Commentary
What is adrenaline? What is fear? What is anxiety? What is post-traumatic stress? It is late July of 2003, in the 130-degree heat of Baghdad, Iraq—sweating so much that you smell like ammonia. My heart pounds running to the MH6 Little Bird as the turbines begin to spin. Taking the number one position and snapping into the bench sitting right next to the pilot, only he has a windshield. I feel the lump in my throat grow larger as I attempt to breathe despite being sandblasted by the rotor wash.
Once secured, I give the pilot a visual thumbs up in his peripheral vision. He grabs my thumb to acknowledge. I replay every moment of mission planning and preflight in my mind.
The bird takes off. It’s too loud to hear anything. Anything except for your heart pounding in your throat. The bird reaches cruising speed of 140 mph. I catch every bit of airflow from it, straining to keep my eyes and mouth closed. I force myself to breathe, since it is literally taking my breath away. I struggle to keep my legs from flying back—I cross them and clamp down on the bench as hard as I can.
I think to myself as I strain to sit there, how long has it been? 5 minutes? Ten? Then the pilot sticks his hand out giving the 1-minute signal.
“Uh-oh, 1 minute.”
I frantically scan the ground ahead of us to identify the target building. I spot it. The pilot drops his altitude quick, fast and, in a hurry, as he approaches the LZ. That lump in my throat is gone. I see the target building and several unknown personnel on the roof. We’re the first bird to land. First ones in.
I raise my M249 with my firing hand and prepare to engage. Thumb is on the safety button ready to switch and fire in a split second. With my non-firing hand, I clench the safety lanyard, waiting for the final seconds. I hop over the front gate until final touch down. I cannot engage anyone on the roof until clearing the rotors.
I can breathe normally again, the wind blast has slowed to a crawl. Touchdown. Everything is in slow motion. I pull the quick release and run off the bench, my legs buckling from the previous 23 minutes of clinging to life on the bench. As I struggle forward to the breach point I strain to regain visual contact with the personnel on the roof. They are gone. They are in the building waiting for us. The breach is open. I and our team are flowing in. I hear a short AK burst coming from upstairs as we enter.
Here we go ...
I have struggled significantly with post-traumatic stress and several of my demons. It is called post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. However, I strongly feel that it isn’t necessarily a disorder, but rather a natural response to going through a significant traumatic experience or series of experiences. Most nights, I recall scenarios like this and others much worse. There were several nights in the early 2000s when I would turn to the unhealthy coping mechanisms that I am sure most vets have gone to.
Alcohol was mine.
There were many nights back then that I would return home from the bars highly intoxicated. I re-lived many of the traumatic moments. I am not proud of this, but there were nights when I did come home drunk and stared down the barrel of my 1911. I just waited for the flash. It took a significant life event for me to come to my senses and start the path to healing.
My son was born in 2007. I fully recognized that no one was going to do it for me. It was solely up to me to take the first steps. I knew I needed help and started to reach out for it. It has taken a long time for me to figure out which methods of therapy work for me. Everyone is different, so there is no cookie-cutter answer for everyone. There are plenty of people who are trained to help you out, reaching out and saying you are not ok, is the first step. I know I am not the only one who has fought these demons before.
The point is, you don’t have to fight these demons alone. It is ok that you have them. It’s knowing that you can combat them and win. Reach out and tell someone about it. I urge anyone that is going through their own version of hell to please reach out. I often speak to my formations about suicide. My final words are “My phone is always on, there is no judgment here, if you need help, reach out.”
The appearance of U.S. Department of Defense (DoD) visual information does not imply or constitute DoD endorsement.
This article represents the personal opinion of author and is not an official position of the U.S. government or any other person or organization.
