October 12, 2019  

Mental health in a war zone is a slippery thing

The stress is extreme.     So, you need really good friends.   The Army assigns you friends. A battle buddy is someone you can tell a...

The stress is extreme.   So, you need really good friends.  The Army assigns you friends.

A battle buddy is someone you can tell anything to, eat chow with at every mealtime, complain about the squad leader, etcetera.  Early on in a Soldier’s career one is assigned.  It is a shared responsibility and accountability for another person.  He makes sure you get to formation on time without looking like shit; she makes sure you have an extra pair of socks in your ammo pouch as ordered; whatever the Drill Instructor deems important for survival, like never letting a fellow Soldier be alone or abandoned.

Officers and Sergeants are paired through leadership position.  A platoon has a Lieutenant and a Platoon Sergeant, a company has a Captain and a First Sergeant, a battalion has a Lieutenant Colonel and a Sergeant Major and on it goes through the Pentagon.  A battle buddy one chooses is a friend for life.  Someone you will fight alongside as blood becomes thicker than water.

My friend Tony chose me as my first deployment to Iraq settled into routine.  What Soldiers thought in private Tony yelled out loud.  He wasn’t afraid to massage the system and find ways around stupid.  Although that sometimes got me into trouble.

About a third of my outfit was on some sort of drug therapy for their mental health.  From sleep aids to anti-depressants, they were handed out like gummy bears and M&M’s.  It was usually younger Soldiers that couldn’t take the stress.  Typically, when a person got to thirty years of age, he/she had adequate coping skills to deal with the danger of leaving the wire to travel to construction missions.  Or the infrequent mortar attacks and nerve racking calls back home.  Military jobs stretched leaders to snapping.  Responsibility for the lives of others is intense.  Like the specter of writing letters to strangers explaining why their kid died.  Was it because you fucked up?

The few Chaplains were busy, as were contract mental health providers flown in from the States. 

Tony taught me about shades of grey and what you could get away with if you had the courage to try.  He was everywhere influencing the situation.  Whether it was at Brigade headquarters smoothing over a recent theft or volunteering me for the right missions.  It was tough saying goodbye when I left Iraq.  We stopped talking when I got back to the America.  But his influence was still strong.  During my second deployment I imagined what he would advise me to do and the friendship picked right back up.

There shouldn’t be any stigma for seeking help for your mental health.  I wonder if I helped Tony at all during our thousands of conversations.  He was always evasive about sharing parts of his life, always interested in what was concerning me.  My advice always got turned back towards my own problems.    It has always been a very comfortable feeling engaging with Tony.  I’ll never know why he chose me for a battle buddy but I’m glad he did.