Page 6 - Total War on PTSD_FINAL

some very good care and some poor care, part of me was, and admittedly still is, stuck — over there, in hell.
First thing I need to say. I always loved the Navy...and I still very much do. I felt at home there. I belonged. What I didn’t love is some of the antiquated beliefs, and some well-scattered pieces of the administration that tended to be left laying around due to the tendency to cling to history in administrative war efforts. There was no high ground...no safe place for anyone there in Afghanistan. You did absolutely everything with your weapon at your side and you...I...was always prepared to use that weapon at a moments notice. That is the reason I can’t go anywhere now without scanning every single room I go into. That is the very reason I have to keep my back to the wall. I think I would be much more comfortable if I have my constant companion back on my hip again.
Let me share with you how it felt for me to be there.
I imagine myself standing outside at night with my head tilted up to accept the rain pouring down on my face. I don't notice, nor even feel, the tears running down my face alongside the raindrops. My emotions left me long ago, stolen by a thief in a night streaked by rockets glare, shaken by their thudding impacts, and pierced by the rapid-fire response of marine guns defending our perimeter. It doesn't matter that I am soaked to the bone, that my clothes cling to me while the rain tries to wash away my pain. I see it all and hear it. But I feel nothing but that deep dread that carries one question: does that incoming have my name on it?
Every day, and at any time of day, when I hear any sort of unexpected noise, I may go into barely controlled panic mode. My reaction includes immediately looking around for escape routes and examining everyone and everything around me as a potential threat, my
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