The first six months after I took the uniform off

I went home expecting relief. Twelve years in the Marines, two tours in Iraq, and I figured the hard part was over. Within a month I couldn't sleep. The silence — civilian silence — felt more dangerous than anything I'd lived through. I didn't drink. I didn't fight. I just stopped answering the phone. My wife noticed before I did. A buddy from the unit called from Oregon and told me, point blank, that he'd been where I was and that the VA had actually helped him. I'd written off the VA. I was wrong. Six months in. I'm not fixed. But I'm not drowning either, and that's a victory I didn't know I needed.