Returning soldiers are dealing with wounds we can't see

Prior to my experience with Ryan, I thought post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was nothing more than convenient medical jargon used to label poorly adapted people -- an excuse, a copout used to avoid life's adversity. I didn't recognize the severity of the diagnosis, or respect its paranoia-riddled presence in its victims' daily lives.

I don't know what it's like to serve in the military. But I was engaged to a soldier who was injured by an IED blast in Habbaniyah, Iraq, on March 23, 2007, the day Sgt. Greg Riewer was killed.

I know first hand of the PTSD demons that have plagued the post-deployment parties, and the grief that reverberates within veterans' lives, and often in the family and friends of those around them.

Though you can't physically see it, PTSD has a definitive, heavy presence that I felt radiate through the group of Red Bulls I had the privilege of knowing. It saddens me to see our troops hurting in such a way.

I was honored to attend the funeral of Staff Sgt. Jesse Davis on Oct. 3, 2009. The sorrow that washed over his comrades was like nothing I'd ever known, nothing I knew could even exist.

A cold rain dug into the souls of those men that day. They communicated in short snippets of conversation. I've come to learn that other men are afraid to end as Jesse Davis did, and are doing all they can on their own to fight the urge to give up the fight.

So many troops seem to be reaching for a certain something, something that will make everything snap back into place and return them to the normalcy we take for granted, even complain about. I've seen a lot of excess in different things -- work, isolation, drinking, sleeping, exercise, gambling, and pills, pills, pills, as the VA hands them out in excessive amounts.

The soldiers go through demobilization classes, but how can that be completely effective when this group of soldiers is exceptional? This particular post-deployment surge is unprecedented, and we're all learning along the way from them.

As protective equipment has improved, it increasingly allows soldiers to survive injuries that would have previously been fatal. This comes with its own personal pricetag that for some, I fear, is too much. Just surviving has a huge psychological impact.

The soldier who comes home is a different person from the one who left. Trying to remember, trying to forget, trying to heal, trying to fall back into old identities, trying anything to release the adrenaline they became accustomed to producing in order to make it home in one piece.

I am not military, but can attest to the hurt and heartbreak PTSD has caused. Not all injuries are visible, and we all have a story behind our eyes. Our service members don't parade around in their uniforms or wave a giant flag around every day, anticipating applause.

They just live among us, working, trying to find their way back into a society filled with romantic and naive notions of war. This is a very important time in their lives, and they need our continued support.

In the words of Gen. George S. Patton, "Courage is fear holding on a minute longer," and time passes no matter what.

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Jessica Dretsch, Detroit Lakes, is a nursing student who works under Ecumen with Alzheimer's and dementia patients.

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