Today is October 7, 2002 at nine o’clock in the morning. Exactly a year from the day that changed my life forever.
“Good evening Mr. Allen!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterson with a smile stretched across her pale, wrinkled face. “Are you ready for your first session?”
I replied back sarcastically, “As ready as I’ll ever be Mrs. P!”
Secretly, I was dreading this very day. The day I had to talk about my problems to a complete stranger. A stranger my family was willing to pay in belief that she will help me with my disorder.
After we exchanged greetings, I struggled trying to get into the room, so Mrs. Peterson grabbed my arm to help balance my weight. It is not easy walking with a prosthetic leg, especially when you are learning how to walk all over again. Mrs. Peterson walked me over to an empty chair in front of her desk, and assisted in trying to help me sit down. She gently patted my one shoulder and then scooted her way around her desk, and sat down in her comfy looking chair.
“So Mr. Allen..” she said before I cut her sentence short.
“Please call me Mark.” I said as I interrupted.
“Okay Mark. Mind telling me about yourself?” she asked as she grabbed a notebook and pen out of her desk, and then began writing down the same question she had just asked.
“Well I was born and raised in Illinois. I just recently turned twenty-three years old, and I am the oldest, and only son, out of five children. I am the only male figure in my household due to my father leaving my mama when I had just turned twelve. I graduated high school on June 6, 1996, and then two days later I left to join the U.S. Army.”
“I see. So you joined the Army when you were only eighteen correct?” she asked another question as she continued to write down everything we were saying.
“Yes ma’am. That is correct.” I replied back as I watched her swiftly write down my response.
“Your family tells me that you are suffering from PTSD. Mind telling me the whole story of what caused you to have this at such a young age?” Mrs. Peterson asked as if she was desperate to know my life story.
There it is! The one question I despise the most. Can you tell me how you even got PTSD? Every doctor, nurse, and now therapist, constantly ask me about how I got my disorder. You would assume that it should not be difficult to explain what happened, but in reality it is. It was the day in my life I wish I could go back and change the worst decision I had ever made.
“If I am going to tell you what happened, I will have to start at the beginning. It was October 1, 2001, and I was preparing my soldiers for battle. However, it wasn’t any ordinary battle, it was war we were getting into.” I said as I began to remember the day as if it had just happened yesterday.

October 1, 2001  4:23 P.M
“Let’s go men! Get those legs moving! My grandmother can move faster!” I commanded.
I stood there watching my men train on one of the obstacle courses we had at our base camp. I was observing to see who would be the strongest and the weakest member on my team.
“Lets go Private Collins! Get those knees up!” I yelled at one of the soldiers that was struggling trying to get through the mud pit.
Private Collins was one of my best soldiers. He was always prepared for my next demand, and whatever mission we had that day. He was the only man capable of completing a five mile hike in the rain without any complications, while carrying all of his equipment on his back. Private Collins proved that he was willing to sacrifice his life for his country on the very first day of training last year. Even though he seemed like the bravest, and strongest man on the team, he is also the weakest. He had too big of a heart to kill the enemy unless they fire first. Him caring so much about people's lives, is what was going to get him killed someday.
“Alright soldiers gather around.” I commanded as all of my men ran into formation.
The men stood there with their arms folded against their back, shoulders back, head high, and feet shoulder width apart. They stared forward, not allowing a single blink to distract them from their posture. I began to walk around them, checking their forms to make sure they were not moving a single muscle.
As I was walking around, I began to give a speech, “As you all know, in exactly six days, you will all be deployed in Afghanistan to fight in war. This war is to defend our country, and everyone living in it. This war was caused because of a terrorist threatening our country. He took our twin towers down, and he attacked the pentagon. We are not going to stand here, and watch our country be destroyed. We are heading into Afghanistan to take back our freedom, our liberty, and our justice. Do you understand!?”
“Sir yes sir!” they all shouted in chorus.
“Good! Now get back to training! Dismissed!” I shouted back.
“Sir yes sir!” they exclaimed as they soluted, and ran back to the obstacle course.

October 1, 2001  8:46 P.M
“Lieutenant Allen, a word please.” commanded General Adams.
“Yes sir.” I replied as I followed him into his office.
As soon as I entered the room, the stench of cigar smoke impaled my nose. The room was dark and cold, and I could barely see two inches in front of my face. Then I heard the sound of the door slam and simultaneously the lights turned on. The walls were covered in medals, certificates, old photos, and many other awards. This one picture he had placed on his desk stood out the most to me. It was a picture of a young man with a dazzling woman by his side. They were standing on top of a hill, underneath a big willow tree, with a breathtaking sunset behind them. I looked at the picture closer and it was the General standing there. On the bottom right hand corner, I noticed some writing.
It said; “Too my beloved Jonathon, for our love shall never part, so you will always be in my heart. Love Josephine.”
It was a poem this Josephine must have written when General Adams first left for the Army. This must have been the woman he used to always write letters to, but never received one back. The poor old man must have still been in love with this woman if he kept her picture all these years.
The sound of a cough broke my focus on the picture. I had dozed off, forgetting I was still in that little office.
“What can I do for you sir?” I asked trying to break the awkward silence.
“I wanted to discuss something important with you. About your mission on the seventh.” he replied back. “I have been warned that the Afghans are aware of our arrival, and are planning an ambush. I wanted to warn you about how dangerous this mission could be if you do not proceed with caution.”
“Thank you for the heads up sir, but I believe I have it all under control. I will tell my men to be on lookout for anything suspicious on the day of our arrival.” I confidently replied back.
“You better be careful Lieutenant. I do not want to see anymore people get hurt, or put in danger because of these terrorists.” the General responded with such sadness and despair in his voice. As if he was afraid he would not only lose this battle, but also lose his team and family.

Present Day  9:13 A.M.
“After I talked to the General, I headed back to my room.” I told Mrs. Peterson as she moved closer in order to fully understand the story. “I kept thinking about what the General had told me. It made me worry about the possible outcome on our arrival.”
“So this General Adams, was he correct about the warning he assumed?” asked Mrs. Peterson.
“Let me finish before we start jumping to conclusions.” I responded back.
“Right. Sorry.” pleaded Mrs. Peterson.
“As I was saying. The next few days were short and simple. The days just mainly consisted of constant training, and reviewing the plans over, and over, and over again. However, the day right before our deployment was one of the hardest days for my Privates and I.” I said as I again began to remember that day.

October 6, 2001  7:00 A.M.
The sun was barely over the horizon, and the sound of the trumpet horn echoed throughout the entire camp declaring it was time to begin the day. Training began in exactly thirty minutes, and all of the men began to scurry around the courtyard, rushing to get to the dining hall to fetch some breakfast before a hards day of work.
“Hey Bertha! Whats on the menu today?” asked one of the men.
“Looks like slob with a side of more slob.” laughed another soldier.
Inside the dining hall, all of the men were laughing, and discussing their plans for when they can finally go home for the holidays. The men were really enjoying themselves that morning. All except one man who was sitting in the corner, all alone.
“Excuse me sir, but are you alright?” asked Private Collins.
“Oh yes I’m alright soldier. Just thinking.” I replied back.
“Well don't hurt your brain too much sir.” laughed Private Collins as he patted me on the shoulder. “In all seriousness sir, if you need to talk about anything I will be more than happy to listen.”
“Thanks Private, but I’ll be fine.” I responded and then got up and walked away.
After thirty minutes had passed, another trumpet horn began to blare once again. In unison, all the men rose out of their seats, and rushed out of the dining hall to make certain they would not be late for training.
Today’s training consisted of mostly target practice and constantly running through the obstacle courses. The first obstacle course had a wall the men had to climb over, barbed wire the men had to climb under without getting stuck or scratched, and at the very end was the mud pit. They had to carry all of their supplies over their heads while they trudged through the mud. They had to make sure that none of their equipment touched the mud.
Private Collins was first to run through the obstacle course. He got into starting position, and once the whistle blew he was off. He began to climb the wall with ease and jumped from the top and landed on the ground in a superhero like position. Next he swiftly raised to his feet and began to army crawl underneath the barbed wire. He crawled under the wire without getting any piece of his clothing stuck or impaling his bare skin. Once he managed to get through the wire, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and glared at the mud pit. All of the soldiers and I knew the mud pit was his biggest challenge. Ever since he joined the army last year, he was never able to complete it.
Private Collins continued to glare at the pit, but then he let out a huge scream and then bolted towards it. As he was running he began to take off his bag and hold it above his head as his feet finally began to sink in the mud. He continued to run until he was knees deep. Private Collins then began to trudge his way to the end, but he began to sink even further in.
“Someone has to help him! He’s going to sink!” Exclaimed one of the soldiers that began to run towards him until I put my arm out in front of him in attempt to stop him.
“No! He has to finish this on his own!” I shouted back at the soldier.
We all turned our heads to the sinking soldier, and carefully watched. He began to sink even further than before, scaring all of the other men. Then all of a sudden, he began to rise from the mud. He continued to shout as he struggled to bring himself back up to the surface. As he continued to wiggle his way through the mud, he finally managed to drag himself out of the pit and sprawled himself onto the ground. Private Collins then stood up and walked over towards us.
“My equipment is still clean sir.” Said Private Collins.
The other men and I began to laugh and congratulate the filth covered soldier standing before us.

October 6, 2001  6:30 P.M.
Part one of training had commenced, and it was now time for dinner. Once again all of the men gathered into the dining hall knowing training was almost over. I sat at my table in the corner, watching all of the men laugh, and tell stories to one another. I kept thinking about what the general had told me a few days ago about the supposed ambush that was planned on the day of our arrival. I was worried I was putting my team in danger. I planned on having a talk with them during the second part of training, but I hesitated. I did not want to worry, or scare them the day before. Except I also did not want to make them even more scared by telling them the day of. As I sat there, alone in my thoughts, I had not noticed Private Collins approach my table.
“Excuse me sir. May I take a seat?” Asked Private Collins.
“Of course you can soldier!” I exclaimed.
“Sir I wanted to discuss about what happened earlier today.” he exclaimed.
“Okay. What did you want to discuss?” I asked confused.
“Why wouldn’t you let the other soldiers help me out of the ditch?” he asked with sadness in his voice.
“Because Private, I already knew you would make it out of the pit without anyone else’s assistance.” I replied back.
“Sir how would you know that?” he asked as he shook his head in confusion.
“Private Collins it was simple. You were determined to finally get across that pit without anyone helping you. I noticed it by the way to glared at the mud pit. You stared at the pit in aggravation. Aggravation from never being able to complete the challenge. But today you finally finished the obstacle” I proudly responded back.
“Thank you Sir.” he replied with a grin stretched across his face. He began to rise out of the seat, solute, and then walked back to his original table.

Present Day  9:43 A.M.
“I watched him as he headed back to his table. All of the other soldiers patting him on the back, and congratulating him on his success. He was very proud of himself that day.” I said as I looked up at Mrs. Peterson writing in her notebook.
“What does Private Collins accomplishment have anything to do with your PTSD?” asked Mrs. Peterson.
“Because that was the last time I ever saw him.” I answered back.

October 7, 2001  9:00 A.M.
“LET’S GO MEN!!” General Adams shouted as we landed in Afghanistan.
We all scurried across the deserted land, rushing to find a place to seek cover.
“Lieutenant Allen! Take your team and head east!” General Adams shouted towards me.
I did exactly as he said, and led my team towards the east part of the abandoned city we had just approached.
We continued to walk through the city, noticing how quiet it was. It was not a good quiet. As we were walking, I began to notice how destroyed every building was. Some homes were burnt down to the ground, while others had holes from gunshots all over the walls.
As I continued to slowly walk towards the middle of the city, I had accidently stepped on a doll. I looked down to see what used to be a doll of a young girl. The hair was burnt off, half of its face was melted away, the clothes were filthy and burnt. I decided to place the doll into my pocket in hopes to find the original owner. Then the streets had became silent once again. It was as if everyone had left the city to seek shelter from the war. Except the farther down the street we walked, the clearer it became on why the city was so silent. In the center of the city, were the townspeople on the ground in straight lines. Everyone was dead. Women, and children laid across the streets as if they were porcelain dolls. I stopped walking without even realizing it. I just stood there, looking among the hundreds of people this maniac had murdered. I was determined to take this man down, to end the suffering this country had gone through.
Before I continued onto the mission, I spotted a baby girl that looked to be only a few months old lying next to a woman. I assumed the woman was her mother since she was still holding the baby's hand. I took the doll out of my pocket and laid it next to the child, and then bowed my head and said a pray. A single tear slid down my cheek as I imagined the cruel death this little girl had to face. After a few minutes I stood up and continued on my way.
For what felt like forever of constant walking, we had finally found a little house at the end of the city and decided to camp there.We scanned the building and began to set up all of our equipment. We placed one of the machine guns in a window on the second floor that looked out to the edge of the city, and then placed the AN/PED-1 Lightweight Target Designator Rangefinder in a window on the first floor that viewed the entire city. After we set everything up, I called all of the men into one room. 
“Alright men be prepared for anything suspicious. There could be a possible ambush. If you see anything, you are too…” that was the end of my sentence before we were interrupted by the sound of hissing. One of the Afghan soldiers threw a grenade into the building while we were distracted.
I quickly ran towards the grenade and began to shout at my men to run. I proceeded to run as far away from my men as I could, then I tossed the grenade into the air. The grenade then exploded mid air causing me to fall backwards. I fell onto the ground, and suddenly had a loud buzzing sound in both my ears. I could not hear any of the sounds around me for almost ten minutes. I struggled getting up due to a very sharp pain in the lower part of my leg. I turned around to head back, and saw Private Collins standing before me facing the other direction. His gun pointing at two Afghan soldiers aiming towards me. Private Collins took the first shot, but the Afghan soldiers were quicker. Private Collins then fell to the ground. I quickly rose and grabbed his head and held him closer to me.
“Stay with me soldier!” You’re not dying on me yet!” I exclaimed as I quickly tried to cover his wounds. However it was too late.
I suddenly became enraged. I started to shoot every Afghan soldier I saw cross my path. I was so distracted on getting revenge that I did not notice the land mine right in front of me.

Present Day  10:05 A.M
“That was the last thing I remember from that day.” I told Mrs. Peterson as a tear began to stream down her face.
“Wow. That was interesting.” She told me as she began to wipe the tears away, acting as if she had not been crying.
“A few days afterwards I was sent home with only one leg. My family was thrilled to see that I was still alive, but I couldn’t handle the sorrow that was given towards me when everyone saw I was missing my leg. All of the pain and anger began to eat away at me causing me to become depressed. Every time I fell asleep, that exact day played on repeat reminding me of the horrible decision I had made.” I said.
“What happened after you returned home?” asked Mrs. Peterson.
“I was immediately sent to the hospital.” I responded.

August 12, 2002   3:00 P.M.
“Mr. Allen the doctor will see you now.” Said one of the nurses at the hospital.
She began to push my wheelchair away from my room and headed into an examination room. Inside the room was a bed, an x-ray machine, and many other tools I was unaware of. This room would terrify little children if they ever had to go through the same examine process as me. It was the same thing everyday; try on some kind of prosthetic leg, attempt to walk, fail at walking, and then go back to my hospital room. The longer I was there, the more frustrated I became with the procedure. Except for one day.
My mother and sisters came in to visit one day after my exam. I was laying in bed watching the television with a miserable look on my face. My mom took the two oldest daughters to go find some snacks for the little ones. A few minutes after they left, my two younger sisters, Hazel age 4 and Brooke age 7, approached my bed.
“Brubber. When you come home?” asked Hazel, the youngest.
“I don't know yet Hazel.” I told her as I continued to watch the television.
“Can you come tomorrow?” asked Brooke, the second youngest.
“I don't know!” I responded but with a little more anger.
“Not nice to yell brubber.” demanded Hazel.
“Yea Marker! Not nice.” exclaimed Brooke.
“Enough! Will you two stop!? Can’t you see I’m trying to watch something!?”” I finally screamed at them. I did not know what came over me to yell at them. I never yell at them.
“Sorry .” they said simultaneously. Hazels eyes began to water, and Brooke backed away from my bed.
I looked over at the two of them, and felt ashamed of myself. I had never seen them act like this around me. They were always so thrilled to see me whenever I would come home.
“Hey don't cry girls. Come here. Come sit with me.” I told them as I patted the bed.
They struggled getting up at first, but I grabbed their arms and helped pull them over the edge of the bed. They sat on either side of me, squishing me in the middle. They both hugged me, and smiled up at me. As I looked at them smile, I realized that they were the key to helping me get better.
“How about I make a deal with you girls?” I asked them both.
“What kind of deal?” asked Brooke.
“I think you two would help me get home a lot faster by coming to all of my examinations with me. Then when I do go home, we can build a huge pillow fort in your room.” I replied back hoping they would say yes.
“Okay!” they both exclaimed at the same time.

Present day  10:30 A.M.
“After that day with my sisters, they came to all of my examinations. Whenever I would practice walking, they would stand on the other side of the room cheering, and dancing. They gave me hope to continue trying, and thanks to them I can now finally walk again.” I told Mrs. Peterson.
“That is very touching Mr. All.. I mean Mark.” said Mrs. Peterson correcting herself mid sentence.
Mrs. Peterson quickly finished her last sentence, and then began to stand up out of her chair.
“Well Mark, from what I gathered by the information you had given me you don't need any therapy. You just need to spend more quality time with your family, and then your disorder will disappear in no time.” she said with a big grin across her face.
I slowly stood up, being cautious not to stand on my prosthetic wrong, then I reached my hand out indicating I wanted to shake her hand. Then she realized what I was doing and then took my hand.
“Thank you Mrs. Peterson. I appreciate you listening to my story.” I said to her as we continued to shake hands.
“Please Mark. The pleasure was mine. Your story was very touching.” Mrs. Peterson said as she grabbed my hand with both of her hands, looking into my eyes with tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
She made her way around the desk and opened the door for me. I began to walk out the door until I turned around and looked her in the eyes.
“I’ll be back again next week.” I told her with a grin across my face. Then I turned back around and continued walking into the lobby.
I looked to my left and noticed Hazel and Brooke sitting in the chairs, patiently waiting for me to finish.
“You ready girls?” I asked.
“Finally! I was starting to get bored.” proclaimed Brooke.
“Can we build our pillow fort now?” asked Hazel.
“Of course we can.” I exclaimed as I took both of their hands.
Walking hand in hand, the three of us walked out of the building with our heads held high, and smiles spread acrossed our faces.
On our way home, I decided to make a quick stop. We got out of the car and proceeded down a dirt path. There were flowers and flags planted along both sides of the path. My sisters had a very confused look on their faces as we continued walking.
“Where are we going?” asked Brooke.
“You will see.” I replied.
The pathway became shorter and shorter until we were finally at our destination. Placed right in front of us stood a detailed marble stone with the words;
Private James Collins Jr.,
A beloved son and friend
March 7, 1982 - October 7, 2001
Tears streamed down my face as I continued to glare at the headstone of a man I once called friend. There were flowers placed all around the marble stone, along with photos from when he was a little boy up until he had left for the army.
“Marker who is this?” asked Brooke as she grabbed my hand when she noticed my tears.
“Girls, I want you to meet one of the best soldiers I had ever met.” I tried to tell them, but my voice kept cracking due to how hard the tears began to run down my face.
We stood there in silence for a few moments, until Hazel ran off into a field and returned with a handful of flowers. She placed them in front of his grave, and then said, “Thank you for protecting my brother.”