I began writing it in Iraq with the war raging around me. When I got home, I found the war was still raging, but it was not outside me anymore, not to touch, or to see, or to hear, or to smell. It was within me. I was no longer packing inferno in my sea-bag, but in my head.
My wife will sometimes catch a shift in my eyes, while we’re talking about groceries, or the kids’ school, or the weather, and she’ll ask me, “What are you thinking about?” She can see I’ve drifted off. But she doesn’t need me to answer, because she knows, and because the answer is always the same.
And therein lies one of the central themes of Boudreau’s 222-page book: the images of the war he has heroically fought have been implanted inside of his mind and are on a permanent loop.
“To say I was duped is not sufficient to lighten the load,” he writes.
The post-traumatic stress of the war in Iraq will forever be a part of Boudreau’s identity and it will be a lifelong battle to keep it in check. For some soldiers, post-traumatic stress is the precursor to suicide, for others it leads to a life of drug abuse, alcoholism, or crime.
Although the word “disorder” usually follows post-traumatic stress, Boudreau objects to the verbiage, calling it an “antiquated” term.
“While the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) still uses this term, it is widely rejected by those who work in the field of mental health,” Boudreau wrote in an Author’s Note to his book. “I reject it too… I do not consider the psychological struggle of returning veterans a ‘disorder’ and so I will only refer to this injury as ‘combat stress’ or post-traumatic stress.”
Removing the word “disorder” has helped to eliminate the stigma some veterans say persists when they are diagnosed with post-traumatic stress or the ridicule they endure after seeking help for their deteriorating mental state.
When I spoke with Boudreau recently he told me that part of the stigma has to do with the fact that Marines are supposed to be “tough” and saying that “you feel all broken up because you shot a guy” could make a soldier’s situation worse.
Boudreau said “the smallest action or phrase from a commander can influence Marines and other soldiers not to seek help.”
“I knew the day I left that I would eventually have to return in nine months and manpower is always a struggle," Boudreau said. "My boss won’t say to deny treatment. But his outlook of me will be negative " if most of the unit has been discharged due to post-traumatic stress.
Boudreau expanded upon this notion in a recent op-ed published in the Boston Globe.
The pressure to prepare ourselves quickly was intense. When the first Marine came to my office and asked to see the psychiatrist about some troubling issues from our time in Iraq, I was sympathetic. I said, “No problem.” When another half dozen or so Marines approached me with the same request, I was only somewhat concerned.
But when all of them and several more returned from their appointments with recommendations for discharge, I’ll admit I was alarmed. Suddenly I was not as concerned about their mental health as I was about my company’s troop strength.
As all those Marines in my company began filtering out, some from essential positions, I started to worry about the welfare of those remaining. I worried, quite naturally, that if the exodus continued, we might not have enough to accomplish our mission or to survive on the battlefield. My sympathies for those individuals claiming post-traumatic stress began to wane. A commander cannot serve in earnest both the mission and the psychologically wounded.
This underscores a larger issue, one that the U.S. government was totally unprepared to deal with as it planned for the Iraq war.
My wife will sometimes catch a shift in my eyes, while we’re talking about groceries, or the kids’ school, or the weather, and she’ll ask me, “What are you thinking about?” She can see I’ve drifted off. But she doesn’t need me to answer, because she knows, and because the answer is always the same.
And therein lies one of the central themes of Boudreau’s 222-page book: the images of the war he has heroically fought have been implanted inside of his mind and are on a permanent loop.
“To say I was duped is not sufficient to lighten the load,” he writes.
The post-traumatic stress of the war in Iraq will forever be a part of Boudreau’s identity and it will be a lifelong battle to keep it in check. For some soldiers, post-traumatic stress is the precursor to suicide, for others it leads to a life of drug abuse, alcoholism, or crime.
Although the word “disorder” usually follows post-traumatic stress, Boudreau objects to the verbiage, calling it an “antiquated” term.
“While the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) still uses this term, it is widely rejected by those who work in the field of mental health,” Boudreau wrote in an Author’s Note to his book. “I reject it too… I do not consider the psychological struggle of returning veterans a ‘disorder’ and so I will only refer to this injury as ‘combat stress’ or post-traumatic stress.”
Removing the word “disorder” has helped to eliminate the stigma some veterans say persists when they are diagnosed with post-traumatic stress or the ridicule they endure after seeking help for their deteriorating mental state.
When I spoke with Boudreau recently he told me that part of the stigma has to do with the fact that Marines are supposed to be “tough” and saying that “you feel all broken up because you shot a guy” could make a soldier’s situation worse.
Boudreau said “the smallest action or phrase from a commander can influence Marines and other soldiers not to seek help.”
“I knew the day I left that I would eventually have to return in nine months and manpower is always a struggle," Boudreau said. "My boss won’t say to deny treatment. But his outlook of me will be negative " if most of the unit has been discharged due to post-traumatic stress.
Boudreau expanded upon this notion in a recent op-ed published in the Boston Globe.
The pressure to prepare ourselves quickly was intense. When the first Marine came to my office and asked to see the psychiatrist about some troubling issues from our time in Iraq, I was sympathetic. I said, “No problem.” When another half dozen or so Marines approached me with the same request, I was only somewhat concerned.
But when all of them and several more returned from their appointments with recommendations for discharge, I’ll admit I was alarmed. Suddenly I was not as concerned about their mental health as I was about my company’s troop strength.
As all those Marines in my company began filtering out, some from essential positions, I started to worry about the welfare of those remaining. I worried, quite naturally, that if the exodus continued, we might not have enough to accomplish our mission or to survive on the battlefield. My sympathies for those individuals claiming post-traumatic stress began to wane. A commander cannot serve in earnest both the mission and the psychologically wounded.
This underscores a larger issue, one that the U.S. government was totally unprepared to deal with as it planned for the Iraq war.
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