In Vivo Exposure Therapy
I had just moved to Arizona from Oregon and I was taking summer classes online as well as some intense psychological PTSD therapy. I have suffered from PTSD due to some events that happened during my tours in Iraq, as a Marine, back in 2006 and 2009. The therapy was called, “in vivo exposure therapy”. I would go to a large city park at nighttime and sit outside my truck with people jogging by, while I tried to control my emotions using breathing exercises and cognitive training. I was trying to desensitize myself to certain emotions and thoughts. It was an extremely difficult exercise that had me on edge all the time.
My Pistol
I always carry a .380 pistol wherever I go. I have a concealed carry license and I am always prepared if something ever happens. This is in part due to my training as a Marine. When I hop in my truck to go anywhere, I place my .380 on the center console and in this instance, I put it underneath my in vivo exposure therapy paperwork. I was still pretty new to the area and I had only been to the park once before.
In Vivo Therapy ‘Session’
Just after sundown I headed out. I was a little apprehensive knowing I was about to have to face my fears once again as large groups of people and nighttime was always a struggle for me. It was hard for me to admit, but I was afraid of the dark. I spent several nights alone, on post, at night in Iraq when bad things went down and those thoughts and memories would creep into my head every night as the sun dropped below the horizon. I was a captive slave held at gunpoint every night without reprieve. I felt the cold steel of my pistol as I drove toward the park, the only source of protection from the demons that relentlessly tormented me, each and every night.
As I turned down a street which I believed led to the park I noticed three police cruisers pass by me in the opposite direction. The hairs on the back of my neck raised up as I stared into my mirrors wondering what had just gone down that it took three police officers to get under control. As I shifted my eyes back to the road, I saw a sign to my right with some warning written on it. I saw it too late to make out what it said and continued on.
A huge mistake-Jail Time?
I felt the truck bounce over something in the roadway and I suddenly found myself in a huge outdoor parking garage. I came to a stop and watched a gate close behind me. As I surveyed the scene around me my heart sank. I had just driven into a police garage. There were buses lined up with cop cars everywhere with the night crew about to hit the streets of Tuscan to deal with the many protestors who prowled the streets, rioting and destruction their only goal. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest as I quickly flipped my truck around. I stopped short of the gate and jumped out, running to what I thought was a control panel to get out of the parking garage. There were no buttons. I was trapped. I parked my truck and slowly, cautiously walked over to a police car. I had both of my hands visible as I tried to flag the officer down to get his attention.
He was shocked to see me, a civilian in what I later found out was the Tucson Police Department’s Staging area for their defense against all of the recent rioting in the city. As he stepped out of his cruiser to speak with me, he radioed for back up. I saw another police officer advancing to my left side as I heard several car doors open. I was suddenly surrounded by over 15 police officers. When asked what I was doing there I feebly tried to explain my folly. I was told to present my ID and my heart dropped to the floor. I told the officer my wallet was in my truck on my center console. He told me to go get it and I explained to him that it was under some paperwork right next to my pistol. He spoke something into his radio and told me to still go get my id.
Am I Going to Die?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and slowly walked to my truck. “So, this is how I die. Gunned down in a parking lot by a squadron of police officers.” I said to myself. I cautiously reached for my wallet, my fingers tracing over my pistol. I raised both of my hands in the air as I returned, wallet in hand. I was told to put my hands down and produce my ID. The officer kept grilling me with questions and then finally handed my ID back and told me to get out of there. I walked past several officers as I got into my truck and drove back out with several cops trailing behind me in their vehicles. I turned onto the main road and drove away. After a few minutes the officers pulled away and I was left alone, finally able to breathe.
I turned down a street to the park, cautiously looking for any warning signs. I pulled into a nearby parking lot and stood outside my truck. I began practicing my breathing exercises and I struggled to get my emotions under control as I thought, “What a crazy story I will have for my therapist.” I wouldn’t believe it myself if it hadn’t just happened to me.
Off to Oregon
A few weeks later, my sister and I headed out to Oregon. I was so excited to pickup my motorcycle and get on the road again. This motorcycle was my daily driver. I was made for the open road and I couldn’t wait to feel the wind and hear the rumble of my bike. I imaged all the fun I would have being back on the road. I never imaged the horror that awaited me only a few short days away.
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