REMOVING THE STIGMAof Suicide

I joined when I was young, 18 years old and the recruiter said Airborne Infantry was the way to go. Being from a small town in Alabama, around Valley Head, it sounded good to me. After Basic Training, Infantry School, and Airborne training I was assigned to the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment at Ft. Bragg, N.C. It only took less than a month and I was in the middle of it, just north of Kandahar, Afghanistan, Task Force Panther.

It was tough, lots of action. Then about a year later I found myself in Iraq around Fallujah. At that point I was seeing things that no human being should ever see and for some of us, it was beginning to put a strain on who we were and what we had become. We had lost our earlier identities. Decent kids with dreams.

All we talked about was home, girlfriends, and family, food too! I decided to reenlist and I made Sergeant, a huge accomplishment, because I was the first one in my family to graduate from high school and really make something of himself.

They sent me to Ft. Campbell, KY., as part of the 101st Air Assault Division and it was not long before I found my way back to the $#!+ again, this time around Mosul. It was ugly, ugly like I remembered. Things had changed from five years before, now I was responsible for a squad of 11 men and their safety.

Plus, the enemy was better trained and equipped. My anxiety was high even though we were all well-trained. I'd been through several IED ambushes, urban clearings, and other combat operations where we all put a lot of ammo downrange. So, I felt confident I could handle whatever happened.

I had enough, so I decided not to reenlist and go back home. Chill for a while. Little did I know that that saying is true, “No man can be an island”. I spiraled out of control. Drinking, could not hold a job, got arrested, and basically became everything I swore I would not become.

I tried going up to the Chattanooga, TN. VA, and it was just too much. Most of us did not want to talk in group. Being that did not mean you were weak, we were just there to shore up our PTSD money the VA was giving us. Being weak was saying you could not handle it.

Then my uncle told me about a friend of a friend. A psychologist, who himself is a combat vet, eight tours. That's how I was introduced to Vet4Vet Foundation. When I met this guy, a highly decorated Special Forces Officer, who was willing to show me his vulnerability, I realized that strength was in sharing with others our fears.

It's a process of healing. And the only way to heal is first to admit there is a problem.

Look, am I saying this is the answer? Who knows? I'm glad I am at where I am at right now. No more thinking about how my AR-15 can fix my mind, ya that's right, that was my plan, and no one knew. Only my uncle had a clue.

So look, the stigma about trauma and suicide is an invented concept. A lie. It takes more of a man to find answers with another, than it does at the bottom of a bottle, at the end of a 24 pack, or on the wrong side of a barrel. Suffering from mental health problems is a stigma only if you want it to be, a reason for being out of control.

I work with vets too, in my spare time. I was as close to suicide as one can get. I had a plan and the day I was going to do it, June 14, 2018. But I was curious about this friend of a friend my uncle told me about.

Now, he didn't talk me out of it, he just listened and understood. I came to realize not to become a suicide statistic – almost 7,000 a year since 2015. Sad isn't it, when all it took for me was overcoming the stigma of talking about what I truly felt inside and how it was ripping me from inside out, an invisible wound, festering ready to explode.