9/11/2025
I am aware it is suicide prevention month and I am attempting to figure out how to address that in a subsequent blog post. I’ve already received some prodding on why I have not made a post about that. More later.
Today, I cannot help but reflect on this date in time. The anniversary of September 11th, 2001. It is difficult to think that many young Americans are only aware of this historical date from history lessons in the same way that I was made aware of the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7th, 1941. For me and many other Americans though, we lived the attacks, the aftermath, and the subsequent wars in an extremely visceral way.
So why talk about this date on a blog that concerns addiction, trauma, and suicide? Well, for me, September 11th, 2001 became a defining point in my life. It motivated me to join the Army in 2003 after graduating college. I was actually worried at that the time that I would not be able to “do my part” as most of us thought the wars would be over before we got there. Nevertheless, I was afforded to do my part repetitively as most of the post-9/11 veteran generation did and it defined me. The pain, suffering, moral injury, trauma, and injuries became to define my very being; and then became my reason for drinking because I did not want to feel anymore.
September 11th is also not just one anniversary for me but two. On September 11th, 2006, SPC Harley Andrews was killed in action, in Ar Ramadi, Iraq. He had survived 10 months of combat. Most people don’t understand why I felt so close to him or why I took it so hard when he was killed. He started out as my driver. He was young, I was young. He was newly married as was I. In fact he had a child on the way. We spent long hours in our HMMWV together, talking, laughing, bitching, sometimes falling asleep and driving off the road (once). For many years, I held myself responsible for his death. He became the personification of every other Soldier I lost in combat. Even the ones that I didn’t lead directly but was somehow involved in their training or deployment. His memory haunted me and reminded me of my failures as a leader.
As I spiraled out of control, I fled from my failures; I did not want to deal with those emotions so I drank. I drank to numb the torment. I drank to forget my inadequacies. I drank to staunch the physical pain and I drank to block out the nightmares. I am certainly not alone in this conquest of self-destruction. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Traumatic Brain Injury, Moral Injury, Addiction, and Veteran Suicide have become synonymous with the post-9/11 veteran generation. The Global War on Terror is not first war in American history fought entirely by volunteers but the magnitude and length of it had never been experienced in our history. The type of war, the re-cycles of deployments, the triumph of battlefield medicine resulting in many more survivors than ever before are unique in our history.
In years past, I remembered both the attacks on American soil and Harley’s death by doing my best to feel nothing and eventually blacking out. I even tried to end my life. That being said, I have been able to claw my way out of my own suffering thanks to the many people who cared more about my own life than I did. Strangers and people who I had hurt in my addiction. People that had been into my life thanks to my higher power, the power of the universe, God… whatever you want to call it. And now, I don’t run away from those emotions. I take that pain and suffering and I try to make use of it. I try to help those that are still suffering as I was helped by those that showed me I could recover. We can recover from our suffering; our emotional, mental, and spiritual wounds. I am a testament to that.
