I am the unseen enemy, the silent invader. Not a physical wound, but just as real, but more painful, just as devastating. I am the aftermath of the horrors of combat, the echo of the battlefield that lingers in the minds of those who have experienced it. I feed off the adrenaline of my host. It's my sustenance, my lifeblood. I crave it, I cherish it, I long for it. I am a relentless puppeteer, pulling the strings of memory, forcing the past into the present, making dreams into nightmares. Sometimes, my host doesn't even realize it, but I get my adrenaline fix whenever I desire. I am insatiable, always hungry.
I infiltrate quietly, stealthily. I do not announce my arrival with fanfare or immediate symptoms. Instead, I seep into the psyche of my victims, those brave souls who have witnessed the unspeakable horrors of war. I am the product of their trauma, the manifestation of their unprocessed pain.
I often reveal myself to the family first. I am the irritability that replaces patience, the isolation that replaces love, the nightmares that disrupt peaceful sleep, the sudden outbursts of anger that replace calm. I am the distant look in the eyes of a loved one, the unexplained tears, the inexplicable fear. I am the wall that grows between the veteran and their family, the barrier that prevents understanding, the chasm that swallows communication. I devour and I won't stop!
Inside the mind of the veteran, I am chaos. I am the replaying of traumatic events, over and over, a movie that never ends. I am the constant state of alertness, the inability to relax, the fear that danger is always just around the corner. I am the guilt over actions taken or not taken, the regret over lives lost, the sorrow over the innocence forever gone.
I am the avoidance of anything that might trigger memories of trauma, the shadow that pulls away from joy. I hate my host, and need its emotions, all of it! The desperate attempt to escape from me is futile, I am the agony that will not let my host forgive themselves. I am the isolation from friends and family, the withdrawal from social activities, the loss of interest in once-loved hobbies. I am the feeling of being permanently damaged, the belief that normality is forever out of reach.
I am the physical symptoms too. I am the racing heart and the rapid breathing, the sweating and the trembling. I am the headaches and the stomach issues, the muscle tension and the fatigue. I am the insomnia that plagues the nights and the lack of concentration that hinders the days.
And 22 times a day, I am able to end my host. And now, I spread, move onto the next host. I propagate the pain when I’m unnoticed. I duplicate from one to three, from three to six, creating a path of complete pain, chaos, destruction, and isolation!
And only now, at the end, do I reveal my name. Do you see me now? I am not so invisible now, am I? Just get over me, right? Is it that easy? I am Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, the aftermath of the horrors of combat, the echo of the battlefield that lingers in the minds of those who have experienced it.
But I am not the end of the story. I am a chapter, a difficult and painful chapter, but not the final one. I am the storm that must be weathered, the mountain that must be climbed, the darkness that must be endured before the dawn. The strength and courage of those who battle against me, their determination to reclaim their lives, their refusal to let me define them - that is the true story. That is the narrative of hope and resilience that ultimately defines the human spirit, the true essence of the warrior, the father, the husband, the mother, the son, the daughter.
I am not invincible, though. I can be fought, I can be managed, and I can be overcome, I can be defeated. It takes the courage you already have, find it, dig deep, as it won't be easy. This will be the greatest battle, the true test of warriorship. It takes time, it takes support, and it takes professional help.
The courage it will take is incalculable, but if you face me, the courage will come. The honor, humility, and bravery it takes to face the trauma, to process the pain, and to learn new ways of thinking and reacting will be something that ultimately you will cherish forever. The knowledge you will gain from my defeat will be priceless as it needs to be shared. It also takes honor, courage, the love and understanding of family and friends, the incalculable patience of your peers and therapists, and your American resilience that will get you through.
For I am the unseen enemy, the silent invader. But I am not the end of the story. I am a chapter, a difficult and painful chapter, but not the final one. The strength and courage of those who battle against me, their determination to reclaim their lives, their refusal to let me define them - that is the true story. No medal can be given, not even the Medal of Honor is good enough. That is the narrative of hope and resilience that ultimately defines the human spirit.
This battle against me is not fought on a battlefield, but within the mind. It is a battle of wills, a test of mental and emotional strength. It is a journey of healing, a path that leads from darkness into light. It is a process, a journey, a transformation. It is the metamorphosis of the wounded warrior into the healed survivor, the transformation of the victim into the victor.
The victory over me is not a moment, but a journey. It is not a destination, but a process. It is not a single act, but a series of small steps, each one a victory in itself. It is the daily choice to face the pain, to confront the trauma, to challenge the fear. It is the decision to seek help, to accept support, to embrace healing. It is the courage to share your story, to break the silence, to shatter the stigma.
And in the end, when you stand victorious, when you have reclaimed your life, when you have defeated me, you will be more than just a survivor. You will be a beacon of hope for others, a testament to the power of the human spirit, a symbol of resilience and recovery. You will be the proof that I can be defeated, that healing is possible, that life can be reclaimed. And in your victory, you will inspire others to fight their own battles, to face their own demons, to reclaim their own lives.
And so, while I am a chapter in your story, I am not the final chapter. I am not the end of your story, but the beginning of a new one. A story of resilience, of recovery, of rebirth. A story of how you faced the unseen enemy and emerged victorious. A story of how you turned the pain of the past into the strength of the present, the fear of the past into the courage of the present, the trauma of the past into the healing of the present.
This is not a journey you have to take alone. There are others who have walked this path, others who have faced me and won. They stand ready to support you, to guide you, to walk with you. They are the therapists and counselors, The fellow veterans, the friends and family, the fellow survivors. They are the community of warriors who have faced the horrors of combat and the aftermath of trauma, who have battled against me and emerged victorious.
And there are resources available to you, tools and strategies to help you fight. There are therapies and treatments, support groups and self-care strategies, and mindfulness practices. There are books and websites, hotlines and helplines, workshops and webinars. There are countless ways to fight me, to manage me, to overcome me.
And there is hope. Hope that you can heal, that you can recover, that you can reclaim your life. Hope that you can find peace, that you can find joy, that you can find purpose. Hope that you can turn the pain of the past into the power of the present, the trauma of the past into the triumph of the present, the wounds of the past into the wisdom of the present.
For I am PTSD, the unseen enemy, the silent invader. But I am not the end of the story. I am a chapter, a difficult and painful chapter, but not the final one. The strength and courage of those who battle against me, their determination to reclaim their lives, their refusal to let me define them - that is the true story. No medal can be given, not even the Medal of Honor is good enough. That is the narrative of hope and resilience that ultimately defines the American spirit, the true warrior, the true survivor, the true victor.
Written By SpartanAltsobaPatriot
"The American warrior's honor is not defined by the battles fought on foreign soil, but by the resilience shown in the battle after the battle. Their courage is not in the absence of fear, but in the triumph over it. The true warrior is not one who does not feel fear, but one who conquers that fear, day after day, night after night. Their strength is not in never falling, but in rising every time they fall." - By SpartanAltsobaPatriot
Here are some important resources for veterans and their loved ones:
Veterans Crisis Line: If you’re a Veteran in crisis or concerned about one, connect with the caring, qualified Veterans Crisis Line responders for confidential help. Many of them are Veterans themselves. This service is private, free, and available 24/7. You can call 988 and select 1, text 838255, or start a confidential chat online.
VA Medical Centers: VA medical centers across the country have specially trained suicide prevention coordinators who can provide the counseling and services needed.
Vet Centers: Vet Centers can help veterans and their families readjust to life at home after returning from serving in a combat zone.
Veterans Benefits Administration offices: These offices can help veterans access benefits for disability compensation, job training, home loans, and more.
Make the Connection: This website provides resources and stories of veterans who’ve overcome depression and other mental health challenges.
Emergency Care at non-VA facilities: Learn about getting emergency care at non-VA facilities.
This was excellent! Such a great view into the mind of the suffering soldier. It should NEVER be a poison pill to seek treatment but it is. High crimes against humanity to make these men feel less than and not cared for after all they require of them. Sickens me.
Papa refused to talk about what happened to him in WWII. Over time, he'd begin to share some of the funnier stories, like him diving and hiding behind ammo when they were being shelled and realizing, OH $#!+, where an I hiding again? And when he painted over the toes of an annoying officer's shoes on the deck. But he had good friends at the Elk's Lodge and VFW to talk about the tough stuff, others who knew it because they were there. His story finally ended at age 84, loved by so many family and friends, that they had to move the funeral to a larger venue. You can do this. You can overcome. Papa is proof. God bless you, my beloved veteran! God bless you, my beloved survivor!