Building Hope From Tragedy: The Naslund Story

“Yet we few pay such a heavy price in hopes that our
Efforts might keep children, now yet just little boys,
From having to decide their innocence and lust for life
may best be sacrificed”

-excerpt from “Once Again to Be a Little Boy” by Dillion Naslund

I read this poem over and over. Its twenty-three lines contain a message that’s chilling yet bright, sad but hopeful. It articulates the internal conflict between the pain of post-traumatic stress and the deeply felt honor of military service, speaking volumes about how we attempt to reconcile the weight of all that. But the story behind this poem and its author, infantry Sergeant Dillion Naslund, is one that’s haunting – and hopeful – as the poem itself.

It was written six months before he ended his own life.

Naslund1Dillion Naslund was a normal kid, says his mother, Lisa. He was an avid outdoorsman, gregarious, and action oriented. Being such a hard charger, it was little surprise to their family that when he decided to enlist in the military he chose the Army infantry. Dillion joined during high school and became a member of the Iowa National Guard’s 34th Infantry Division, The Red Bulls. The surprises came later. After deployments to both Iraq and Afghanistan, “we expected him to be different,” his mother said. “But there was no way to prepare for what would come.”

Naslund2Dillion changed after his second deployment. He was plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and was prone to bouts of depression and anxiety. He coped with alcohol. Although close with his family, he rarely talked about his experiences in combat. War had altered him dramatically. “So much was the opposite of what he was before.” In August 2012, alarm bells rang for the family when they learned that he was contemplating harming himself. They took him to the emergency room, and he was sent to a VA hospital for a time. He was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and began treatment. But the “beast” that was PTSD, and the magnitude of the battle he and his family had to face, was “too much, too big,” and came on “too fast.” The battle ended in his suicide in December 2012.

The Naslunds did their best to recover, grieving deeply and privately. But they were shocked and overwhelmed all over again when they learned that 22 veterans committed suicide every day. That’s when Lisa and her husband, Jeff, decided that they “had to do something to make a difference.” And they have in many ways.

dilliontitlecardBy sharing their experience, it was their hope to prevent the type of tragedy they knew all too well. Family friend and film-maker Tom Zwemke offered to help by creating a documentary film featuring Dillion’s story. Then they began reaching out to other families, like Howard and Jean Somers of California, who also lost their son to suicide. A letter of condolence from one mother to another led to collaboration on Operation Engage America, an organization that holds events devoted to raising awareness about the issues facing American veterans and providing education about the means to address them. The Naslunds launched a website that helps families and veterans alike navigate the bevy of resources available for help with PTSD.

It was the beginning of filming for the documentary that led to another surprise, that of a poem that surfaced written by their son: “Once Again to Be a Little Boy.”

Lisa says Dillion had “zero interest” in writing. So they were skeptical when his fellow soldier, Shannon, brought them a worn piece of paper containing the poem. Shannon told the family that Dillion had written it over the course of a long, problematic night spent at his house. They were amazed at the depth of the message it contained and came to learn much about their son’s frame of mind and the shape of the beast with which he was grappling. The more they read and thought about it, they came to believe something else:

“That poem, and him writing it, gave us more time with him.”

The Naslunds have made it their mission to give others time – and hope – any way they can. Their son’s death served as a way for his fellow soldiers to open up about their problems, knowing they weren’t alone. All across the country, people have contacted the family directly for help. They’ve made an impact in a broader sense as well. The Naslunds have saved many, many more through their significant contribution to raising awareness about PTSD and the veteran suicide epidemic.

The overall message they wish to convey is to reach out, communicate, and remain hopeful. “PTSD is not a death sentence…there is hope. If one thing doesn’t work, try another.” Getting help “starts with a conversation,” one that the Naslunds are fostering among families across the country.

The family’s latest surprise? Although “never a writer,” their son will be a published poet in As You Were: The Military Review, Vol. 2 in May 2015.

 

(contributed by David P. Ervin) 

What’s It Like to Kill Someone?

by Travis Switalski, Sr.

I have been asked that question more times than I care to count. I have been asked it by complete strangers, friends, and by those closest to me. I have been witness to the anger that erupts when someone is asked it and I have on occasion been the outlet of that anger. Most real honest-to-God combat veterans will tell you that asking that question is inappropriate, to say the least. However, the farther away I get from my time in the military, the less the question bothers me. In fact, I often find myself asking “what was it like to kill someone?” When I think of being asked it occurs to me that I was offended by it not because it was inappropriate, but because I didn’t really have an answer to the question. It was much easier to explode into a tirade or ignore the question than to face it.

I have killed. Killing to me wasn’t so much an act as it was a journey. It began as we marched in formations at Fort Benning, when we responded to the Drill Sergeants counting our steps by saying “Train to kill, kill we will!” I went to the rifle range with my comrades and shot at pop-up, man-shaped silhouette targets. The Army’s mental conditioning designed to offset the “Thou Shalt Not Kill” training provided by society. Action, reaction; target up, shoot, target down; see the enemy, kill the enemy. Train to kill and kill we will. More of the same mental conditioning was provided to us at our units. In Staff Sergeant Moore’s Squad we were taught to “Strike Fast, Kick Ass!” See the enemy, kill him first. Strike fast, kick ass. Our job as Infantrymen, to close with and destroy the enemy by means of maneuver and superior firepower, was drilled into our heads and into our souls. Trained to kill, kill we will. The journey took a few years. All of the training and mental conditioning culminated at one moment, a squeeze of a mechanical trigger, just a fraction of friction. I remember feeling relieved that I had done it, had proved to myself and those around me that I was capable of doing what I was trained to do.

Ramadi 550

The act of killing I think is immensely private. My buddies saw me do it, but the feelings I had about it were mine alone. Those feelings are not always the same for everybody. I felt a sense of relief and a feeling of accomplishment. I had done it without hesitation and without fanfare. Others took it much harder outwardly. It was not uncommon for guys to lose their nerve after taking a life, or for them to become overwhelmed with the feeling that they had done something wrong. Then, some of the boys took great pleasure in killing, or at least they seemed to. As a defense against labeling the act of killing as killing we use gentle euphemisms to describe it like wasted, smoked or zapped. We also dehumanized our enemy to make wasting him easier on the conscience by calling him Haji, The Dirty Haj, and Raghead to name a few. And after the first time I killed another human being came as a relief to me, all of the ones I killed after him didn’t matter. Killing became a perfunctory and mechanical aspect of my employment.

What is it like to kill someone? As I look back on it now, years after what I hope is the last time I will ever have to kill another person my answer is this: The act of killing is a terrible and sad thing. For many it is a mentally and spiritually damaging act from which they’ll never recover. For others it doesn’t mean anything. For me, all I know is that it is better to be alive than to be dead, to walk the Earth, not to walk in someone else’s memories. I also know that to explain what killing is “like” to a person who has never had to kill, is an exercise in futility. They possess an annoying curiosity on the subject of killing, and maybe they have a right to know exactly what we did on their dime and in their name. Perhaps instead of coming unglued or shutting down, we as veterans should tell them exactly what they want to know even if they could never possibly understand it. Maybe we should find a way to articulate it to them in one word. If I had to sum killing up in one word, I’d say, “Easy.”

Voice of Warriors Hosts Leaders from Veterans’ PTSD Project

Voice of Warriors (VOW) is an organization that brings veterans and resources together through radio and other media. Each Tuesday night at 7 PM they host guest speakers associated with non-profits, initiatives, and outreaches to veterans. Recently VOW hosted leaders from MEA’s Veterans PTSD Project. They spoke about their upcoming publication of stories about post-traumatic stress and resilience, their writers’ workgroup, and support available to veterans and their families. The show is archived on the VOW radio page and you can listen to it by clicking on the VOW logo below:

VOW

Second Class Trauma by Elisha D. Morrow

Coast Guard Sailor Elisha D. Morrow is a staunch advocate for Service Members who are victims of Military Sexual Trauma. She is also a survivor dealing with PTSD. This is a struggle in itself. As the author states, “There is no Service Medal for being a survivor of MST. Nothing to give your grandchildren. There is no feeling that what you went through was for a greater good of the country you served… It’s just hollow and empty.” We believe that her story will educate and inspire readers.

Prior to joining the Coast Guard I had never heard of the term Military Sexual Trauma (MST). I certainly would have never dreamed that by the end of my boot camp experience I would become a survivor of MST and the beginning of a horrible story in which myself and three of my fellow shipmates would be victimized. Ours is a story that our military has allowed to be repeated too often. I was the first. Hand chosen by our Lead Company Commander to be the “house mouse” (meaning I was to clean his office), I was often alone with him at night when all of my fellow recruits had retired for the evening. It didn’t take long before the abuse began, with him constantly making sexual comments, watching every move I made, and having me take my hair down. To make matters worse, he soon turned his attention to my fellow recruit, juggling time between being alone with me in one office one night and having her clean a separate unoccupied office the next. I felt horrible, as though by not entertaining his advances I had caused him to victimize someone else. I waited, realizing he was a predator and knowing that a sexual assault was inevitable. As it turned out, it was, as his next victim would find out.

Somehow, with the support of our other shipmates, we survived Cape May and tried to move on with our careers, thinking that silence was the only option. We went out into the fleet and another company moved in. A chance for another victim. A chance for another woman to be victimized. Her abuse started not unlike mine and the other members had, but it didn’t stop where it had with us. I believe emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t been caught for the crimes he had committed with us, he felt he was unstoppable and that no one would ever speak out. He would ask her if she masturbated, telling her that he just had and asking her sexual preferences, wanted to know if she ever considered being with girls. He began exposing himself to her, insisting that she watch. Eventually, he asked her if she used birth control. Shaken, she asked him why he wanted to know. The following night, she found out the intent behind his question. Telling her his wife would no longer sleep with him, he gave her a direct order to remove her clothing and then he proceeded to engage in sexual intercourse with her. She, like us, was terrified into silence and the cycle of graduating and a new company/victim coming in continued. His last victim, for whatever reason, received the same treatment as I and the first victim had, but was never physically attacked. Although the reason why was never said, it is something for which I am truly grateful to God. She too felt that there was no option and rather than causing one of her fellow shipmates to endure the same abuse that she was experiencing, she thought it better to suffer in silence.

Eventually, we found our voice. In the late fall of 2010, I made a call to Coast Guard Investigative Services and around the same time two of the other survivors (the woman that went through boot camp with me and the woman from his last company) went into their local CGIS office to tell our stories. An investigation ensued and in the fall of this year we attended the court martial of our former company commander. Sitting side by side, the four of us, who looked more like sisters (all blonde, all petite 5’3″) than shipmates in the Coast Guard listened as the judge issued a bad conduct discharge and 12 months confinement for the crimes that he had committed. While the judge issued the maximum punishment, we were devastated knowing that he would not be tried for sexual assault based on the current guidelines of Article 120 of the UCMJ (please see our petition for change of this law by going to www.change.org/members/article120 <http://www.change.org/members/article120 ).

I had thoroughly expected to be able to move on after the trial and pretend it had never happened. What I didn’t realize was that the more than three years that I had suppressed what had happened was about to come boiling back to the surface. Since the court martial, I have struggled with anxiety attacks, insomnia, nightmares, and depression. Worst of all has been the guilt. There is not an hour of any given day I don’t relive what happened and think that maybe if I had done something different that I could have saved the other victims that came after me. While I have not been formally diagnosed with anything at this time (I am awaiting my first visit with the VA), I do expect to eventually be diagnosed with something anxiety related, though I would not venture to assume what it might end up being. My husband, family, friends, and faith have all had a hand in keeping me grounded. I thank God for them.

I think one of the most difficult aspects of MST for me has been that I feel that my trauma is second class. It is a struggle to feel that you are worthy to stand beside someone who has been through “so much more” than you have. There is no Service Medal for being a survivor of MST. Nothing to give your grandchildren. There is no feeling that what you went through was for a greater good of the country you served… It’s just hollow and empty. I believe my fellow survivor summed it up best when she said, “PTSD is watching your best friend die in the sandbox, not this.” While I know this is not true at all, it is a common theme that I have seen over and over again in speaking with fellow MST survivors… The feeling that you don’t deserve a diagnosis PTSD, depression, or anxiety. That you aren’t worthy to be branded with a disorder that “war heroes” have.

In spite of the toll that this experience has taken, I will say that the valuable lesson that I learned was the realization that adversity gives birth to fighters. This experience has moved me to take the up the torch of this cause and work to change the way that not only the law is written, but the way the military handles these cases in general. There is no way I can cover the enormity military’s mishandlings of our case in one blog post. There are so many changes that need to be made, sometimes it is difficult to know what task to set about next. If I ever have a daughter, I hope that someday the military will be a place where members don’t have to fear those that serve alongside them. Until I see it happen, I will continue to fight for change. Unlike some, when I said honor, respect, and devotion to duty, I meant it with all my heart and I will continue to live those values as best I can in my civilian life.