Page 492 - Total War on PTSD

informed me that mechanics never leave the shop and that I would be far away from combat. So I jumped at the chance. I would be a United States Soldier!
I learned quickly after getting deployed that this just isn’t true as I was led to believe. In fact, I would see combat — often. In only the first few days of my deployment, I saw a little boy lose his life and an Iraqi Soldier with a portion of his head blown off.
Since I was new to the unit, the other guys thought they need to “toughen me up,” so I was put on the recovery team that retrieved blown up trucks. This was a horrible job because of the things I had to see in the blown up vehicles. Every door I opened was a new personalized horror movie complete with carnage and death.
The timing of my deployment wasn’t ideal. You see, I was the new guy that arrived three months after everybody else had already deployed. This meant that they had already established their circle of friends — and I wasn’t one of them.
But eventually, I actually did make a friend. His name was Jones, and he was the first person to show any real concern for me.
I remember very vividly one day as we were working near a checkpoint, Jones warned me to keep my head down because there had been snipers taking pop shots at people all day. I appreciated his genuine concern and felt a sense of protection as someone more senior was looking out for me. We said goodbye as I mounted my truck and we rolled out. Just moments later, I would hear on the radio a call for a nine-line medevac. Jones had been shot by a sniper. He passed away that day.
But the mission pressed on. I would continue to witness a series of events that no person should ever have to see. I struggled. I felt alone. I felt worried and sad all the time. And these struggles were only amplified during my second deployment.
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