Here’s a guest essay from my cousin. It’s longer than what I normally write, but he posted it on a blog on the web site Challenge America, which gives military personnel access to needed resources. Here’s Cpl. Tyler Eichelberger:
They say the hard part is over once you leave the service. They couldn’t be more wrong. I had served my country for six years, served three tours of combat in Iraq, and lost a marriage torn apart by my absence. I figured I had seen the worst life could throw at me; nothing could compare to that. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Like countless young Americans, I had witnessed the terrorist attacks of 9/11 over the television. I was a sophomore in high school, and I couldn’t have imagined how much that series of events would change my life forever. I was constantly getting in trouble with authorities and had no direction in my life. I was headed for either an early death or a life behind bars, and I didn’t know how to change. Two of my uncles served in the military during the Vietnam War and I admired them both incredibly for it. I knew that was what I wanted to do, that it would turn my life around. There was just one problem: nobody outside of my family thought I could succeed in the military lifestyle. That motivated me to enlist in what was widely considered as the toughest branch to make it in: the Marines. I enlisted in the Marine Corps on February 17, 2004, at the age of 17. I shipped out to boot camp that April, two days before my 18th birthday.
My boot camp experience was both extremely challenging and humbling. I was no longer the tough guy. I was Recruit Eichelberger, and I had to request permission to do anything. I couldn’t even address myself in the first person, only in the third person. My identity was gone, replaced by a Marine. It was exactly what I needed, and I was proud to do it. Our drill instructors said we would never question our ability to accomplish any mission for the rest of our lives. That would certainly be tested over the next six years and beyond.
Trained as an artilleryman, I was assigned to Alpha Battery 1st Battalion 10th Marines at Camp Lejeune. The majority of my classmates from Ft. Sill came with me in preparation for the pending deployment to Iraq. We knew as soon as we arrived that we were going to Iraq; it was only a question of where exactly. We began our training and were told we would be going to Fallujah, still one of the country’s biggest hot zones. Fortunately, we all came home in September 2005.
Over the next four years I would deploy two more times to Iraq on provisional infantry missions. I married my first wife Alissa in July 2006, deploying on my second tour in September. The honeymoon stage wouldn’t last the deployment. My return to the States would be the beginning of the end to the marriage. The experiences I had in Iraq had changed me. Some change was for the better but some for the worst. We had lost one man on the deployment, and although I hadn’t known him well, it hit me harder than I thought. I had trouble adjusting to being home. I would have panic attacks during the night, sometimes grabbing for my rifle only to realize it wasn’t next to me, and I wasn’t in Iraq. Other times I would wake up unable to breathe, needing Alissa to help me catch it. It made me angry. Why was I doing this? Our unit hadn’t been decimated with casualties, and I wasn’t wounded in action. I had my moments overseas, but nothing I thought warranted these symptoms. I had a hard time controlling my anger; I would blow up at random, meaningless times. It was tearing us apart, and I refused to admit it or do anything about it. I didn’t have much time to deal with it before I deployed again. Five months after my recent return, I was once again sent to Iraq. We tried working things out while I was deployed, but as anyone who’s been deployed knows, communication is almost impossible. As much as we tried, it was futile. Three months after my final return, Alissa packed up the house and left my life. I was already falling apart, and now I was alone.
I went the next several months doing anything I could to not think about Alissa, or anything for that matter. I drank – a lot. I threw myself into a relationship with the first woman who showed interest. I didn’t want to be alone. I spent my paychecks as soon as I got them; I was out of control again. I had re-enlisted during my last deployment for two more years, having thrown myself into my job as the only thing I could do right. I thought that would make everything better, having something I was good at.
I was crushed again when I was deemed non-deployable in the eyes of my unit. Not because of my psychological issues; they weren’t aware of them. My unit was only slated to go back to Iraq, and the Marines, in an attempt to improve deployment-to-dwell issues, had said troops who had deployed to the same combat zone two or more times couldn’t go back until they had been deployed elsewhere. I was out of the fight. I was a combat Marine, relegated to administrative duties and busy work.
I did what I could to deal with it, but I resented my new position, going from an artillery noncommissioned officer to one of several Corporals in the S-3 shop. I decided at that point to leave the Marine Corps when my contract was up. I found a perfect woman while never looking for her. They say that’s how you find your soul mate, and I was so very thankful to Karin. I started looking into what I would do after the Corps and decided I wanted to work in law enforcement. I wanted to help young people avoid getting into the same position I was in before I turned my life around. I applied to the Raleigh Police Department; I was going to move in to Karin’s house there. I was turned down and told to reapply in one year, due to an incident during my drinking binge after Alissa that led to an arrest in Iowa for public intoxication. They didn’t make a huge deal about it, though. They said it had just been too recent for their comfort. I resolved to bide my time and reapply the next year.
I would leave the Marine Corps on terminal leave August 9th 2009. I wanted to be a normal 23 year old. I used my time on terminal leave, enjoying my new city and my new relationship. I knew I needed to get a job until I reapplied to the Police Department, so I started looking for blue-collar work. I had filed a claim for disability with Veterans Affairs, per the check-out procedure mandated by the Marine Corps. I had also gone through the separation classes they required, but those were a joke. Veterans Affairs had found me to be rated at 40% disability, which gave me a small monthly stipend. My job search was discouraging after being turned down left and right. I was either under qualified or over qualified, according to them. I finally landed my first job when my cousin hired me at the warehouse he supervised. I took the job without hesitation because I was becoming restless. The pay was decent at $11/hour, and I liked working with my cousin. It wasn’t the most physically challenging job, but it was starting to take its toll on my body. I had a badly healed separated shoulder, a degenerating disk in my back, and bad knees. I knew I shouldn’t have been doing anything to strain my injuries, but I had to provide for Karin. We had gotten engaged and soon after, were expecting our first child. I would eventually end up, once again, unemployed.
Over the next year and a half, I would go from one dead end job to another. A few times, I worked as a short order cook. I enjoyed the work, but the money wasn’t paying the bills. We were living paycheck to paycheck, and I hated it, not so much for myself, but for Karin and our son. I was questioning what my drill instructors had said about being able to complete any mission. I couldn’t even get or keep a job.
By New Year’s 2012, I had started the process of going back into the Marine Corps. It was still the one thing I was good at. Karin and I had gotten married the year before, we had our beautiful son, and our family life felt great. But the Marine in me was disgusted with myself. I had several blow-ups with my family back home. I was struggling with PTSD and was making some really poor decisions. Those decisions had put my wife and me into counseling, and I felt the control on my life slipping away from me. As cliché as it sounds, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and realized I was no longer that proud Marine but the man I never wanted to be – a man who wasn’t providing for his family. I had to make a change; I had to get back to the man I knew I truly was.
I made the first good decision in a while when I decided to get my life back on track. I began dealing with my PTSD and committed myself to loving my wife and son with my whole heart. I began reading books again, and decided to recommit myself to my other childhood dream of becoming a sports journalist. I’m in school with a renewed focus on life. The Marine in me will never quit, even when I might fail. I don’t yet know what my whole purpose is in this life, but I fully intend to show my son what a real man is.
As tough as the last three years has been on me, I wouldn’t change anything. My marriage is stronger than ever, my PTSD is under control without medication, and I’m a stronger man for having experienced it. I’m not the only veteran going through this, and that comforts me. I know my struggle is far from over, but what kind of example would I be to my son if I were to give up? I strive to be a role model to my son, as well as to other veterans going through some of the same struggles.