My transition to civilian life six years ago was a nightmare. The isolation got so dark for me that one afternoon, I went into my bedroom closet not intending to come out of it alive.
How did I get here? Two years earlier, I was at the top of my game as a Special Forces Green Beret, running strategic missions around the world. And then, after retirement, I didn’t have enough purpose to leave my own house. Worse, my mood swings were so bad that my wife and boys got up and left any room I entered.
Heart pounding in the darkness, sweat dripping off the tip of my nose ... I heard it. My son’s voice in the hallway outside the door. Ashamed, I shuffled out of that dark closet unwilling to live, and unable to die.
Six months later, I had coffee with an old friend named James, whom I served in Afghanistan with and was in that same dark place that I was trying to escape. Reluctantly, I shared my closet story with him. I watched the color return to his face and his distant stare come back into focus. I had reached him. He knew in that moment that he wasn’t alone. And for just a moment, neither was I.
