Repost: A Soldier’s Story

He was the one who always made me laugh. I was working as a manager at a very upscale restaurant and Sean was one of the busboys. It was extremely stressful and I would, at times, totally loose my temper. Sean had of looking at me while in full fury that would always have me bursting out laughing. He was sixteen years old at the time. He had an incredible wit for his age. He was a kind, gentle, sensitive soul. The day I finally left that hell hole, they threw a little party for me. He stood up and pulled out a lyric sheet he wrote himself. Then in a dead on country twang he sung his lyrics to the tune of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy”. It was absolutely hysterical. I still remember every word.
Fast forward eight years. There was a couple moving in down the street. Sure enough it was Sean and his girlfriend. I ran up to him and he gave me a huge hug. Needless to say, we visited each other daily. I got to know him very well. For some reason he found it very hard to find or keep a job. When he told me he joined the Marines, I almost passed out. If there was ever anyone who was not soldier material, it was him. He told me not to worry. He told me it was only for four years and that he needed to learn a skill. He told me he won’t be sent to Iraq.
The day he was shipped to Iraq, he came over to say goodbye. I put on a brave face and whished him luck. The second the door closed, I burst out crying.
The hints that he was having emotional problem came in bits and pieces. His letters were getting progressively angrier. Once he even called from Iraq and told me that he thought he might be losing his mind. I told him they have psychiatrists for that there, and he better go and see one. He agreed. I prayed things would get better.
One day he was called into his commanding officer’s office. The officer quickly snapped, “So you want to beat the shit out of me? Well come on, here’s your chance.”
Sean relied that he had know idea what he was talking about. Then the officer pointed to his computer where all his psychiatrist‘s reports were listed. Every single one of them where right there. I looked into whether or not this breach confidentially was legal or not. Apparently, under certain circumstances, it can be. Please see link.

http://www.objector.org/girights/gettingout/odpmcfacts.html


Sean was terrified. He tried to explain that he was encouraged to vent his anger, and at that particular session he was very angry at his officer. The officer then started to shove Sean around, provoking a fight. Sean knew that if he hit him it would result in a court martial, so he held back.
Things went quickly further downhill from there. The officer made his life a living hell. Sean knew he had to get out, and fast. So he purposefully failed a drug test. This, however, only got him a stay in the brig. So he did it again and again, till he finally got a dishonorable discharge. He was finally shipped home.
I wish I could say this was the happy ending, but it was not. It became very obvious very quickly that he was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. What was once a calm, friendly and trusting man was now paranoid, edgy and confrontational. He would wake up sweaty and screaming in the middle of the night. One day I saw him fling himself to the ground, reliving a battle. Since he was discharged dishonorably he had no benefits or medical insurance. He couldn’t afford his own therapy so he took the fastest way to relieve his pain. He began to self medicate.
This man who previously never touched a drop of alcohol was now constantly drunk. His once slim and fit body was now sporting a beer belly. His once sparkling eye’s now had deep and dark circles, his face was never shaven. I was helplessly watching my friend sink deeper and deeper into darkness. I suggested he go to a welfare office for financial aid and, above all, medical insurance. He refused. He said he was too embarrassed and ashamed. A couple times I got him to agree. When I went to drive him there he was too drunk to move. His girlfriend couldn’t take anymore and tossed him out on the streets. His father had passed, and his mother refused to even talk to him. She was humiliated that he was dishonorably discharged. When I tried to explain to her why, she said something to the effect of, “He should have been more of a man”. I never came so close to slapping a woman in my entire life.
So he slept where he could. He once spent a month here with me and my partner. I heard those chilling screams in the middle of the night. I held him till he calmed down. Sometimes before he woke completely up, he would take a swing at me. When he realized it was me he would cry like a baby. It was hell just dealing with it. I can even begin to imagine living it. Once we were watching the news. The newscaster reported the latest Iraqi death count. “Those are the lucky ones”, he said.
Before he went to war I asked him how he could always manage to stay so calm. “I lost my father when I was six years old. What could possibly be more upsetting than that? There’s nothing that they throw at me that I can’t handle”. Sadly, he was wrong.
I haven’t seen him for over six months. I hear about him from time to time. None of it is good news. Somewhere out there roams an American lost in America. He is yet another one of the countless victims who have fallen through the cracks. I think about him everyday. And if I ever see him again, I will take him home. And he will not leave until he is well, rested and ready.