A Letter to Humanity

            This is less of an essay, but is more of a conversation about overcoming the war within. No matter who you are, you understand what I am talking about. No matter where you come from, you can recall a time when you had to reach down deep and push through a conflict in your life, discovering a strength within yourself you never knew you had. No matter who you are, you can relate to the tales of Hercules, the struggles of Odysseus, the trials of Perseus, and perhaps even the toils of the mighty Colossus of Rhodes himself. Whenever there is chaos, we as survivors have found hope. In times when all seemed forsaken, we found light among the darkness and chose to liberate others instead of simply liberating ourselves. By expanding the light of our lives to the world, we gave others permission to mount chariots across the skies, bringing the light of hope to many more. As a diamond in the rough, we stand erect, choosing not to be kept erect by others, allowing brothers and sisters to do the same. I am blessed to be part of such a select few, and if you are part of such a select few, you should feel the same. One must realize that, in order to find out the secret to what makes one great, they must endure the power of struggle’s cold embrace.

                For those of you who do not know me, I am a wounded veteran of the United States Army. I suffered a terminal brain injury, as well as thirty-nine broken bones from a motorized vehicle accident on a training mission almost eight months prior to penning this current essay. Most of the doctors didn’t believe I would ever walk again, would ever be able to live a somewhat normal life or even have a somewhat functional brain after words. I never really knew what pain truly felt like until I was trying to learn how to walk again, my body brace digging into my broken ribs and shoulder, the neck brace supporting the burst fracture which took half an inch from my height. I couldn’t imagine living life trapped in a situation like that for the remainder of my days, so thus I took to writing as my escape. Today, I walk with a limp, my vertebrae healed, a crescent moon scar on the left of my head. I’ve been told I may never have the ability to run anymore, my memory much like that of an Alzheimer’s patient. Should I ever have the pleasure of meeting you for the second time and don’t recall you from the first, please don’t be offended; odds are, I cannot remember what I had for breakfast that morning.

                I’ve been told often that I should be grateful for all that the Army has done for me, for the medical insurance, for still being alive. Truly, I am grateful for all three of these things, as they have been a great blessing to me in an hour of need. However, what those who make these comments don’t realize is this: no matter what the Army does to help me right now, it will not undo the damage caused by sheer callous negligence from one individual. In addition, I would like to point out that, as much as I would like to say that I am being treated for my pain, the medications prescribed to treat my pain isn’t helping. The only thing that truly got the edge off was Percocet, just 5mg or so, enough to put me to sleep or get the pain down to a tolerable level. Then again, due to the “Opioid Epidemic” (which, in my opinion, is being blown way out of proportion), most doctors won’t give out Opioids to someone with a missing limb, much less someone with forty-five major injuries sustained eight months ago. Instead, lets give them half a dozen meds that don’t work! I know that these doctors are looking out for their best interests, I get that. I suppose that it would be nice if someone would just come out and say that instead of telling me about how I will become addicted to 5mg of Percocet and start a downward spiral to becoming a junkie.

                I suppose that, if this trial has taught me anything, it is this: it’s truly amazing how little help we are given when we truly need it.