I served my country, and this is the thanks I get: spit upon by strangers, nasty looks, snide comments.  I get anything but praise and support, and the thought of it all is eating me alive ...

I didn't ask to go to war, but I wanted to make a difference for our nation and show my support by enlisting in the United States Army.  Where did I go? Iraq.  I saw war, disease, pestilance in the worst way.  I then got hit by enemy fire, and the life I knew was changed forever ...

I lost my leg when it became infected.  I'm now an amputee.  I walk on a prosthetic leg now, but for a long time, crutches were my mode of transportation.  I can walk like any other person; most people don't even know that I have a fake leg 'less I tell them or show them.  That's how good I walk.

I get VA disability.  100%.  I get free medical care and transportation to doctors' appointments or any other military-based function.  I can go on the local Army base and get what I need at the BX.  I carry a card stating of my time in the military, and I can still fit in my uniform.  Life should be good, right?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

First of all, I have ongoing phantom pain.  My darn brain thinks my leg is still there, and I have sharp, stabbing pains in my stump.  It's about to drive me crazy! And if I accidentally hit my stump against something ... it is all I can do to keep from throwing up all over!

Secondly, I have PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).  I have ongoing nightmares of what I saw, smelled, tasted, felt, heard while in Iraq.  Saw some nasty things that I shouldn't have seen; war is indeed hell on not only the soldiers battling on the front lines, but for anyone directed in the line of fire or elsewhere where war rages ...

I am seeing a shrink now to help me deal with the memories.  In fact, it was she who suggested that I take this up, this journal writing, as a way of dealing with conflicting emotions or feelings ...

So if I start using profane language in here, don't be offended.  I have a lot of anger in me that I need to get rid of, and I have to work it out myself; this is one of those ways.  So please bear with me.

*To be continued.*