I spent a year in Iraq, between April 2003 and April 2004, with the 4th Infantry Division. My time in Iraq was pure hell. I was part of 100+ raids and, often, I was the first one in, kicking down the door. I was in numerous firefights and lost six friends along the way.
Upon returning my life fell apart. Everyone told me I changed. I lost touch with my family. The military taught me to kill, but they didn’t de-program me when I got home. I was diagnosed with PTSD, but it has recently gotten much worse. I get treatment at the local VA Medical Center. The pills they give me make me gain weight, which I hate, but I know they are necessary. I was just fired from my job at Target. I was in charge of catching shoplifters – it fit my skillset – but kept me in a mindset of paranoia. My advisers at the VA recently upped my dosage and suggested that I give the pills six months to kick in before I look for another job. So, now I’m without an income and disability money is barely enough to get by on. I may be forced to find a job before I correct myself.
I keep going back to my music. I’ve been making mixed tapes since I was young. I wrote lyrics almost everyday in Iraq, many describing the gruesome firefights I experiences. My mom taught me to love, but I lost track of that somewhere in Iraq.