Invisible Wounds
“We got called out one day to assist a fuel convoy that was being pinned down by gunfire. They had stopped along an open field, and were taking fire from a tree line about 200 meters away. When we arrived, I noticed a small truck about 50 meters out. It had stopped on a farm road running along the field. There were legs hanging out of it. I was acting medic for the platoon so I went to investigate. And they’re obviously not combatants. It’s this family of six. I guess they’d been driving toward the convoy and somebody got scared and shot them up. It’s just a mom and a dad and four kids. And there’s this unique, awful smell when your guts open up. And everyone’s dead except the father and this eight-year-old girl who’d been shot twice in the chest. And she’s crying. And this wasn’t what I came for. I thought we were here to kill bad guys.”
“All we wanted to know was who the bad guys were. But nobody knew. We were getting picked off one by one and we couldn’t find the bad guys. Some guy who was helping you during the day might kill you at night. The enemy didn’t wear uniforms. Far more innocent people got hurt than anyone else. It wasn’t malicious. It was just legitimately confusing situations. When you’re driving to a meeting and a car bomb explodes, suddenly every car looks like a bomb. And you’re surrounded by cars. And anybody could have a suicide vest. And you’re surrounded by people. It was threat overload. And it was mentally exhausting. One day we were driving to a small village to pick up a young Iraqi boy. We were going to fly him to the US for a rare heart surgery. And I’m in the back of the convoy doing rear security. And this woman in a burqa starts walking toward me. And I’m shouting in Arabic for her to stop, but she keeps coming. And I can see she’s carrying something. She’s clutching something inside her burqa. And she won’t stop. And I keep trying to wave her away. I’m screaming at her and pointing my gun but she keeps coming closer. And I’m thinking that I have to kill her because she has a bomb. I have to do it. And I switch off my safety, and I’m just about to pull the trigger, and suddenly she opens up her burqa. And there’s a baby inside.”
“It wasn’t every second of every day. But sometimes I’d get this boiling feeling like there was mercury in my blood. And it would rise up into my head and I’d get so angry it was like I was going to explode. And all I could think of was worst-case scenarios. And it felt like there was no way out. I’d work myself into such a frenzy that I thought there was only one way to eliminate that feeling. And I’ve already lost seven veterans that I know to suicide. Two of them were very close to me. These were educated guys. And they seemed happy. You’d meet them, and think: ‘These guys are so great.’ And I knew if it could happen to them it could happen to me. So I came here and I started unpacking this shit. It was a lot of work. The therapist just guides the conversation. You have to dig up stuff you thought you’d packed away forever. And you have to answer questions that you never answered. It’s exhausting to go that deep. But it works. I feel like I’m in control again. I know my triggers. I don’t flip out. I don’t send inappropriate emails at work when I feel slighted. I still have bad days but I’m in control again. I was afraid therapy would cause me to lose my edge. That didn’t happen. It made me stronger. It’s like gym for the mind. And I don’t want to lose one more veteran. That's why I'm telling my story right now. I don’t want anyone to be afraid to look under the hood. Therapy is like Men’s Wearhouse: ‘Give it a try. You’ll like the way you look. I guarantee it.’”
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