The traumatic events that have resulted in my PTSD (and other mental illnesses) date back to 2006. In the beginning of that year, I joined the USMC (United States Marine Corps). I did so own my accord, with the full knowledge and understanding of the responsibilities and possible outcome(s) that it entailed.
After graduating boot camp, I was sent to MCT (Marine Combat Training) and then later to MOS school (Military Occupational Specialty). During my training at MOS school, my first traumatic experience occurred. While working on an LAV (Light Armored Vehicle), an extremely heavy armored hatch (or door) accidentally slammed on my hand. The results of which caused my left pinky finger to get caught, crushed, mangled and nearly completely severed. The only thing that kept it from being completely separated from my hand was a small sliver of skin.
I felt no pain at first, but was only in complete shock and confusion. I just stared at the injury while blood pulsed out with every beat of my heart. I was given immediate first-aid while an ambulance was called for. Once calm, the real pain began. Without a doubt, that was and still is the most pain I had ever felt in my life. In the ambulance, I was given a high dose of morphine that helped (for the moment). The ambulance had to take me nearly 45 minutes away to a hand trauma center in Baltimore, MD. By the time I had arrived, the severed part of my finger had basically died due to the lack of blood. The surgeon had to amputate the finger lower than the actual injury because of the irregular shape of what was left. I had just lost a finger and was trying to understand and fully grasp the situation.
I eventually healed at MOS school and had regained most of the function of my left hand. I was given the opportunity to either honorably get out of the USMC or continue on. I chose to keep going. I later graduated MOS school at the top of my class and was meritoriously promoted to Lance Corporal (E-3). After graduation, I was sent to the “fleet”, also known as my first permanent duty station, which was aboard Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune (in North Carolina).
Once in the fleet, I suffered from residual nerve damage that had occurred due to my amputation; it caused me to have “phantom pains” and resulted in the further revision amputation of my finger down to the first knuckle… basically leaving me only 9 digits. I still suffer from less frequent and less severe “phantom pains”.
While in Camp Lejeune, I was constantly working and training towards a deployment to either Iraq or Afghanistan… none of the Marines at my level knew exactly when and where we would be deploying. So, by 2008, I had obtained the rank of Corporal (E-4) and had been molded into a great leader, mentor, and Marine. Then another tragedy occurred.
In November of 2008, I received an urgent call from my sister explaining that my mother was extremely ill and that I needed to come see her; it was apparent that her situation was most likely going to result in her death.
I rushed home (4 hours away) to my mother’s side in the hospital bed. When I arrived, she could still speak, but only very little and she was extremely hard to understand. She was struggling so hard to breathe and was gasping violently. I’ll never forget the muted sounds of pain; the gurgling and wheezing… it was the sound of my mother suffering and dying slowly. All the doctors and nurses could do was to give her pain medication and make her as comfortable as possible. The cancer that she suffered from had already spread from over nearly all of her body and was shutting her organs down one-by-one. I never left my mother’s side. She passed away a few days later… I was with her when she took her last breath.
I was destroyed. My mother had raised me, loved me, and did almost everything for me; I was the purist sense of what some call a “momma’s boy”. I completely lost it after that. I didn’t know how to grieve… how to let go and accept that it happened. Shortly thereafter, I returned to my life in the USMC, but wasn’t ever going to be the same person again.
I first started drinking heavily (hard liquor) to numb my devastation. It only worked for so long and it made me into a monster. I was a horrible father, a horrible husband, and a very mean and hateful Marine. I had numerous suicidal ideations, but did not act on them. I still had a son, a wife, and other Marines to think about. I later sought help through a military psychiatrist. He gave me an anti-depressant and also counseled me. The professional help eventually got me to a point where I was “just ok”. I wasn’t ok at all. I simply had given up and put on a front for everyone… in order to attempt at being close to the kind of person I was before. I still suffered greatly inside and had been permanently scarred by the whole experience of my mother’s death.
My military career continued on. Then in early 2009, our battalion received orders that it would be deploying later that year to Afghanistan. Out of the 1,000 plus Marines in our battalion, only 300 were being selected to deploy due to the lack of resources available to sustain combat operations where we were going. Being that I was well-trained, physically healthy and an integral part of our battalion, I was selected as one of the 300 Marines that were set to deploy. I accepted it and knew it was my duty to it.
In May of 2009, the select few of our battalion was deployed to Afghanistan. We arrived first in Camp Bastian… also known as Camp Leatherneck. There we trained more while we awaited the arrival of all of our equipment and vehicles. Once all of our gear had arrived and we were fully prepared, we pushed south towards a district known as Khanashin. Before arriving at our destination, my vehicle broke-down and some of us were forced to stop in Camp Dwyer. While there we simply waited for repair parts to arrive. Meanwhile, other companies from our battalion went further south to a castle in the Khanashin district; there they set up a combat outpost inside the castle and ran operations from it.
While my Marines and I waited for repair parts, another traumatic event occurred. A Master Sergeant and a Lance Corporal from our battalion hit an IED (improvised explosive device) while convoying in their vehicle from the Castle to our location. The IED was very large and made from HME (homemade explosives). It instantly killed the young Lance Corporal who was driving and the Master Sergeant was blown in half, making him an instant double amputee. They were evacuated by helicopter to our location on Camp Dwyer. The young Lance Corporal’s body was soon after sent on its journey back to America. The Master Sergeant held on for as long as he could and eventually succumb to his injuries later that evening.
The Marines from our battalion were asked to help escort his remains from the STP’s location (Shock Trauma Platoon) to the aircraft that would help get him home. It was the most surreal experiences of my life. Solemn, humbled, and in mourning… we waited in formation as he was carried to our location, where we then took him from the troops who had tried to save his life. We escorted his remains, which were in a very plain black body bag, into the back of our vehicle. A few other Marines and I were with him in the back of the vehicle as we drove to the flight line to await the aircraft’s arrival. I’ll never forget the sights and smells from that experience. There was a very strong and distinctive odor coming from his remains; it was an aseptic smell that had come from whatever aid and treatment he had received. I’m not sure if it was due to something that was purposely done to help preserve his body (due to the extreme heat), but it was a smell that I will never forget. His remains were in what I guessed to be an average body bag; you could distinguish the basic shape of his body inside… it appeared to suddenly end just below his waist. It was difficult to be around, but we weren’t going to let him be alone. We waited, when the bird arrived, we then carried him on board and handed him over to the troops on the plane. We did it with a respectful ceremony… he was saluted… and we then returned to our tent.
The two Marines’ deaths hit very close to home. I had worked closely with the young Lance Corporal and the Master Sergeant during our preparation at Camp Leatherneck. More so with the Master Sergeant; he and I shared the same dislike of a Staff Sergeant that was in my platoon. I had begun to get acquainted with him and him with me. Also, it was strange for me to see a Marine of such rank do the work that he had done; he got as dirty as the junior Marines when he really didn’t have to. I had grown to respect him greatly… also the young Lance Corporal who worked with such effort and ethic. They were gone… and I realized then that I was part of something very real and extremely dangerous.
We didn’t have too much time for sorrow, as we had to continue on to ensure our own safety as well as mission accomplishment. We pushed forward.
Once our part arrived, we were then able to continue south towards Khanashin and the Helmand River. Some parts of our battalion had already arrived and once we rallied-up, we began the construction of a COP (combat outpost) in a very remote area that was adjacent to the river.
Shortly after arriving at the site where we built our COP, A few other Marines (from our platoon) and I were tasked with a very difficult thing. We had to partially disassemble and clean the vehicle that the young Lance Corporal and Master Sergeant were in when they hit the IED. It was kept away from most of our battalion and enclosed in a tent by itself. The hole from the blast was big enough for at least two people to stand in… it was blown through thick armored steel. The whole vehicle smelled of blood and diesel fuel. I never thought you would be able to smell blood, but it has the odor of metal after it has been held in your palm for a while… like you could smell the iron in it. I will never forget that smell. The control panel next to where the Lance Corporal was sitting was bashed in… as if his head and body was forced into it. There were still small slivers of tissue and skin that had been caught by the surrounding mangled steel. I will never forget that. However hard it was to do, it had to be done and we had to push forward.
We were severely undermanned and overworked due to our battalion’s small size. Things were very tough and the only way we received food and water for the first 5 months, was by airdrops from C-130’s. Along with those very physically and mentally demanding hardships, we (our platoon) was constantly being undermined by a disgruntled and hateful Staff Sergeant. He made our lives hell… even more unbearable and miserable than the deployment alone. That mental and verbal abuse from him continued until the very end. I remember daydreaming and planning countless ways to kill him for what he was doing… then killing myself too. Thoughts of my son, my wife, and our futures were the only thing that kept me from killing us both.
While on the COP and during many of the countless missions we went on, we were rocketed and mortared as often as the enemy could do so. I lost count of how many times it happened because at the time, our operational tempo was so fast-paced. I was also on a convoy in which my vehicle was beside a 7-ton truck that hit an IED. Everything went into slow motion; I heard no explosion, but only the “swoosh” of the sand as it went into the air like a column or a cloud. The tire from the truck flew over our vehicle… then my ears started ringing. It was like time slowed down. I then had to call in the 9-line regarding the injured Marines. I had no time to panic.
During and after all of these near-death experiences, we were not given permission to return fire; either due to incompetent leaders or strict ROE (rules of engagement). It was very difficult to deal with… I felt helpless… someone was trying to kill us and we couldn’t kill them.
I returned home without physical harm in November of 2009. Our battalion had lost several Marines and one Sailor (a Navy Corpsman/Medic). I was just happy, at the time, to be back safe in America with my family.
My symptoms didn’t start to surface until February of 2010. It started with my anger becoming so bad that I couldn’t control myself… little things would set me off to the point of violence. I couldn’t go in stores or other crowded places. I would become very anxious and scared… almost frozen and stuck in place… afraid to move due to everyday obstacles that may have been in my path or that prevented me from exiting certain situations. It snowballed from there and became very severe. I then sought professional help for my problems. A psychiatrist diagnosed me with PTSD and Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder; he prescribed anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and anxiety medication. He also referred me to a psychologist for counseling.
While in treatment, in June of 2010, I received a phone call from my brother… my father had passed away in the ambulance on his way to the hospital. He died from complications from COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder). It was very sudden and unexpected. I was so numb… so beaten by my own health issues… I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. I only knew that both of my parents were now gone.
Since then, I’ve been medically retired from the USMC (October of 2011) and I now receive all my treatment through the VA (veterans affairs) because it’s free, but the quality of care suffers too. I go through intense cycles of losing my mind and back to reality. I’ve been on so many different medications; from Adderall to Zoloft. I’ve been hospitalized 3 times; one of those times was for an in-patient 90 day PTSD program. I’ve been through more counseling that I care to mention; also I’ve gone through CPT (cognitive processing therapy) twice. I still suffer from PTSD with no end in sight.
I only live my life day-to-day now; if I try to think about the future, I catastrophize things and I obsess over the worst possible scenarios. If I didn’t still have my faithful and loving wife… or my son, I would have most likely taken my own life by now. She and my son are the only reasons that I still fight for control over my mind. For now, my PTSD is handled best by multiple medications, individual and group therapy and I’ve recently turned to writing. I’m still here.
After graduating boot camp, I was sent to MCT (Marine Combat Training) and then later to MOS school (Military Occupational Specialty). During my training at MOS school, my first traumatic experience occurred. While working on an LAV (Light Armored Vehicle), an extremely heavy armored hatch (or door) accidentally slammed on my hand. The results of which caused my left pinky finger to get caught, crushed, mangled and nearly completely severed. The only thing that kept it from being completely separated from my hand was a small sliver of skin.
I felt no pain at first, but was only in complete shock and confusion. I just stared at the injury while blood pulsed out with every beat of my heart. I was given immediate first-aid while an ambulance was called for. Once calm, the real pain began. Without a doubt, that was and still is the most pain I had ever felt in my life. In the ambulance, I was given a high dose of morphine that helped (for the moment). The ambulance had to take me nearly 45 minutes away to a hand trauma center in Baltimore, MD. By the time I had arrived, the severed part of my finger had basically died due to the lack of blood. The surgeon had to amputate the finger lower than the actual injury because of the irregular shape of what was left. I had just lost a finger and was trying to understand and fully grasp the situation.
I eventually healed at MOS school and had regained most of the function of my left hand. I was given the opportunity to either honorably get out of the USMC or continue on. I chose to keep going. I later graduated MOS school at the top of my class and was meritoriously promoted to Lance Corporal (E-3). After graduation, I was sent to the “fleet”, also known as my first permanent duty station, which was aboard Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune (in North Carolina).
Once in the fleet, I suffered from residual nerve damage that had occurred due to my amputation; it caused me to have “phantom pains” and resulted in the further revision amputation of my finger down to the first knuckle… basically leaving me only 9 digits. I still suffer from less frequent and less severe “phantom pains”.
While in Camp Lejeune, I was constantly working and training towards a deployment to either Iraq or Afghanistan… none of the Marines at my level knew exactly when and where we would be deploying. So, by 2008, I had obtained the rank of Corporal (E-4) and had been molded into a great leader, mentor, and Marine. Then another tragedy occurred.
In November of 2008, I received an urgent call from my sister explaining that my mother was extremely ill and that I needed to come see her; it was apparent that her situation was most likely going to result in her death.
I rushed home (4 hours away) to my mother’s side in the hospital bed. When I arrived, she could still speak, but only very little and she was extremely hard to understand. She was struggling so hard to breathe and was gasping violently. I’ll never forget the muted sounds of pain; the gurgling and wheezing… it was the sound of my mother suffering and dying slowly. All the doctors and nurses could do was to give her pain medication and make her as comfortable as possible. The cancer that she suffered from had already spread from over nearly all of her body and was shutting her organs down one-by-one. I never left my mother’s side. She passed away a few days later… I was with her when she took her last breath.
I was destroyed. My mother had raised me, loved me, and did almost everything for me; I was the purist sense of what some call a “momma’s boy”. I completely lost it after that. I didn’t know how to grieve… how to let go and accept that it happened. Shortly thereafter, I returned to my life in the USMC, but wasn’t ever going to be the same person again.
I first started drinking heavily (hard liquor) to numb my devastation. It only worked for so long and it made me into a monster. I was a horrible father, a horrible husband, and a very mean and hateful Marine. I had numerous suicidal ideations, but did not act on them. I still had a son, a wife, and other Marines to think about. I later sought help through a military psychiatrist. He gave me an anti-depressant and also counseled me. The professional help eventually got me to a point where I was “just ok”. I wasn’t ok at all. I simply had given up and put on a front for everyone… in order to attempt at being close to the kind of person I was before. I still suffered greatly inside and had been permanently scarred by the whole experience of my mother’s death.
My military career continued on. Then in early 2009, our battalion received orders that it would be deploying later that year to Afghanistan. Out of the 1,000 plus Marines in our battalion, only 300 were being selected to deploy due to the lack of resources available to sustain combat operations where we were going. Being that I was well-trained, physically healthy and an integral part of our battalion, I was selected as one of the 300 Marines that were set to deploy. I accepted it and knew it was my duty to it.
In May of 2009, the select few of our battalion was deployed to Afghanistan. We arrived first in Camp Bastian… also known as Camp Leatherneck. There we trained more while we awaited the arrival of all of our equipment and vehicles. Once all of our gear had arrived and we were fully prepared, we pushed south towards a district known as Khanashin. Before arriving at our destination, my vehicle broke-down and some of us were forced to stop in Camp Dwyer. While there we simply waited for repair parts to arrive. Meanwhile, other companies from our battalion went further south to a castle in the Khanashin district; there they set up a combat outpost inside the castle and ran operations from it.
While my Marines and I waited for repair parts, another traumatic event occurred. A Master Sergeant and a Lance Corporal from our battalion hit an IED (improvised explosive device) while convoying in their vehicle from the Castle to our location. The IED was very large and made from HME (homemade explosives). It instantly killed the young Lance Corporal who was driving and the Master Sergeant was blown in half, making him an instant double amputee. They were evacuated by helicopter to our location on Camp Dwyer. The young Lance Corporal’s body was soon after sent on its journey back to America. The Master Sergeant held on for as long as he could and eventually succumb to his injuries later that evening.
The Marines from our battalion were asked to help escort his remains from the STP’s location (Shock Trauma Platoon) to the aircraft that would help get him home. It was the most surreal experiences of my life. Solemn, humbled, and in mourning… we waited in formation as he was carried to our location, where we then took him from the troops who had tried to save his life. We escorted his remains, which were in a very plain black body bag, into the back of our vehicle. A few other Marines and I were with him in the back of the vehicle as we drove to the flight line to await the aircraft’s arrival. I’ll never forget the sights and smells from that experience. There was a very strong and distinctive odor coming from his remains; it was an aseptic smell that had come from whatever aid and treatment he had received. I’m not sure if it was due to something that was purposely done to help preserve his body (due to the extreme heat), but it was a smell that I will never forget. His remains were in what I guessed to be an average body bag; you could distinguish the basic shape of his body inside… it appeared to suddenly end just below his waist. It was difficult to be around, but we weren’t going to let him be alone. We waited, when the bird arrived, we then carried him on board and handed him over to the troops on the plane. We did it with a respectful ceremony… he was saluted… and we then returned to our tent.
The two Marines’ deaths hit very close to home. I had worked closely with the young Lance Corporal and the Master Sergeant during our preparation at Camp Leatherneck. More so with the Master Sergeant; he and I shared the same dislike of a Staff Sergeant that was in my platoon. I had begun to get acquainted with him and him with me. Also, it was strange for me to see a Marine of such rank do the work that he had done; he got as dirty as the junior Marines when he really didn’t have to. I had grown to respect him greatly… also the young Lance Corporal who worked with such effort and ethic. They were gone… and I realized then that I was part of something very real and extremely dangerous.
We didn’t have too much time for sorrow, as we had to continue on to ensure our own safety as well as mission accomplishment. We pushed forward.
Once our part arrived, we were then able to continue south towards Khanashin and the Helmand River. Some parts of our battalion had already arrived and once we rallied-up, we began the construction of a COP (combat outpost) in a very remote area that was adjacent to the river.
Shortly after arriving at the site where we built our COP, A few other Marines (from our platoon) and I were tasked with a very difficult thing. We had to partially disassemble and clean the vehicle that the young Lance Corporal and Master Sergeant were in when they hit the IED. It was kept away from most of our battalion and enclosed in a tent by itself. The hole from the blast was big enough for at least two people to stand in… it was blown through thick armored steel. The whole vehicle smelled of blood and diesel fuel. I never thought you would be able to smell blood, but it has the odor of metal after it has been held in your palm for a while… like you could smell the iron in it. I will never forget that smell. The control panel next to where the Lance Corporal was sitting was bashed in… as if his head and body was forced into it. There were still small slivers of tissue and skin that had been caught by the surrounding mangled steel. I will never forget that. However hard it was to do, it had to be done and we had to push forward.
We were severely undermanned and overworked due to our battalion’s small size. Things were very tough and the only way we received food and water for the first 5 months, was by airdrops from C-130’s. Along with those very physically and mentally demanding hardships, we (our platoon) was constantly being undermined by a disgruntled and hateful Staff Sergeant. He made our lives hell… even more unbearable and miserable than the deployment alone. That mental and verbal abuse from him continued until the very end. I remember daydreaming and planning countless ways to kill him for what he was doing… then killing myself too. Thoughts of my son, my wife, and our futures were the only thing that kept me from killing us both.
While on the COP and during many of the countless missions we went on, we were rocketed and mortared as often as the enemy could do so. I lost count of how many times it happened because at the time, our operational tempo was so fast-paced. I was also on a convoy in which my vehicle was beside a 7-ton truck that hit an IED. Everything went into slow motion; I heard no explosion, but only the “swoosh” of the sand as it went into the air like a column or a cloud. The tire from the truck flew over our vehicle… then my ears started ringing. It was like time slowed down. I then had to call in the 9-line regarding the injured Marines. I had no time to panic.
During and after all of these near-death experiences, we were not given permission to return fire; either due to incompetent leaders or strict ROE (rules of engagement). It was very difficult to deal with… I felt helpless… someone was trying to kill us and we couldn’t kill them.
I returned home without physical harm in November of 2009. Our battalion had lost several Marines and one Sailor (a Navy Corpsman/Medic). I was just happy, at the time, to be back safe in America with my family.
My symptoms didn’t start to surface until February of 2010. It started with my anger becoming so bad that I couldn’t control myself… little things would set me off to the point of violence. I couldn’t go in stores or other crowded places. I would become very anxious and scared… almost frozen and stuck in place… afraid to move due to everyday obstacles that may have been in my path or that prevented me from exiting certain situations. It snowballed from there and became very severe. I then sought professional help for my problems. A psychiatrist diagnosed me with PTSD and Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder; he prescribed anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and anxiety medication. He also referred me to a psychologist for counseling.
While in treatment, in June of 2010, I received a phone call from my brother… my father had passed away in the ambulance on his way to the hospital. He died from complications from COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder). It was very sudden and unexpected. I was so numb… so beaten by my own health issues… I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. I only knew that both of my parents were now gone.
Since then, I’ve been medically retired from the USMC (October of 2011) and I now receive all my treatment through the VA (veterans affairs) because it’s free, but the quality of care suffers too. I go through intense cycles of losing my mind and back to reality. I’ve been on so many different medications; from Adderall to Zoloft. I’ve been hospitalized 3 times; one of those times was for an in-patient 90 day PTSD program. I’ve been through more counseling that I care to mention; also I’ve gone through CPT (cognitive processing therapy) twice. I still suffer from PTSD with no end in sight.
I only live my life day-to-day now; if I try to think about the future, I catastrophize things and I obsess over the worst possible scenarios. If I didn’t still have my faithful and loving wife… or my son, I would have most likely taken my own life by now. She and my son are the only reasons that I still fight for control over my mind. For now, my PTSD is handled best by multiple medications, individual and group therapy and I’ve recently turned to writing. I’m still here.
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