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Broken Life, the Restoration
By Scott Sjostrand, Army
Writing Type: Prose
By Scott Sjostrand
It all began Sept. 27,
1964, when I was born into a dysfunctional, broken Christian home. My dad
was my hero but had a severe alcohol problem. Mom was a saint. At around
five years old, I remember im coming home drunk at night and him and mom
arguing till all hours. I used to cry and pray that God would make them
get along.
I’m the oldest child and
felt very protective of my mom and brother and sisters. I grew up on a farm, so
I learned how to drive straight-sticks at five also. Little did I know how
life-saving that would prove starting three years later. I loved school
but got very little sleep because of my home situation. At eight years
old, instead of pulling dad out of the ditches early every morning, I
volunteered to be his personal chauffeur. I drove him to every bar in Kittson
County and waited for him after last call” every night like a faithful
dog. He called me “Pardner;” I was his wingman.
We would usually get home
around 3 a.m., including school nights, I’d usually get around three or four hours
of sleep per night, but at least mom and the kids were safe. We never hit
the ditch when I was driving in all four seasons. Dad was safe too.
I graduated with honors from
high school in 1983, but I never reached my full potential. Then, off to
the U.S. Air Force in 1984. Top-secret security clearance, responsible for
weapons of mass destruction. I prayed silently when handling them that those
in charge would have enough sense never to use them ever again. I got
married to Tracy, a British girl, the love of my life. Things were perfect
for about three to four years. I finish my time in the Air Force and
returned home.
Then came Desert Storm. I
enlisted in the Army as a psychiatric specialist, which, by the way, was my
favorite job, helping people. During my entrance exams to the Army, I took
a test. At that time they said I was the only one they’d ever seen
score 100 percent on complex problem-solving. I was glad when that test
was done; it was frustrating.
They wanted me to be a
linguistics expert. I needed a security clearance higher than top secret
but couldn’t get it because I had a foreign-born wife at the time.
The last time I ever saw
my wife was the beginning of 1991, when I left for the Army. She left me
shortly after that. We got divorced, and it broke my heart. I loved my new
career, but I started to increase my drinking and womanizing. Trauma from
the past was starting to surface. I kept it all to myself. I did,
however, get “Airman of the Month” and “Soldier of the Month” awards.
I first sought help in
1994, at Fort Gordon, Ga. I needed in-patient treatment but didn’t receive
it. Next stop, Seoul, South Korea, Hooker Hill. Women and alcohol to
the extreme. I earned two Army Achievement medals in 11 months there and a
yellow belt in tai kwon do.
My life came crumbling
down around me then. Walter Reed Army Medical Center came next. It took
months; they honorably retired me with a damaging, inaccurate psych diagnosis
leading to horrible forced injections in isolation wards that gave me epileptic
seizures. Some almost killed me. Many trips to the emergency rooms. It took over seven years to correct it.
My former psych diagnosis
pretty much discredited anything I had to say. Atrocities were done against me
by people who didn’t like me, and they would call me a liar. I was even
given electric shock treatment. It was terrifying. I wished I’d never been
born. I paid a severe price.
Every Memorial Day I
salute our flag and the POW/MIA flag with tears in my eyes. I can
relate. I’m a paid-in-full, 100 percent lifetime member of the Disabled
American Veterans, but I’m a unique and able American veteran.
I now do creative writing as
a therapeutic interest, and I won a few awards. I’m working on publishing my
own books. I started a profitable new career from my kitchen table. My
sister thinks I should have my biography published. Finally, the future
looks bright!

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