Soldier in Sask. speaks out about mental illness

“There wasn't much peace to keep there,” Greenall said as he recalled the conflict.

His experiences in Bosnia and Croatia led to his first brush with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

“I was told by my girlfriend at the time to get help or get out,” Greenall said as he recounted the bouts of rage that would cause him to “lose time,” then come out of it in rooms full of broken furniture and holes punched in walls.

“My rage was never directed at anybody — the upside of that is that I', pretty good at fixing walls and furniture now,” he said.

Greenall eventually saw a doctor, received treatment and was able to get back to doing the only job he knew.

“I loved getting up in the morning and going to work and being with the troops. You know how everyone else can't wait for Friday? I could not wait for Monday,” he said.

Afghanistan:

Greenall answered the call again in 2009, deploying to Afghanistan as part of the Canadian Provincial Reconstruction Team in Kandahar province.

Tasked with providing security for reconstruction workers and diplomats working beyond the wire, Greenall was his units Light Armoured Vehicle (LAV) sergeant.

He said even the most routine days required constant vigilance — especially on the hunt for improvised explosive devices (IED's).

“Culverts get checked before you cross them. Any area that funnels you into a tight area gets checked. We send guys out on foot to check the ground. You're looking for ant trails, which is like a line in the sand where the Taliban has covered their trigger wires or that kind of stuff,” he said.

Greenall said that when not performing that role, they would be sent out to do what they called 'poking the bear.' “We'd go out looking for the Taliban to pick a fight,” Greenall said.

The realities of fighting a guerilla force meant that soldiers could never really know which direction an attack might come from.

“The guy that cuts your hair during the day could be the guy out planting IED's at night,” said Greenall.

But, even with all the precautions, Greenall said the enemy managed to get their shots in.

He said the lowest point during his tour came on Dec. 30, 2009.

That was when an IED hit a convoy killing four soldiers and wounding five more. Canadian journalist Michelle Lang was also killed in the attack.

Greenall was first sent to the scene to retrieve a surviving LAV the next day at the scene of the attack.

“The next day I was told to go and recover a body bag that had about five pounds of human remains in it and secure it on the helipad and wait for them to come and retrieve it,” said Greenall.

Greenall added that some of the most stressful weeks in-theatre came when he was given his fly-out date towards the end of his tour. With the light at the end of the tunnel gleaming, he said it became even more important to stay sharp.

“IED's don't care if you're going home tomorrow or a year from now, if you're not aware of it, it's going to send you home earlier and in the way you don't want to go.”

Returning home:

Greenall made it back in 2010, returning to CFB Shilo in Manitoba. But it took some time to realize that he hadn't come home intact.

“I was starting to make lots of mistakes at work. Stuff that should have been very easy for me was forgotten,” said Greenall as he described how his dream career began to devolve into a nightmare.

“Instead of my bosses pulling me aside, and saying” 'Hey Sarge, you're screwing up a lot here. Are you okay? What's going on?' I was being disciplined for my mistakes.”

The reprimands eventually took their toll.

“I'd literally wake up in the morning as close as possible to when I had to leave to go to work. Because if I got up too early I would just sit in my room on base and just vibrate, and just absolutely be terrified to go to work,” Greenall said.

Greenall was eventually transferred to Dundurn, which was a blessing because it meant he was back with Charlotte. But the mental scarring he brought back from the war didn't let up.

Greenall spent the entire summer of 2011 on sick leave. But even then, he said there was little acknowledgement of his condition by his superiors.

“One of my sick chits didn't overlap the other one so there was a day between there that, technically, I was AWOL because I wasn't on sick leave. And I got a nasty phone call from my boss here at home, and the next thing I know I’m getting called down to the MP shack on base being interviewed and investigated for an upcoming AWOL charge,” he said.

Charlotte said she tried to support her husband through the dark days.

“He came to me one day vibrating. So angry because the words were — 'the leadership doesn't believe you,'” she said.

Greenall said the stigma in society around mental illness still carries over in the military. “There's still some of that belief that you're not hurt unless you're missing a limb,” he said, adding that after his diagnosis, he felt he was a pariah in the eyes of his commanding officers.

“Who wants to be treated like that? Especially given that I've got almost 25 years in, I've done six tours. And now, all of a sudden, because I've been diagnosed with depression and PTSD I get kicked to the curb and ostracized kind of thing, and you know, kind of tucked under the stairs like the redheaded stepchild that nobody wants to acknowledge,” he said.

While she did what she could during Sgt. Greenall's lost summer, Charlotte said he was was just in too much pain.

“I saw him deteriorate that summer more than you can imagine and fall into a really horrible depression. Which was extremely hard for us,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes with one hand as she stroked Greenall's arm with the other.

“I would pretty much just lock the doors, hide in my basement and self-medicate,” said Greenall, “that was pretty much the gist of my life there for quite a while.”

Eventually, Greenall found his way to the Joint Personnel Support Unit (JPSU), a specially created unit for wounded soldiers.

But Greenall said that his superiors never referred him to the program, he didn't even know it existed until he found it by chance after someone else mentioned it to him.

“From the time that I was first diagnosed in Shilo until I got to JPSU, not one person came to me and said: 'Hey Sarge, we understand you're hurting and we're here to help. Just let us know what you need,” he said.

Healing, and speaking out:

Greenall said the support from the JPSU and a doctor in Saskatoon has helped him emerge from the bleakest stages of his condition.

“For the first time since I was diagnosed, I actually felt that someone in uniform was in my corner helping me out,” he said.

Now, with a medical discharge set to draw the curtain on his military career, Greenall said a recent rash of suicides in the Canadian has prompted him to speak out.

Greenall said that while more training for soldiers before they ship out might help, there's a limit to its effectiveness.

“They can't prepare you for the mass graves or the ethnic cleansing or the absolute appalling poverty and conditions” he said, recalling his time in Bosnia:

“I rolled into a village and passed an elementary school and the entire schoolyard was one mass grave and maybe six out of that entire graveyard was over five feet tall. Because the Serbs took the entire school down into the basement, all the kids and just slaughtered them. You know? You can't prepare people for that,” he said.

He added that, in his opinion, the solution isn't about simply telling soldiers to get help.

He said a video from the Chief of Defence Staff and the responses of politicians all urging soldiers in need to get help are missing the point.

“There is help out there. The JPSU, and there's lots of other services out there. But the biggest barrier is the way you get treated when your diagnosed,” he said.

Greenall said that a lack of ongoing training and follow-up for senior officers on how to spot warning signs and how to deal with mental illness in their troops has to change so that others aren't treated the way he was.

“When other people see that, who's going to want to come forward? Who’s going to stand there and go: 'Yeah, you know what, I'm hurting real bad. I don't sleep, I have nightmares, I don't eat, I have no sex life whatsoever — my wife and my children and everybody, I don't go anywhere near them, I avoid my friends,” he said.

He said that all there is right now when soldiers return from deployments are cursory briefings.

“We'd go into a hall or a theatre and we'd be briefed. And they'd tell us 'this is what to look for,' people go: 'yeah, okay' and they'd pay it lip service — and then that would be the end of it,” he said, adding:

“We don't send medics overseas without medical training so we need to train our leadership a little more consistently than once every three or four years when there's a rash of suicides.”

Greenall said that in the close-knit community of soldiers, each death rocks everyone in uniform.

“We've got to stop losing people to suicides. I've lost far too many friends. And just recently the guy in Shilo was one of my crew commanders in Afghanistan. I've known him his whole career. Drank with him, partied with him, worked with him, lived with him, ate with him showered with him. The whole nine yards. Went overseas with him. And now look at him, he's orphaned his kids,” said Greenall.

Ultimately, the sergeant acknowledged that the military will never be able to prevent every single suicide. He said he's asked for a meeting with the Chief of Defence Staff to talk about his situation.

“There's nothing I can really do other than what I'm doing now. And obviously I'm taking a bit of a chance here by saying what I'm saying and telling this story, but I mean, you know… enough is enough,” he said.

Meanwhile, Greenall said that while his situation has improved since the darkest days of 2011, he's still got his own recovery to manage.

“I'm still seeing doctors twice a week. I'm not a fan of people. I avoid crowds as much as humanly possible. Charlotte will still send me to Costco once in a while and I will fly through there like my ass is on fire and try and leave as quick as possible,” he said.

But Greenall said there is hope.

“I have people in my life that I want to get better for. I want to be the best husband that I can be to my wife. I want to be the best stepfather that I can be for my stepson, you know? I want to be the best dog owner I can be for my dogs.”

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by Bryn Levy

Soldier in Sask. speaks out about mental illness

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