Heroin & Hand Grenades
This post contains graphic imagery that some readers may find disturbing.
I recently read an article highlighting the epidemic of suicide among American military veterans. An astounding 22 service members take their own lives every day. The weight of PTSD, depression, and loss that service men and women carry with them each day can be overwhelming. Add to these the loneliness that comes from feeling that no one stateside understands your struggles, and the odds against you seem insurmountable.
I counsel recovering opiate addicts at a Suboxone clinic, and the stories that I hear are often crushingly heartbreaking. One man that I counseled recently is an army veteran with severe PTSD - let’s call him Jake. He came into my office already weeping – his fiancé had left him. It was hard to get Jake to talk, but once he started it all began to come out. We discussed his childhood, where his parents had physically abused him. We talked about his military service, and he told me stories whose images I cannot unsee. His best friend being cut in half by a Bradley gun, his staff sergeant burned alive by a cheap explosive that penetrated their vehicle, and the barely recognizable bodies of dead children in the back of a truck are just a few of the nightmares that he shared with me.
After two tours in Iraq, Jake was commissioned for a third – but he just couldn’t do it. On his second tour, his wife had cheated on him with his best friend. She became pregnant, and he raised the child as his own. His wife eventually left him, and he developed a drug habit to manage the pain in his war-torn shoulder. Years of homelessness, rejection by the VA, and heartache later, he is crying in my office. Words can’t describe the ineptitude that I felt for those 30 minutes. Anything I said was like putting Neosporin on a gunshot wound. It was not enough, and he was bleeding out. He confessed to me that the only thing keeping him on this earth is his six kids who he rarely sees. He wants to be a good father. I provided him what hope I could, gave him my number, and out he went. In with the next patient. I can’t help but feel – deep in my gut – that I just sent a soldier out to die.
Of all of the clinic patients that I see, I have not been able to get Jake off of my mind. The idea that despite his rough childhood, he eagerly volunteered to die for us, and upon returning damaged was cast aside like a broken toy…well, “injustice” doesn’t begin to describe it. The military men and women – and, by the way, women have it worse – that are suffering with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and so much more need our help. There is a unique opportunity for the Church to step up and fill the void. Christianity holds the ethic on caring for the poor and lowly. It is time that we include suffering veterans in that care. Specific mercy ministry programs targeted at providing high levels of care and companionship to service men and women must be put in place. These people need suicide prevention, but more than that they need the Light of the World, Jesus Christ.
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