During my first trip to Iraq, for the initial invasion in 2003, I saw things that sickened me. Craters on the sidewalk with a cone shaped red shadow on the street... kind of like you see on the interstate when a semi hits a deer. I saw children crying, nomads out in the open desert looking on in confusion, men ripped from their homes, zip-tied with their heads covered by sand bags.

I was intel, I wasn’t supposed to see this. My recruiter told me I would never have to fight. In fact, he told me “Intel never deploys… it’s a cake job”… how wrong he was, everyone in Iraq that March was an infantryman at some point. 100 degrees but wearing MOPP gear, dehydrated, suffering from dysentery… I lost 23 pounds that deployment… best damned diet I have ever been on.

I made it, we “won” the war against Iraq. I jump back on the ship to the United States. We get our heroes welcome at Camp LeJeune. So that’s that… right? Boy was I wrong. I had a Staff Sergeant who told me as I waved to Iraq while getting on the AC-130 back to Kuwait, “Don’t wave Coffin, your ass will be back here… you think this shit is over with?”. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, President Bush announced “Mission Accomplished” weeks ago. Shut up man, you’re just f-ing with me… lets go home.

April 2005, I just got home from my 2nd tour in Iraq. Ramadi this time… Jesus Christ, what a terrible place. I was actually on the ground in Ramadi for barely an hour before I heard the whistle of an incoming mortar round for the first time. It hit pretty close, scared the piss out of me. This is different than last year. Iraqis loved us last year… “Meesta, Meesta, Bush good, Bush good”. Now they’re firing mortars and rockets at us? Wait, we have to wear our flak and kevlars ON BASE? Shit man, we didn’t even wear any gear near the end of OIF I. We walked around in t-shirts most of the time. Civil Affairs told us it showed the Iraqi’s that we trusted them. Ok, whatever…

I suffered for 7 months of incoming rounds that year. I was on this tiny little base just north of Ramadi. Right at the intersection of the Euphrates River and some tiny canal. They pounded our ass all day, every day… I take that back, they stopped for Ramadan. I was knocked on my rear 3 times. There was only 1 time that sticks out in my mind from OIF I in which I feared for my life. OIF II was different, it was like a dozen times. I would call my wife shaken almost daily. Why the f- would they put us on this terrible god damned base? We’re sitting ducks here man, this is bullshit. We can’t fire back, by time we get hit with IDF they’re in their jeeps and long gone. I got to fire on a mortar position 1 TIME with a MK-19.

I spent 90 days on the base security force (a whole different story… keeping it short, I was told that a female in my analyst team was not mentally able to stand guard duty… yet she was mentally able enough to work on Top Secret materials? Interesting… again a whole different story). I had to shoot a couple of cars that didn’t stop at our invisible line. I watched as a 14 year old Iraqi girl was killed instantly by a negligent discharge on a .50 cal, courtesy of an Army convoy. I was outside the wire then escorting the convoy into our base… I really didn’t know what to do. I was torn between running the 50 yards to her body to see if I could do anything and taking off on the full sprint back to the base entrance. As a mob of angry citizens grew around her lifeless body, we heard the order to return to the base immediately. The next day our base as well as 2 surrounding bases took 24 impacts of IDF. I, of course, was on patrol around the perimeter of the base and was knocked to the ground when a mortar landed about 60 yards from where I was standing. I was horrified by the look on my partners face as I got up and brushed myself off. He asks me “dude, are you alright?”. It was then I felt the stinging of blood in my eyes. I’m panicked at this point, do I have a hole in my head? Is shrapnel sticking out? Jesus Christ what just happened. I was struck over my left eye with a rock or a hunk of concrete apparently. A corpsman is on the scene within minutes as I jog down the middle of the road with blood pouring out of a ¼” gash over my eye. They wash it out, butterfly it up, a little Neosporin, motrin for the headache, and back to duty within 30 minutes.

When I got home from my 2nd trip, I was different. I was fighting with my wife a lot, I had ZERO patience for anything. I had nightmares occasionally that sent me into cold sweats. I would unknowingly scan large groups of people when out in public. I would jump at every loud sound. Something was wrong. I approach my command and ask them to see our medical staff. I go and explain the problem to the corpsman, they give me a referral to the mental health department. The HM1 says in his professional opinion, I am suffering from PTSD.

Now we’re working on June, we already know that another deployment is 12 weeks away. It will be my 3rd consecutive. So I approach my “Company Gunny” with news that I have been referred to the mental health department at the Naval Hospital and he immediately tells me to close the door and take a seat. He then begins to ask me what’s wrong, what am I experiencing… I’m feeling good at this point after hearing horror stories of what other Marines go through in this same situation. He then asks me, “Are you suicidal?”. I laugh and say of course not. He then says, “Ok, cause if you are, you know they’re going to pull your clearance, right?”. What the… how the… wow. I am an Intelligence Analyst holding the highest government clearance available… I want to work for the DoD eventually as a civilian… this is going to ruin me. He says, "I will arrange for you to meet with the Chaplain." But Im not religious I counter… he assures me that not all Chaplain visits are religious.

So I am at the Chaplain’s office and he asks me a bunch of weird questions. I felt like I was taking the SAT’s again. At the end of the meeting, despite alerting him and his assistant of my non-religious lifestyle, he asks to hold hands and pray. This was the first time in my 4 years of Marine service (at that point) that I swore at a Commissioned Officer. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. I storm out of the office, drive maniacally back to my shop, bust into my Gunny’s office and explain the whole situation to him. I shout “Something is F-ed up, this isn’t me, I want to see a god damned doctor”. He tells me “If you go see a doctor and they say you’re depressed or looney tunes, have PTSD, whatever the hell you have going on in that big head of yours, you’re on your way to ADMIN buddy. Now don’t be a pussy, you’ll be fine… deploy with the rest of the unit like you’re supposed to… you’re a Marine god damnit. So suck it up... you'll be fine”. That quote is as close to verbatim as I can recall. The exchange is seared into my mind to this day.

So I deploy, I fight over the phone with my wife repeatedly for 7 months. I plead at one point with my command to send me home because my marriage is in jeopardy… they wouldn’t. I plead to see the doctors for medication for anxiety, depression… I was crying myself to sleep 4-5 times a week… nothing from my command. Just more scare tactics and holding my clearance over my head.

Here I am, 18 months later, on 150mg of Zoloft each day. Meeting with a psychologist and counselor to explain my problems. My life has never been better, all I needed was a professional to examine me and diagnose a serious problem… that’s it.

Thanks Marine Corps….