A Battle in the Mind

           My buddies and I are on a simple foot patrol in the city of Fallujah in Iraq. Everything is utter chaos with constant gunfire, explosions, and worst of all is the complete paranoia of it all. We have no idea where the next shot could come from, be it in the next house over, a sniper half a block away, or a machine gunner perched in an alleyway just waiting for us. As we’re going compound through compound there is a sudden and violent explosion and, in my daze, I hear my squad lead shouting something about contacts on a roof with a green awning, then every single man in our platoon started to shoot their guns at the building, completely defacing the entire structure. We hear someone shout man down and I look to my best friend, Webley, and he is completely unrecognizable. His skin is scorched black, his face is not even there, and there’s not much left of him anyway save for some muscle holding him together

          I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of my lungs. My wife, Ellie shoots up and immediately embraces me, “Another nightmare about the war?” asks Ellie.

          “Yeah, and this one is about Webley.” I reply tearfully. 

          “You need to talk to somebody hon. You can’t go on like this and I’m afraid that I’ll come home one day and see you hanging from the ceiling fan or with a hole through your head.” says Ellie.

          I shout, “You don’t understand! The things I’ve seen, the things I did just to stay alive! Talking to some shrink won’t make anything better, they’ll just give me meds and say its all good!” 

          “But it’s better than just wasting away and watching you, my husband and the love of my life disappear! Help me to understand James! Make me understand!” Ellie shouts back. 

          “Fine! You wanna know what I went through? What haunts me at every waking moment? Listen closely!” I shout back at her. “This happened about a day or two before Webley died.” I start off with a shaky voice, but my wife grips my hand and I continue, “We just killed this insurgent that walked out in front of us with a weapon in hand, and this kid comes out and picks up the insurgent’s rifle.” 

          My wife interjects, “How old was the kid?”

          “No more than eight, maybe nine. Anyway, he picks up the rifle and everybody starts shouting at him to drop the weapon but as soon as the muzzle of the rifle lifted ever so slightly.” I pause to take a long breath and my wife says, “It’s okay. Take your time.” I nod my head and continue, “As that muzzle raised slightly, I didn’t hesitate to shoot the kid. I remember everything like its seared in my brain, the way the kid flopped and the crater that used to be his forehead. The scariest part is that I felt nothing! At least not until got home.” 

          My wife simply hugs me as I tearfully recount the story and she asks me, “What about Webley? How did he die?” 

          I answer her question, “We were on patrol, clearing building to building from insurgents so we can get a foot hold in the city and this bastard on a rooftop sent a rocket at us. We assumed it was a frag round due to the mess it made of him but we’re lucky it was only him and not anyone else.”

          Ellie whispers ever so sweetly, “You need help hon, I understand you went through some horrific things in that god forsaken war but help is out there. I’m here, and other people are out there that went through the same thing you went through, maybe a group meet could help you and please see someone. For me at least.” 

          I sigh and nod my head in agreement. “Fine Ellie. You win, I’ll email some of my boys and see if there is a meet up for veterans with PTSD.”

          Later that night I attend one such meeting and for the first time since I came home, I got some sleep.