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PTSD was always there; however, recognizing it has been the journey. Even after being repeatedly told by doctors and family members that I was suffering from it, I always denied it. PTSD was for the weak-the guys who couldn't hack it, crybabies looking for a shoulder to cry on. It couldn't happen to me. Well, here I sit, crying like a baby day after day. How can that happen to me? I'm tough. I did my job. I am a truly proud, combat-tested Marine. I raised a family, and with help from my very understanding wife of fifty-six years, was able to provide an upper-middle-class lifestyle. Some have told me that writing this book must have been great therapy for me. Not so. I still suffer from PTSD, and I assume I always will. What I have learned while engaged in this venture is that I can live with it. I just have to know it and continually remind myself that, just like the drug addict on the street, I will have to live with it each day-one day at a time.

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