Back in April, I told you about my friend Nick Jeffries, a former Marine who served through two combat tours in Iraq. The man had the courage to fight our enemies, protect his men, and talk about it afterward.
In 2005, Jeffries was on his second deployment with tough Marines sent into the worst of it. They were well trained and motivated. But every unit in the military has that one problem guy. He’s incompetent, lazy, cowardly, or just weird. For Jeffries’s unit, that guy was Pfc. Smith (his name has been changed out of respect for his privacy).
“He was a turd,” Jeffries said. “You couldn’t give him the reins ‘cause he would just f–k it up.”
For his deficiencies, Smith was relegated to permanent gate duty. He also claimed he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. The acronym PTSD is now seared into our cultural lexicon, but, back in 2005, it was greatly misunderstood and dismissed by the men.
According to Jeffries, Marines in his unit routinely cursed Smith. “You’re a b—h! Liar! P—y!” They didn’t believe in PTSD.
Jeffries was often in combat. He watched a Marine get blown up by an IED. “I watched him disappear, and then I picked up his pieces.” He endured tough tours. And yet he experienced no signs of PTSD.
But two weeks after leaving the Marines, he suffered from bone-crushing anxiety. “I didn’t know what it was or why it was happening. I didn’t know what to do.”
Jeffries’s wife Rochelle was pregnant. He needed to care for her, but he could hardly support himself.
Finally, he went to the Veterans Outreach Center in Spokane Valley, Washington. When he first walked in with his service record, a Vietnam War veteran looked over his papers and said, “You’re a war hero. You deserve every bit of help you’re going to get.” It was the beginning of his battle against PTSD.
He received treatment at the center and medication from Veterans Affairs doctors. The trouble was that the medication works a little differently for each person. They must be individualized, which takes time. Jeffries needed help right away. He was anxious and depressed. He thought about killing himself.
“I hear about soldiers or Marines who’ve committed suicide, and it makes me sick,” he told me. “It could have been me.” For the past 12 years, there has never been a point where he hasn’t regularly seen a therapist or a psychologist. For many years, he attended weekly appointments.
The treatments were working. Things were going well enough that Jeffries quit taking his medication. Not long after, he “had a nuclear fallout. I was gonna kill myself, couldn’t go on with my marriage or anything.” He separated from his wife.
In a monthlong in-patient treatment program, he realized the medication was essential. “The problem was bigger than I could handle by myself.” He began to take his treatment seriously again. “I got back into society, back into work.”
One night, only a month before his divorce was finalized, he texted his wife. She texted back. They talked on the phone until dawn and eventually worked it out. “Rochelle is stubborn, can’t be broke,” Jeffries said fondly.
Now, Rochelle is in nursing school, and Jeffries works for the Washington Department of Natural Resources, helping reduce fire risk on private woodlands. Their children are doing great.
Jeffries’s anxiety is at an all-time low, but his struggle with PTSD continues. He takes four different pills every day. Hunting and fishing help. He survived combat, and now he’s surviving combat’s lasting effects. He’s a great American.
This column was tough to write. Jeffries’s experience made me think of the greater challenges I might have faced after my own deployment. It could have been me. I am glad I also sought counseling at the Spokane Veterans Outreach Center. Jeffries shares his story and I write it because we’d like to go back and tell Smith that there’s no disgrace in PTSD. It’s important to us that service members and veterans realize that help is available, and it’s important to seek it out if you need it.
If you or someone you know is struggling with PTSD, I beg you to consider getting help through the Veterans Crisis Line at 800-273-8255 or veteranscrisisline.net. Do it for all us veterans — for the ones we’ve lost, for yourself, and for those who care about you. You are not alone in this last battle.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
