From One Veteran to Another

I’ve been trying recently to make sense of the whole universality of the veteran experience. The longer I’ve been out, the more veterans I meet (it’s funny how you can still instinctively tell by someone’s mannerisms and demeanor that they served even if they don’t have regulation waistlines and haircuts anymore) and it seems that no matter where they’ve served during the War on Terror (or any war really), or what branch they were in, or what job they did, we all suffer from the same demons.
 Some more than others, but I’ve yet to meet a vet who doesn’t relish a chance to get blasted with another former warrior so they can talk without inhibition about their experiences. It’s like a mini therapy every time a veteran hangs out with another vet. That’s definitely a good thing I suppose, but what about our shared experiences made us all messed up in the first place? (And yes, I know not every vet has psychological issues, but no doubt their time at war has still changed them in a way most others can’t understand.)

 I think it’s all about the prospect of us facing down our mortality daily during our tours. That’s everyone. Whether you were a postal clerk, administrator, tanker, or infantryman, everywhere in Iraq and Afghanistan (and the Horn of Africa, the Philippines, and other places) brought about the momentary possibility of our lives ending. That reality changed our spirit and our mindset; it made us hyper-tense, calloused, and adrenaline-filled. Even if we served in the Green Zone or a large main base, there was always an errant mortar to land around us, potentially blowing up our buddies’ head. There was always some local on base who wanted us dead and might detonate himself as a suicide-bomb while we sat down to chow. It was an experience that was so fundamentally different from the American nine-to-five life or the college life of many our peers that it was so easy to feel alienated and separated from normal society upon our return.

 And what exactly is normal life now? Should we pretend the things that happened didn’t really happen at all? Should we not discuss how edgy we feel in large crowds or mention how we’ll occasionally be afraid to drive past a trash pile along the highway while we drive our civilian vehicles? Can we go back to being who we were before the war?

 Personally, I wouldn’t even try, because that would be sacrificing my true identity. I was once a warrior. I once sat atop a Humvee ready to kill at the behest of my nation. I survived rockets, mortars, snipers, and IEDs. Those things have changed me.

 At first they changed me in a bad way. I was guilty to go through so much yet come home unscathed when some of my friends had died. I took to intense self-medication to replace the chaos in my soul that felt normal as a result of my time overseas. I was angry, rage-filled, and manic. I ruined many relationships and made a lot of enemies. But I’ve grown; and I’m growing.

 Nothing’s a regret if we learn from it and move on. By the sheer intrinsic value of these horrible and traumatic experiences, we’ve been tested in a way that most others never will be. We can learn better lessons as such: we can truly appreciate every single moment of every single day; we can really feel compassion and love for another human being; we can understand the value of existing. Does this sound like a dream? To many of you, I’m sure it does.

But I’ve been there. And now I’m happier than ever. But it was the hardest place I’ve ever arrived at. And I couldn’t have done it without my veteran friends. Don’t isolate yourself. There’s a whole community for you here at Not Alone.

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