebook.com/The-War-That-Came-Home-238166129619839/ Please email [e-mail]. I would love to connect and be a strength to each other!!

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Much thanks to Pastor Tad, Melissa Finch, and the Rock Assembly of God church for their continued outpouring of love and support, spiritual guidance, and teaching. Their acceptance of our family and Wes’s condition has been crucial to our sustained growth and commitment to battling PTSD day to day. We have never experienced such love from so many wonderful people, and the blessings from this cannot be quantified.

Chapter 1

Endings and Beginnings

I stared at the weapon lying in my hand in disbelief. I could not grasp the situation I was now facing. My surroundings seemed foggy, like a movie where time is slowed and the sound disappears. I was in my bedroom, but it was as if I were somewhere else. The gun seemed so foreign to me, cold, heavy, and unnerving. The bullet in the chamber and the cocking sound were ominous. The effects of a simple pull could end this nightmare. My hand shook, and sweat beaded on my forehead. I tried to make sense of what was happening. Attempting to think things through, I fell into a surreal world blurred between reality and horror. Slow the events down. Sort out what to do next.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. The man lying on the bed was a stranger to me, though we had shared a life for thirteen years. I thought of pointing the weapon at him, shooting him in the knee, or scaring him. Did it matter? My own thoughts were terrifying me. I stared at the gun. Surely, he had the safety on, or maybe there were no bullets. He could not possibly really want me gone, could he? Two children, he loved me, didn’t he? These horrifying endings could happen, like the movies, Lifetime movies, crimes of passion. Things could change in an instant. I glared at him as he played a terrible game that I could not understand.

My head throbbed; my thoughts were hazy. I lifted the .45 mm Glock and pressed it against my skull, the cold metal making it wickedly clear that this was no dream. I carefully put my finger on the trigger … closed my eyes … the world disappearing around me.

I imagined what it would do, leave me paralyzed or even kill me. Would I go to hell? Would I be left unrecognizable? God, where are you? In a matter of seconds, my life flashed before me. Memories sped across my mind at a torrential speed: our wedding, our life in Germany, hugs and embraces over the years. Thoughts of my two children floated to the surface: their births, their impish smiles, contagious laughter.

Suddenly, I awoke from this foggy state like being wakened from a dream. I took my finger off the trigger and laid down the gun, upset that I had contemplated carrying out his request. I had to stay for my girls, protect them from this man who had lost who he was. I glared at him. He rocked his leg loosely, back and forth over the other, entertaining himself with his phone.

See, he quipped, I knew you wouldn’t do it.

I stood stunned and broken to the core, attempting to process his indifference. In a twisted stream of pervasive thoughts, I believed that I had failed him; I lacked the courage to pull the trigger. I shook my head in disbelief of my own thoughts. Teetering on the edge of insanity, how would I move forward? I felt as if I could no longer breathe. Blindly voyaging through some kind of hell, I was dancing with the devil. God had forsaken me.

My husband was still fiddling with his phone, as if we were merely interacting in a normal manner. He seemed to have no care, fear, or confusion of his request. This weighed on me with such force that it felt as though he had already killed me. There was no need to pull the trigger; I had died inside.

I needed to get out. My throat was tightening, and I felt as though I was suffocating. The gun was now placed securely away, but everything had changed. I grabbed my car keys before he could stop me and ran out of the house. I drove in the cold, frantic. My hands trembled, tears streaming down my face. I felt I was going to lose my mind trying to sort out how I would handle my situation. I needed to remain calm, but fear consumed me. Who could I tell about this? What was I to do? There were countless questions with few answers. I would have to pull myself together and get our children, who had been staying with my mother for a short visit during the Christmas break. They were my angels. They had saved me from pulling the trigger. I had to be strong for them, protect them.

Snow began to fall as I continued driving. It was delicate, cascading softly on my windshield. I briefly forgot my troubles, my thoughts drifting to our past traditions of Christmas. However, each thought was full of memories of Wes. Avoiding thoughts of the day’s tragic events was impossible, and fear continued to consume me. He had struck me with a full blow for the first time, landing on my left kidney. I had been surprised at how badly it had throbbed, a sudden pain coming from my side. In anger and to push him back as he’d screamed in my face, I had first punched him in the arm. We had pushed before, back and forth, but it had never come to blows.

As I pondered, I realized that in a physical altercation I would certainly lose. He was a trained soldier and knew where to make impact. He was stronger. This was no game; Wes could easily take my life if he so desired. These thoughts swirled in my head as the snowfall increased and the winds gained force. The helpless flakes were whipped across the barren Indiana fields. I drove recklessly, hoping maybe I would just escape this nightmare. I realized that the anger and control that had been mindlessly running rampant in our home for two years was now entering a new level. The violence had escalated. I could no longer rationalize staying in the marriage. Eleven years were washing away with the tears that streamed around the contour of my cheeks, pooled at the chin, and then dripped on my coat. I had to conceive a plan of escape.

However, I was a lost woman. I had been demeaned and verbally assaulted. I had little self-esteem, little control of any variables that made supporting children possible. My income was not enough; I knew he would not leave the residence, and I felt incredibly alone and helpless. I was terrified and devastated. The only conceivable option was to run home to my mom and see what to do next. Nothing else could be reasoned at that moment. I was teetering on a nervous breakdown.

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The first day I met Wes, we were both eighteen, young and full of life. I had just started working at Target. There was attractiveness about him that I had never before encountered. He had blond hair that was neatly cut, a golden tan, and a muscular build that indicated athletic ability. His face was soft and tender with a chiseled jaw that slightly jutted forward. A pool of colors—blue, green, and brown—danced in his vibrant eyes. He was wearing a red shirt, khaki pants, and a cross necklace that dangled from his thick, strong neck. The silver cross drew my attention, and I peeked at him from my register. His determination appealed to me as he moved about the registers cleaning, training, and offering friendly service to customers.

He came over to introduce himself and offer help with any questions. My attraction might have been easily perceived, although I was not outwardly attempting to flirt. I had just gotten out of a destructive relationship with another guy and was not looking for anything serious. However, this guy seemed different, and I found myself thinking about him, watching him throughout my shift that evening. I knew nothing about him. How old was he? Was he in a relationship? Was he in college?

My next day of work, my questions would be answered, as he asked me out on a date. My heart raced. I accepted, attempting to appear more resistant to the offer than I felt. I had prayed that if this guy was for me and it was God’s will, he would approach me. As he did just that, I was more excited than I had been in my entire young life. We agreed he would pick me up at the apartment I shared with a friend. I felt as though I was floating.

A freshman at Indiana University, I was young and full of ideas, high-strung and whimsical. I was passionate about my goals and dreams and had decided to pursue an education in children’s counseling. Wanting to help others, I was especially drawn to disadvantaged children, those who were not given opportunities to reach their potential. I believed fully in the power of God and His ability to mold and shape lives. I desired to work with churches or for a church or in some fashion to integrate psychology and the wisdom of Christ for the transformation of young lives. I had been a Christian since I was seven, but I was not the proverbial good girl; I had blemishes. However, I benefitted from loving parents, positive role models, and a strong foundation of faith. I was fun loving, with an adventurous spirit. Compassion was my greatest strength, and I felt deeply for others. This motivated me to positively influence others.

I’d started a children’s ministry at my church that was based on the vision of helping disadvantaged youth find Christ. We offered transportation for about fifty kids every Wednesday night, fed them dinner, and taught them about Jesus. Lives were being changed both spiritually and emotionally. It was thrilling to be carrying out my calling as a children’s pastor at just eighteen. I was beginning life full of vigor. Somehow, I witnessed the same passions and qualities