A few words of clarity before I continue. Regardless of what my mind tells me, I LOVE being a Soldier. I love serving my country and wearing this uniform. Part of my depression – aside from the PTSD by product – comes from being less of a Soldier.

Since I was injured, I have struggled to deal with the fact that I cannot do the things I used to do. When I graduated basic training, my father gave me a Command Sergeant Major pin that I had hoped to one day pin on. It was/is a goal of mine to attain the rank of Sergeant Major. I carry that pin, battered as it is, with me everywhere I go in uniform. But, my injuries and subsequent profiles will probably prevent me from attaining my goal.

I got lucky being the First Sergeant of an awesome company filled with some of the best Soldiers I’ve ever served with. While I had many issues with my higher echelon leadership since seeking help with PTSD and local school board issues (no apology from Redstone or my previous leadership since being proven right, by the way), they at least gave me an opportunity that I wouldn’t have had anywhere else. Unfortunately, that time was cut short because of the school issue, but I enjoyed every day of it.

Physical fitness is a huge aspect of military life, there’s no secret about that. In the Army, we are graded on three areas of physical fitness: 1) chest, shoulder and tricep muscle endurance (the push-up); 2) abdominal and hip-flexor muscle endurance (the sit-up); and 3) aerobic fitness (the run). Because of my back injury from Iraq, I am not permitted to do the run or sit-up. I take an alternate event for the run, which is usually the walk. The walk is also very painful for me, but I endure it.

The majority of the Army wants a First Sergeant who can “hang with the troops” and set a good physical fitness example. I can’t do that. So, in effect, my progress and potential is somewhat stifled. I’m not whining, mind you, just stating fact.

Through Fort Hood’s “Strong Star” program, I’ve learned to deal with many of my so-called “stuck points.” Stuff like: “I am a failure,” “I’m a terrible father,” etc. While subconsciously, this is what I feel, logically I know it’s my broken brain saying these things.

But, on the upside, I’m still alive. I have my health (sort of) and I have a wonderful, caring, and VERY patient family. Emily is understanding (sometimes) when I simply don’t want to get out of bed and face the day. Admittedly, she has to walk on eggshells around me, but she loves me unconditionally even though I’m a terrible husband (another stuck point).

A loving and understanding family is immeasurably important to basket cases like me, but we can’t ignore that these conditions place a LOT of stress on the ones we love. They carry a large burden in weighing when to speak up, when to provide comfort, and when to slap us silly for being stupid. In addition to relying heavily on my family, I lean on God to provide me with reinforcement and strength. His spirit leads and guides me when I sink into a hole darker than space. There’s a song by Josh Wilson that I love listening to when I’m in that dark place called “Savior, Please”:

Yes, I know this is a scatter-brained post. Understand that my purpose in sharing these thoughts is to show troops that it’s okay to talk about it and let someone know you’re hurting.