Holes in the Walls

A Narrated Fiction by Jim Dymo

            As Jim careened past the threshold of the front door, he entered his home.  What was once a happy abode had become a prison of his own making.  This home – a three bedroom, two bath apartment – had endured countless eruptions from Mount Dymo. 

            “Sixteen holes.  I count sixteen holes in all of the walls including the kitchen,” Jim said.

            “Are you sure you know how to fix this, and make it look as though there was no damage when we leave the apartment?  So we can get our deposit back?” Patty asked.

            “I might not be able to fix the damage done to you guys, but I definitely know how to fix these walls,” Jim exclaimed.

            It had been a devastating semester in school, a devastating six months at home, and a tormenting eternity – mentally – for Jim.  He had never experienced such rage, such ability to tap into his adrenaline system, before in his life.  He, like most adolescent boys, had experienced his fair share of fights.  As a matter of fact, he boasted a personal record of “9 wins, 0 losses, and 1 draw!”  But this was different.  This fight he could not win, as a matter of fact it became worse every single day.  He had been to the Veterans Affairs (VA) hospital to undergo treatment.  He had been using the electroshock therapy device that the doctor had given him.  But the treatment options available were not working, and nobody could figure out why. 

            There was, however, light at the end of the tunnel.  You see, Jim had just met Doc.  Doc was a younger man, with a wise face.  He had developed a stare that could shoot straight to a man’s soul and dig out the truths that were tucked away in dark places.  Doc’s baggage included an 8 year service to the great State of Georgia’s prison system in which he headed up the substance abuse counseling center for 200 inmates.  Not to mention, Doc was a decathlete in college.  As Doc would counsel Jim, he found symptoms of an underlying condition: Bipolar Disorder.  “Great,” Jim thought.  He was already suffering from multiple injuries from his 14 years in the military – both physical and mental.  But the major one he fought was the PTSD.  Something happens to a man when he experiences another man trying to end his life on multiple occasions. 

            After two days of cutting gypsum board, installing it, and finishing the areas around the walls’ injuries, it was time paint. 

            “Beautiful,” Patty said.  The walls looked as though there were no previous holes, and amazingly the hard work had paid off pretty well. 

            “This place is ready for some new inhabitants,” Jim replied.  “I’m ready to kiss this place goodbye.”

            Although the holes in the walls remain patched, the holes in Jim’s families are still there.  PTSD is the gift that keeps giving, and the gifts were evident all around the home before the fix.  Jim had a long road ahead, but a very difficult journey with his family as well.  You see, Jim was not in this alone.  He and Patty had four children together, ages nine to fourteen.  Two boys and two girls, the lucky pairs.  What hurt Jim the most was seeing the damage done to his wife and children from multiple explosions of PTSD.  It’s hard for Jim to talk about this story to this day, but it’s necessary for others out there who experience this on a daily basis to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  And there is hope.