KICK IT | JENLISA

106

Jennie - Flashback

Taehyung's return was bittersweet. Of course, we were relieved that our prayers were answered and he came home. The happiness his honourable discharge brought, news that he would never be deployed again, was overshadowed by losing Mino.

Next to Irene's grief, losing Mino was hardest on Taehyung. He survived after his brother-in-arms was lost. After the last shovel of soil was cast, the weight of Mino's casket on his shoulders never left.

The warm, playful light in his eyes was dim and grey. His smiles became rare and replaced with grimaces. My open, smooth-talking husband was withdrawn, moody, and impatient. Like wildfire sparked by lightning, his impatient temper flared easily and angrily.

Civilian life offered Taehyung little comfort. Ignorant and confused, I offered little comfort.

He experienced migraines and night sweats, thrashing through nightmares so hard that I worried he injured himself, me, or broke the bed. Insomnia became preferable to screaming through the night.

We visited the base's doctor, who diagnosed him with PTSD. He was prescribed anti-depression medication, Valium, and a mental health management plan. Because Taehyung was taking Percocet for chronic pain after losing his leg, the doctor discussed a massive list of conditions and concerns for us to watch out for.

Taehyung and I broke down in his office, crying and shaking in each other's arms. His recovery would be slow, four to six weeks.

Our relief was short-lived. Valium and Percocet. Taehyung took his medications on schedule, as directed, no more and no less. His nightmares waned but his headaches and dizzy spells increased. He abstained from alcohol and worked part-time for his dad's termite company. We ate clean, and we exercised together. He wasn't an addict... but he slipped further away.

I didn't understand his mood changes. The edge of his anxiety removed was supposed to be a positive, and welcomed sign. Calm, and quieter moods weren't on the doctor's list of physical trigger warnings and signs. He passed every assessment, earning their post-deployment stamp of approval assimilating to civilian life. Physically, he mentioned headaches, pain in his leg, and reduced energy levels. We pushed through them, slowing life down outside our apartment. Mentally, he battled an internal storm. He grew quiet and disinterested in conversations and me. His post-work showers stretched into thirty, then forty-five minutes.

We slept as two strangers sharing a bed. People bothered him worse than the termites he eradicated while working for his dad.

I wished I had known what those signs meant.

I wished I hadn't blindly trusted the doctor's pills.

I wished I hadn't trusted Taehyung's, "I'm fine. Just tired."

I wished I hadn't been so fucking ignorant about the mental impact of Taehyung mixing painkillers and anti-depressants.

I wished I had cracked his head open, climbed inside, and seen the storm of hallucinations twisting his thoughts.

I wished I knew the dangers of silence.