The Marines have a Rifleman’s Creed that starts “This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.” My parody is “This is my PTSD. There are many like it, but this one is mine.” I have PTSD, and it doesn’t look like yours, or yours, or yours.

I’m a Navy veteran who has 11 years in the Navy Reserves with two tours under my belt, Iraq and Afghanistan. When I came back from Iraq in 2010, I was not the same person who left a full year before. During my tour, I was not blown up and I didn’t take or give direct fire. So despite having symptoms of mental health issues, I did not seek assistance, because I didn’t feel worthy or that my case was as serious as others. In almost seven years, I learned I was wrong, but I needed to journey to find that answer.

In training for Iraq and while in country, I learned how horrible we can be to one another in the service. I learned when there is nothing else to do, sex or talking about sex is the answer. General Order Number 1 be damned. I had a chief come on to me during training, and when something happened with another female, it turned into an investigation. I was dragged through meeting after meeting with JAG (Judge Advocate General of the Navy), missing important training, all to try and tear my story apart. His charges went nowhere. Privacy is not easy to find in the military, and neither is confidentiality as I learned during this time. It set a tone for my whole deployment.

It was like living in the worst MTV high school drama you can imagine, where you are the girl that is called “the whore.” Portable toilets were used to share rumors about the females, myself included. I was approached for relationships a lot. This may seem flattering to some, but for me it was overwhelming. I was, and still am, a rule follower. I also was not the popular girl with boys back home, but here I was getting propositioned all the time. I will admit I was not a saint, and I often played along just to try and fit in. It was the world we lived in, I was just trying to survive. Those who I thought were my friends would make excuses and apologies to me for joining in the mocking and gossip about me. I compensated by just trying to play the game.

A few months into being in Iraq, I got really sick with Tonsillitis that was misdiagnosed by the clinic providers. It was a horrible experience. I sought medical treatment only to be turned away and got sicker. Finally, they couldn’t deny my symptoms. They were concerned for my airway, so I got Medevac’d to Germany to get help. During this time my command didn’t check on me, they didn’t stay in touch. A few of my shipmates reached out and told me the rumors that were circulating; I was pregnant by a detainee or local, I had given an STD to a bunch of people, I had gone crazy and pulled a gun on someone. Despite these rumors, I felt the need to prove myself and so turned down the tonsillectomy in order to go back down range with my command. I proved nothing to anyone, but was able to give them more room to create more rumors as to why I was allowed to go back. I was moved from one position to another after that, but something had broken inside of me. I started to isolate and consider how to get out of there. I did not have a good support system in my command and heard about rumors from all levels of the chain of command. There were a few core people left by the last few months of my tour who were the only reason I made it through. We drank Amp, chain-smoked cigarettes, and sang karaoke to get through. None of us could stand that we were still there, but we were fighters, strong women, and we finished the tour and made it home.

Upon returning home I was different, I continued to isolate myself. I had a hard time trusting even those who I was close to before. Life had really changed in a year for everyone, not just me, and I didn’t know where I fit. This took all of the issues I had in Iraq and compounded them. I couldn’t trust, my health was a risk, and all men were a risk to me. I compensated for a while and through my second tour to Afghanistan, until I couldn’t compensate anymore.

The thing I learned about mental health is that our bodies are incredibly strong and work really hard to compensate and overcome, but at some point, the compensation factor fails from exhaustion. It took until 2013 to finally break down and acknowledge I had issues. I didn’t do it alone though. My civilian employers cared about me, and after my Afghanistan tour, took the time to alert me and give me a chance. I ended up leaving that job and going home to my parents, to grieve and to try to find a new start.

I happened upon several veteran organizations during my multiple breakdowns and they have made a huge difference in my PTSD journey. Within these organizations I have met a multitude of people from different walks of life, both veteran and civilian. It is this collective of people that have provided me insight into how to best reintegrate and also how to cope and manage my PTSD. Without the volunteering opportunities I have had and the wonderful people who have supported me in my journey to good mental health, I don’t know where I would be today. Some organizations have offered me the ability to continue being of service to my community and our entire country. Others have provided me the support and lessons to set boundaries, practice holistic methods of managing symptoms, and allowed me to give myself permission to let go, heal, and move on.

I have stared the possibility of suicide in the face and been able to turn my back on it. I have heard stories of trauma from veterans and non-veterans a like. I have felt love and support in my times of struggle and when I trigger. When I fall on the floor, unable to get up, someone is always there to listen and to give me a hand up. I have learned that there are good men and women who have my back and are not a risk to me. I learned to trust again and what quality leadership looks like. I have learned how to live with a future in sight, and not just day by day.

Being a part of integrated organizations has allowed me to truly move past the labels of being a veteran with PTSD, MST, Anxiety and Panic Attacks and Depression. I can see now that trauma happens to people in all walks of life, and it is not my place to compare my own struggles and trauma with those of others. It allows for me to hold solidarity with everyone I interact with, honoring each person’s journey as unique and important. I hope that they each do the same for me, it is my hope as I share my vulnerability and my struggle with you, here. I may live with my PTSD the rest of my life, but I have found tools to help me remove triggers or manage them. I will continue to overcome with the help from my providers, my community, and those that are closer than family.