When the mortars quit falling, bullets stopped whizzing by my head, explosions from IED's fell silent on a hot August night in Balad, Iraq. My deployment to Baghdad, Iraq was suppose to last twelve to fifteen months, but in my sixth month of combat operations, my tour was cut short from an insurgent mortar launched a mile away that landed inside my base. I tore several ligaments in my right wrist after a mortar landed twenty feet from me and exploded. The concussion of the blast blew me off the top of a Humvee while, I was assisting one of my soldiers mounting a weapon on the turret. After several days of acute treatment by the base medical personnel, my right hand becoming increasingly less effective. They decided I needed to return to Germany, where my duty station was located, and have a MRI done. They flew me by UH-60 (Blackhawk helicopter) from Baghdad to Balad Air Base, sixty miles North of Baghdad. Balad is the second stop,were all wounded and injured American military service members, get transported for stabilization while making the amazing "Flights of Life" to Landstuhl, Germany. Then stay in Germany for a determined amount of time for recovery, then making the third "Flight of Life" on to the U.S. for further treatment at Walter Reed Army Medical Center or Bethesda Naval Medical Center. Upon completion of medical treatments, over a course of six months, my rear-detachment commander placed me behind a desk and pushing paper around.
After pleading for months to return with my unit in Baghdad. They denied my request repeatedly, stating my hand would hinder my ability to execute missions, protect my comrades and myself in combat. Being devastated, I went to my doctor and asked to be waivered and be put back on "deployable status." I was denied and sent back to my rear-detachment emotionally broken and with news that my hand would not ever be fully mobile again and would suffer from chronic pain and arthritis for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, that has came true and my right hand is disabled.
A few weeks later, my rear-commander asked me to reenlist for five more years, I weighed my options and asked all kinds of questions. All answers led to me working behind a desk for the next twelve years, until retirement, and not leading troops. I could not do that and chose to separate from the Army in 2005 and finish my college education.
My first foot-steps in the civilian world would become the hardest journey of my life and the last three years have been life changing. I got a small apartment and sit on my ass watching the news constantly, before realizing that I needed to do something or I was going to go nuts. So I applied and was hired for a position with the Department of Veterans Affairs as a "Veterans Outreach Technician." I had an opportunity to fulfill a large hole inside me, created by the devastation of leaving my troops in Iraq. A large emotional hole created by my decisions, in the chaos of combat, that were wrong and led to many of my troops not returning home to their families alive. This hole was getting larger by a sense of failure to my country, my family, and myself. After two years working directly with Iraq and Afghanistan veterans dealing with combat related mental health issues. Something had developed quitely and I did not see how much I was mentally slipping into self-isolation. Everyone around me saw me falling into depression, I was increasing my daily prescription dosages of narcotic painkillers which led to addiction, and finally hitting rock bottom.
I resigned from my position in July 2007 due to paranoia, anxiety/panic issues, failure to be cohesive with co-workers, and having horrific flashbacks of combat. I left the office that day, my wife and one year old son were gone, and I grabbed my loaded .22 magnum revolver I sat there for an hour convincing myself to end the pain. Not the physical pain from my wrist, emotional pain from the Iraq War. I sat there knowing this was my last day on Earth and writing a letter to my wife, son, and parents telling them why I did it because I did not matter. Finally, through some type of intervention, my wife came home early and saw what was about to happen. She grabbed the gun from me and rushed me to the VA hospital emergency room where I was treated for suicidal ambitions/thoughts, depression, survivor's guilt issues, anxiety disorder, and finally diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Over the last year and a half, I've gotten better through counseling, medication therapy, and family support. The message I want to convey is this; PTSD is invisible to those suffering from it and if a person does not know where or how to get help. PTSD will ruin their life and the lives of the ones who love them. As a combat veteran suffering from PTSD every day, take this advice if you think PTSD is affecting you. There is help available, it's free, and it will save your life and will treat the symptoms of combat trauma. www.va.gov/ptsd www.samhsa.gov
Thank You.