Page 14 - Total War on PTSD

Mariners Cross out of hiding from under my uniform while glancing up at the night sky for the possible glare of a rocket and furtively kissing it before quickly tucking it back out of sight while heading out to the bunkers...and how I thought seriously about kissing the good earth of America after coming home from my Afghanistan deployment. Years after 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
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