Julys….

…are generally difficult.

They’re hot. There’s the whole 4th with the fireworks. And then there’s the anniversary of Walker’s death.

We all made it back home safe and sound.

We survived the IEDs in coke cans, the mortars in Baghdad, the shrieking duds in Fallujah. We drove past the burning tankers, always wondering if we hadn’t had that flat tire or the loose chain if it would have been us. We sped up under fire and zig zagged as RPGs flew around us.

Through it all, we made it home safe and sound – one company unscathed.

Or so we thought.

It didn’t take long for the anxiety to kick in. For the panic attacks during traffic jams, the increased heart beats at red lights, the flash backs at inopportune times. The shaky hands and nervous glances at packed venues. The never-ending awareness of everyones’ everythings around you.

Some of us dealt with it accordingly.

Most of us didn’t.

We drank. We smoked. We rarely slept and if we did the nights were generally restless ones. We sought ways to escape the memories, the oddness of normal civilization, and the missing of what we felt to be normal.

Walker made it a little over a year before normal life got the best of him.

The idea that we survived constant threats to our lives during our year in Iraq and yet couldn’t cut it in the real world dented me up pretty badly. Walker’s nonsensical ending hit me hard in the gut.

I still struggle on a daily basis on what to release and what to keep in. What to divulge to coworkers, friends and family and what to save for those who went through the same bullshit I did. Who to let in and who to keep at arm’s length. It’s a constant ebb and flow that I’m not sure I’ll ever be successful at steadying, but it doesn’t hurt to try.