Unlocking the Vault: Stories From Veterans & Their Families

I think I’ve always felt called to serve in the military. My father served in Vietnam, so patriotism and service came pretty naturally in my family. It didn’t help that school wasn’t really my strong suit. I was the stereotypical class clown and always pushed the limits. Then, I lost my best friend to suicide and another to a car accident. The trauma and those demons continue to follow me.

I joined the Navy and, honestly, had a rough time completing my four year enlistment. I had some disciplinary issues, went through a few other things that caused significant trauma, and struggled with alcohol abuse. Returning home was not much easier, and then I really turned to alcohol and other substances as a way to cope.

I know my parents worry about my future and the damage I’m doing to myself, but I don’t know how else to cope. I work with a mental health counselor through the VA, but I can’t seem to shake the struggle. Honestly, I feel like I am an alcoholic and no one cares.

For forty years, I pushed away any thoughts of my time in Vietnam. I focused on my family, my job, my “normal” life, and would laugh off my Army days when questioned by friends or family. It wasn’t until I retired at 65 that I began to talk about it all.

I volunteered for Vietnam in 1968. I returned home to an empty airport and even had to borrow money to call for a ride home. Sure it wasn’t the horrible homecoming that others received, but it left an impression on me for years.

I served as an M60 gunner on a Huey. I lost many friends, and did things I’m not proud of. I had started seeing a therapist through the VA and started to open up about it all. I think I started to make real progress. Then, my therapist died. Just like that, the one person I could share my stories with was gone. I was assigned to other therapists, but it just wasn’t the same. I felt like all of my wounds were opened up but I had no way to cope with the pain.

I know I’ve changed, and I know it’s affecting my family. I can’t help but think, ‘What if I had gotten help sooner?’ But after this long of holding it all in, and suppressing my feelings… I can’t go back. My dreams haunt me and the things that I did there.

I’ve signed up for seminars through Wounded Warrior Project four times. Every time I tell myself I’m going to go, but I honestly don’t know if I am ready to get the help I need.

I would like to say I’m proud of what I’ve done in life. Eight years of service in the Marine Corps. Two deployments to Iraq, two deployments to Afghanistan. But then I start thinking of all the stuff in between and the aftermath of it all. I would get back from deployment and drink my feelings away. Showed up to work drunk or hungover, and had one-too-many nights where I blacked out completely.

But you know what? The hangovers are easier than dealing with the thoughts in my head. Sure, I lost a leg but the buddies I’ve lost, picturing them in their final moments, is way harder to think about. The people I’ve killed, picturing their families in their hardest moment, is hard to think about. And then there’s the times I should have died. Why would I be spared? What makes me good enough to come home each time?

I know I have to do something about my thoughts. And I definitely know I have to do something about my addiction. Pills and vodka can only take me so far. I know I have to do the work. There are tons of resources out there for guys like me, and I hear about them often through Wounded Warrior. I just don’t know if I can commit to working on my stuff yet. Can I make it another year before the real work begins? I don’t know, but for now, I’ll take the chance.

I know there are programs to help out there. I looked at the SAFE Project website and I know there are resources for me. I’m not dumb and I know how to Google to search for resources available to me. But if I come forward, what will that mean for my future?

I had a buddy that died by suicide after what he saw in Iraq–couldn’t handle it anymore. I don’t blame him, and it’s honestly become a relevant statistic to me. I turned to alcohol instead. We always joked that the military can’t test you for whiskey, so it’s the safest way to drown your feelings. I want help. I want to get better.

Sometimes I think I could go to medical and throw my hands up and say, “Please help me, I’m an alcoholic.” But I have a daughter on the way and getting kicked out of the military isn’t going to help. Another buddy died from an overdose 13 days after getting out of the Army. 13 days. He couldn’t do it, and he had more resources available to him than I did. But they don’t teach you how to survive. They tell you to write a resume and put on a tie, and they teach you how to qualify for VA (Veterans Affairs) disability. How do I survive?

Our son Ari lost his battle to substance use on August 21, 2019. He was 23 years old and serving on active duty in the Army. We had no indication our son was under the influence, or harming himself in any way. But his Army leadership knew.

Ari was a bright, artistic boy. He truly is our pride and joy. He enlisted at 20 with the hopes of becoming an Army Ranger. Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete the rigorous Ranger training, and became part of the elite 82nd Airborne, Red Devils Group instead. He was so proud.

Upon returning from a deployment to Afghanistan, Ari became friends with a fellow soldier who had quite a few problems. He told us he felt sorry for him and the issues he was facing. This friend was the one who introduced Ari to opioids.

We had no clue about his substance use. Ari mentioned his new friend and how he probably needed to separate himself because that guy was bad news. In the six months before his death, Ari reached out for help because the government ‘froze’ his paycheck. He never asked for money before and we did not hesitate to help. We had no clue he was using drugs.

After his death, we were informed that Ari reached out to his leadership for help. He knew he had a problem, and now they knew it, too. But, because of the high drug use in the area surrounding Fort Bragg, North Carolina, no inpatient treatment center was available. Ari was placed on a waiting list and told to return to duty.

Placed on a waiting list.

His fellow soldiers also mentioned to leadership that they thought Ari was, ‘on something.’ Still, no help was given, and Ari continued using substances. He continued to work and continued his downward spiral.

On August 16, 2019, Ari was found unconscious at the gate of Fort Bragg in an Uber. After 5 days in a medically induced coma and with no brain activity, Ari passed away. In December 2020, the soldier Ari befriended received a court martial for drug and opioid use and given a less than honorable discharge.

We knew Ari was grappling with certain relationships, but had no idea the extent of his struggles. We want other parents to know that drug use does not always look like a Hollywood portrayal. We will continue to be Ari’s voice and advocate for parents in the same situation we found ourselves in, and get help for other service members in similar struggles with addiction.

Sharing Ari’s story is our way to fight this crisis.

*Ari’s story was shared by his parents, Carole and Joe

My son Daniel lost his life to a massive infection compounded by complications of chronic heroin use.

Daniel’s abuse started shortly after a yearlong deployment to Afghanistan. This deployment caused post traumatic stress and other mental health struggles for Daniel. He started using while in college as part of the Army’s prestigious Green to Gold enlisted-to-officer program. Daniel’s battle ultimately led to an official discharge from the Army.

Daniel was extremely bright and a fantastic older brother to his younger siblings. He enlisted in the Army and quickly stood out to his leadership. He was selected for Airborne School, and was soon on his first deployment to Afghanistan. Soon after his return, he was tasked with another year-long deployment. Daniel began to show signs of mental health issues after his return.

In spite of his struggles, he was recommended to enter the Army’s Green to Gold program to pursue his degree and a commission as an Army officer. Daniel was introduced to heroin and quickly became addicted during his college years. He was eventually pulled from the program and put into the Army Substance Abuse Program (ASAP). He completed the program, and returned to work. Instead of losing hope, Daniel worked with his fellow soldiers on reporting mental health and substance use issues. He immersed himself in service to his mission to fight the underlying demons of addiction.

During a two-week leave period, Daniel fell into substance use again during this time. He overdosed on heroin and was placed on life support. His command found out before he was able to self-report, and while still on life support, Daniel was issued a dishonorable discharge.

Upon discharge, Daniel was found to be 90% disabled and was diagnosed with mental health struggles. He continued to work through the addiction and underlying mental health issues the next year. He was scheduled for mental health inpatient treatment in mid-January 2016 through the Department of Veterans Affairs.

During a phone call, Daniel said he would make it his personal mission to give veterans and service members struggling with addiction a voice. I assured him we would work on this together. We ended the call with, “I love you,” and that was the last time I spoke to my son.

When Daniel had not been heard from in the first week in January, I had a mental health wellness check sent to his house. He was found slumped on the floor in his bathroom with a toothbrush in hand and the water running in the sink. He died from a massive infection and a blood clot that traveled to the brain.
I want other parents to know that substance use doesn’t always look like what the media portrays. Daniel was extremely smart and adept at hiding the use from his family. I knew Daniel had issues, but I did not realize the severity of the drug use.

I think it’s now my job to continue Daniel’s mission by sharing his story and pushing for policy reform to support all military-connected individuals who are struggling.

*Daniel’s story was shared by his mother, Stephanie.

In January of 2020 I lost my 12-year-old son to suicide.

I’d like to think I’m pretty open and honest about my loss and the grieving process that my family continues to experience since we lost Sawyer. Talking about Sawyer definitely helps. He was kind and he always worried about his friends and their well-being. He was helpful with his younger siblings and we had a great relationship.

Suicide is often hard to talk about and even more so when a young person takes their own life. Similar to the loss of a person to an overdose, families feel shame in sharing. That just isn’t going to work for me. Instead, I want to use my story to be a spokesperson for suicide awareness. We need to normalize talking about suicide. And we really need to normalize talking about the signs and risks.

Did you know that military children are at an increased risk for suicidal ideation and depression, especially when the service member is deployed? Or that something like 150 military dependents die by suicide per year?

I’m currently volunteering with Pikes Peak Suicide Prevention. I’m hoping to help my community and those experiencing traumas associated with suicide loss. My grief (and working with my counselor) will help me with my mission to keep Sawyer’s memory alive.

I think it’s so easy for people to forget the sacrifices military spouses make with this lifestyle. My ex-husband and I were both active-duty Air Force, but I decided to give up my career to care for our children, and so his career could advance. I knew giving it up would be hard, but man, was it hard. With every move, I struggled to find a job. I could never stay in one place long enough, and just when I started to feel like I was getting somewhere, it was time for another move.

I felt so lost. Eventually, we divorced and now I was left without a job, without a career, and without a home. I struggled with trying to find myself in the aftermath. Being a military spouse was basically all I knew, and now I was being attacked for asking for part of my husband’s retirement.

Divorce is hard, but a military divorce means that the dependent may not have been able to consistently work a job, earn a retirement, and establish themselves in the workforce. Although a person agrees to the sacrifice that comes with the military lifestyle, sometimes they give up everything. Now that they are divorcing that lifestyle, that person must become adjusted to reclaiming their identity.

That’s where I was. Struggling with my mental health and my identity. But, where do I go for help now that I’m not a military spouse anymore?

Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if we were a normal family. Normal jobs, living in a normal neighborhood, just normal stuff. I am 18 years old and have lived in 7 different states. California has been my favorite place, but it’s also where I’ve struggled the most, I think.

My dad has been deployed 4 times, and my mom twice. I guess I was lucky enough to have them deployed at different times, but it doesn’t really feel like a good definition of the word lucky… The first time my mom was gone was when I started experimenting. I was only 12, so cigarettes felt like a good start. My dad was overwhelmed with being without her, and my grandma never noticed anything going on. Then I tried weed at 14, and had my first taste of pills at 15.

My dad eventually caught on to me smoking weed, but was more understanding than I thought. Granted, they both definitely thought that was all I was doing, so it seemed harmless I guess. Plus, mom is some hot-shot sergeant major. I’m proud of her for breaking barriers and what not. Dad retired when I was 17, and that’s when I realized things got harder. He was starting to pay attention more. He went to my soccer games, wanted to really get to know my life, and I wanted to keep him out. How were they going to get involved now that I’m basically an adult? They eventually found out about the pills, the drinking, the ‘provocative’ side of my life. But it’s been a year and all they’ve done is throw statistics in my face, and plead with me to stop.

I don’t really think I have a problem. Everyone has a different way of coping with life, and this is mine. Some people say I have issues but it’s not resentment. It’s just me.

All I ever knew was Army life. I grew up an Army “brat” and married at 18. Deployments happened all the time and, even though I thought I was ready for them, I wasn’t prepared.

We had children young like most military families and it just made the deployments harder. It was like I was married but a single parent at the same time. The older spouses said to ‘suck it up.’ They said with me being an Army brat (military child), I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

As the girls got older, I knew I needed to do something for myself, and I enrolled in the local college. I was finally finding out who I was in my mid 20’s. Taking classes, meeting friends, separating myself… until I was introduced to methamphetamine. I fell hard and started using daily.

Word travels fast in military communities and my husband quickly knew of my transgressions. His sister got a court order and removed our girls from the household since he was still away. Of course, this broke my heart and caused me to use even more. During this time, I spiraled and continued to use for the next 10 years. I was never able to see my girls. I found out my ex-husband died by suicide through a court document.

Through the years I almost died multiple times. Through the grace of God, I am clean. The struggle continues, but I have been clean for two years. I was lucky enough to complete SAFE Project’s Collegiate Recovery Leadership Academy. I think going through the program helped me realize that I can reach my long-term goals. I have the tools necessary to not let my best stop me from my future. Recovery is possible.