This story was corrected Nov. 12 to reflect that Lyssy was in Kuwait at the time he observed some of the scenes described in the article. Also, Lyssy did not personally build the fence in front of his house nor the shed in his backyard. Those projects were led by Paul Salley of the Newport Mormon Church.
ST. ALBANS, Maine — When Travis Lyssy says the world is closing in around him, what he really means is that he’s closing himself in against the world. It’s the only way he knows of to deal with his problems.
Lyssy’s battle experience as a member of the Marine Corps was brief — after all, the United States’ first assault on Iraq in the 1991 Persian Gulf War lasted only a couple of weeks — but it was enough to trigger serious mental and physical problems that Lyssy will grapple with for the rest of his life. Diagnosed with both post-traumatic stress disorder and Gulf War Syndrome, Lyssy has found that the best therapy for his ailments is to just keep to himself.
Outside the home he shares with his wife and daughter, he’s had a tall fence built along the road. Passing traffic aggravates his almost daily migraines — and worse, seeing kids playing near the road brings back images of dead children he saw on war-torn roadsides in Kuwait.
“I don’t need to see a kid get hit by a car,” he said.
To keep the light away, there are blinds installed on all his windows. Even when the blinds are open, tinted material on the glass keeps the view of the outside world muted. Lyssy, 41, spends most of his days at a desk in the living room with music playing low and with one dim light.
When the television is on, he has to be careful what he watches. War movies, documentaries and even the news are off-limits.
“It makes my mind race,” he said. “It makes my mind play tricks on me.”
Any crowded place and, increasingly, any encounters he has in public, have the potential to set him off. In 1992, Lyssy was at a shopping mall with his mother and sister when he noticed a man looking at him. In the Marine Corps, they are taught to identify that as a sign of aggression.
“I screamed at him,” said Lyssy. “I yelled, ‘What the [expletive] are you looking at?’ The guy wasn’t doing anything to me.”
That’s when he began to realize he had a problem that came with no easy solutions.
“The best way I’ve found to control my anger is just not to go out in public anymore,” he said.
The closest friends he’s made in his four years living in Maine are a few Vietnam War veterans, because they’re the ones who understand what war is, despite Veterans Day and all the other ways the armed forces are honored. Some of Lyssy’s most painful moments in Kuwait were when American schoolchildren asked him in letters how many people he had killed.
“We all wondered: What has Hollywood done to these children?” he said. “There was no thought behind the questions.”
Along with the mental and emotional problems caused by post-traumatic stress disorder, Lyssy is increasingly suffering from physical limitations caused by what his doctors call Gulf War Syndrome. Among the symptoms are a deteriorating joint condition — yet another factor that in its own terrible way is closing in on Lyssy.
He started to notice pain in his joints not long after leaving Kuwait. Eventually the pain progressed to the point that he needed a cane, then crutches. Less than a year ago, he started using a wheelchair. Today he can support himself enough to transfer in and out of the wheelchair, but he fears even that level of mobility won’t last.
“It only gets worse,” he said.
More than 200,000 of the nearly 700,000 soldiers who fought in the first Gulf War in 1991 are now experiencing symptoms associated with Gulf War Syndrome, according to information on the Department of Veterans Affairs’ website. Joint pain, migraines and decreased mobility — all of which Lyssy has — are among the most common symptoms. Though the causes aren’t entirely clear, some research suggests that Gulf War Syndrome was caused by battlefield soldiers’ exposure to harmful chemicals in the air.
Post-traumatic stress disorder is known to afflict people who experience extreme trauma and is characterized by severe anxiety and an inability to cope with everyday situations, according to the same website.
Lyssy, who was a helicopter mechanic in the Marine Corps, said there are fewer and fewer outlets for relief. One such place is a shed he recently had built in his backyard, which he accesses by wrestling himself onto an ATV he’s borrowed from a friend. In the quiet seclusion of the shed, Lyssy comes as close as he ever has to meditation. He usually reads back issues of Mother Earth News, a magazine that focuses on sustainable living techniques.
“I really enjoy it,” he said. “If I were more physically fit, I’d like to do some things to get myself off the grid.”
Unfortunately, Lyssy’s health is moving in the other direction and virtually every day brings a new challenge. On Election Day, he couldn’t go to the polls because he said the ramp at the St. Albans Town Hall is too long and too steep. Town Manager Rhonda Stark brought a ballot to his house, but Lyssy contends he and other residents with disabilities ought to be able to vote in person and do business in the town hall. His issues on voting day were only the latest of several clashes he said he’s had with town officials — including an ongoing conflict over the fence in front of his house.
Stark said town employees do their best to accommodate Lyssy and others.
“They either call ahead or drive into the yard outside and honk,” said Stark of the town’s wheelchair-user population. “We go out of our way to help anyone who needs to come in here.”
Lyssy disagrees.
“It’s clearly a discrimination issue,” he said. “I’ve had nothing but problems with town officials.”
Lyssy said he joined the Marines in 1989 out of a sense of duty to his country and because of the possibility that he could “make a difference.” Now, he sees his biggest mistake as letting himself be medically discharged in 1994.
“I should have stayed in, no matter how much it hurt,” he said. “In my opinion, it’s not worth getting out once you’ve already been programmed. When you get out, they don’t deprogram you.”
One of the more enduring images for Lyssy, the scene from Kuwait that haunts him more than any other, was the bodies of two Iraqi soldiers, burned and mangled, outside a blown-up tank.
“They were still holding hands,” said Lyssy. “I’ll never get that image out of my head. The whole war was only two weeks. Two weeks is not enough time to get used to something like that.”
