May is Mental Health Awareness Month and in my pursuit to bring awareness to this important cause, I would like to share my story.
It wasn’t the sleepless nights, or the panic attacks, or the countless crying episodes what used to scare me… it was the “not knowing” what the hell was wrong with me what used to bring me to my knees and destroy any chance of me to having a happy life. Days after days I found myself not able to leave the bed without first feeling like a failure… like a joke. And, there was not a day in which I wouldn’t look at myself in the mirror and think of how much I didn’t deserve half of the things that I had in life… and feeling proud of my military career was one of those things that I kept telling myself I wasn’t supposed to feel proud about.
You see, for many years, I proudly served my country not only as a military spouse, but also as a combat medic—a job that I truly loved with all my heart, but one thing I have never shared with anyone is the wounds that came as a result of my experience in the military.
I know there are many people who may think that I’m a hero because I served my country for 13 years. If they only knew how far away from the truth that is. The truth is that… I am not a hero. I have never been, and I probably never will be. If you are one of these people, the ones who think I am a hero… there is something I would like to share with you.
During the years I spent “fighting” for my country, not a single day was spent in harm’s way. I was never sent to war, I never had to use my combat medic skills to save a life either, nor was I ever in a position in which I had to choose between my life or the life of another human being.
Do I feel relieved that I never got the chance to be in combat? No, I don’t feel relieved. Do I feel proud of the way I served my country during those 13 years? No, I don’t feel proud. Actually, I feel ashamed. I feel embarrassed. I feel like I cheated the system. And I genuinely feel bad, that because of my, so call “luck” of not having to go to war, other soldiers had to do multiple tours away from their families, and in harm’s way. There were soldiers out there doing three, four, five deployment tours while I was at home, with my family enjoying all the beautiful things that the U.S. had to offer.
Did I pray for that? To be honest, no I didn’t pray for God to help me not to go to war. It was quite the opposite. Every single night I used to pray to God to allow me the opportunity to serve my country the same way my brothers and sisters were doing it, but I never got the chance to do it. I was never sent to war. I guess God had other plans for me.
For more than 20 years, I have been carrying a terrible suffering in my heart. A pain that my mental health counselor told me was guilt associated with something called “survivor syndrome.” Why do I feel like that, you may ask? Well, let me tell you why.
