By I started the year of 2017 as one of the few and the proud, I was an active-duty Marine.
By the end of 2017 I was one of the many struggling, addicted, and disabled veterans.
It was a freezing winter day at the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, California, when I was honorably discharged from the Marine Corps.
I can recall the adjutant handing me my official discharge papers, “DD-214.”
I was ecstatic.
The day had finally arrived, I turned in my military ID card, jumped in my moving van, and proceeded to drive off base.
I was headed back home.
Within a few days, I felt empty and lost. I no longer knew who I was. I had lost my purpose.
That’s when the addiction really dropped its anchor in the harbor of my life and proceeded to terrorize me for years to come.
Let’s back up a bit, 26 years before discharge, to be exact.
Born in 1991, I was raised in Contra Costa County, California.
My parents divorced when I was 5 years old. That change unleashed a spiral of heartache and confusion. I felt lost and without reliable sources of security and support.
I wanted something to provide structure, security, identity – something to lift my self-esteem.
A poster came to mind, one that read: “We don’t promise you a rose garden.” The line at the bottom of that poster read “The Marines are looking for a few good men.”
At the time I wasn’t yet 16, and I didn’t feel like I was on the right track to becoming a “good man.”
And so, one day in 2007 I wandered into a Marine recruiting office located in a local shopping mall.
A few hours later, the recruiter came to our house to chat with my dad, stepmother, and I.
At first my folks protested, but this wasn’t the recruiter’s first battle.
They saw the pride swell within me when I told them that this was what I wanted to do. After that, they knew I would join the Marines, with or without their blessing.
My parents eventually accepted my decision to become a Marine. Once I signed the dotted line and wrote that blank check, my entire life changed.
I stepped onto the yellow footprints of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego and began Marine Corps boot camp on July 26, 2009.
Five months later I became a 0341 Infantry Mortarman and was assigned to the 3rd Battalion 3rd Marines in Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. I was deployed twice with them to Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom.
As my first four-year enlistment was nearing its end, I told my career planner that I would only reenlist if I could be stationed at Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, California, and serve as a Mountain Leader and Instructor.
They granted my request and in February 2017 I moved to Bridgeport for my second enlistment.
In the Marine Corps, life was structured. Rules and regulations governed almost every aspect of my life. Anytime I didn’t know what to do, I could count on somebody barking out orders at me telling me what to do.
During my eight years as an active-duty Marine my survival tools were knowledge, endurance, bearing, courage, and enthusiasm. That’s all that I needed to make it through each day.
Marines are closer than friends. We are brothers in arms. In battle and in life we always have each other. Once a Marine, always a Marine.
While on active duty, I had pride. An identity that came with self-esteem, purpose, and support. I gained discipline, courage, honor, endurance. I learned how to commit – how to carry out a mission.
I relied on that structure. My identity was formed around it.
I could never have anticipated what the absence of that structure would leave in its wake.
The Marine Corps trained me to believe that I could meet every challenge, win every battle.
Only twice in my life have I met a foe I felt I couldn’t defeat.
The first one, during my time in the Marines, was alcoholism.
The second unbearable challenge was the transitioning out of the Marines, seemingly alone.
Monday, Jan. 2, 2017, was the day I lost a part of myself. That was the day that I was honorably discharged.
After being discharged I battled depression, addiction, PTSD, and physical issues with my back and feet.
The light at the end of the tunnel was beginning to fade. I was losing sight of who I was, and I no longer enjoyed the amazing guidance and support of my fellow Marines.
Fortunately, I had a job lined up with a construction company. The week I got out, my little sister asked me to drive with her across the country, as she moved from California to Virginia.
My sister and I never lived under the same roof after my parents divorced. I had just spent the last eight years of my life, hundreds of miles away from her and the rest of my family. We still live too far apart.
After helping her move, my addiction problem returned. This time: cannabis.
Smoking cannabis was more of a mental addiction. I had no other healthy tools to help me cope.
By March 2017 my wife and I had filed for a divorce. I then moved in with my dad, stepmother, stepsister, and grandparents.
At 26, I was utterly miserable and lonely. My family was at a loss on how to help me recover.
In the span of about three months, I had lost the Corps, my identity, and my marriage.
Most of my friends disappeared with my marriage.
I relied on pot, music, and work to keep me distracted.
One day, while I was high and, in the shower, rocking out, I rocked out a little too hard. I ended up giving myself whiplash while I was head banging my woes away to my favorite band in the shower.
A trip to the ER followed.
My dad’s side of the family tried to love and support me. But they had a lot of their own baggage. I was ready to move on.
I moved in with my mom and her fiancé in August 2017. I had not lived with my mom since I was 5 years old.
By that time, I had begun seeing a therapist at the VA in Martinez, California. By the grace of God, there was a Vet Center down the street from my mother’s house in Concord, California. That Vet Center saved my life.
Despite seeing a therapist, I still didn’t know how to function, let alone deal with my mom full time.
In January 2018 I was rated 90% disabled by the VA, so I decided to quit working. I figured I needed to sort my life out, but I just sank lower.
I wanted my suffering to end.
I was at a critical crossroads.
I either had to change my life or end it.
I chose to change.
On that day, I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.
A week later I surrendered to my higher power and said a prayer.
In my prayer, right before I opened my eyes, I asked my higher power to show itself to me. With my head still bowed, I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw: Shadows of two birds flying overhead.
They landed on the fence to my right. In awe and disbelief, I whispered, “God if that’s you, please give me another sign.”
Not even a half second later, the birds flew off together into the distance. Suddenly, I felt alive again. I believed in something greater than myself.
That day was the day that I was reborn.
I began to climb out of the depths of that rocky bottom, and back towards a life worth living.
Within a week, I began volunteering with several organizations that served veterans in my community. Within that veteran community I began to reforge my identity.
Through my participation with the veterans of my community, I found a purpose.
I realized that I am a veteran. A proud veteran.
I continue to attend AA meetings and through that I have been able to foster a connection with my higher power.
Being a recovering alcoholic has taught me one of the most valuable lessons that I have ever learned.
My experiences, good, bad, or otherwise, can help other people. But to help others, I have to be vulnerable and share what it was like, what happened, and what it is like now.
If the Marines didn’t kill me, then being a non-traditional student, a father, and a husband certainly won’t.
By July 2018 my outlook on life was improving rapidly. In August 2018 I began my first semester at Diablo Valley College (DVC) in Pleasant Hill, California.
While there, I served as an officer in the Student Veterans Alliance at DVC from 2018 to 2020. As a result of being a student veteran leader, I have embraced my identity of being a veteran.
But my identity was about to change, again.
When the pandemic began in 2020, my classes converted to online courses. The campus was closed.
So, I seized the opportunity to tour college campuses.
Montana was my half-way point. I drove from Missoula to Bozeman. When I drove through Helena, I didn’t even stop.
Once I got to Bozeman I checked my phone, as I had kept one dating app account active, Bumble. That was the first time I laid eyes on Alexandria. I fell in love with the photos of her that were displayed on her account. When I read her “about me” I instantly knew she was my soulmate.
Alexandria is now my wife and we have two children together.
In short, I didn’t come to Helena because I found a good college. I came to Helena because I found a wonderful partner.
I have finally planted my roots.
Alexandria had a son when we met. His name is Haydn. I am set to legally adopt him this May.
And we now have a 21-month-old girl named AnaKatara.
We have our challenges. Our son has been diagnosed with autism. Alexandria has battled post-partum depression. But we couldn’t be happier.
I love being a father and a veteran leader in my community.
I strive to do my best every day.
I am still working towards making our community a better place for my kids and peers.
So, my life has not been easy, nor perfect.
I know that there are others out there who have had it worse than me. I have so many things to be grateful for.
Yes, I still struggle from time to time. But I know that if I just keep going one day at a time, then I will be OK.
If the Marines didn’t kill me, then being a non-traditional student, a father, and a husband certainly won’t.
As Master Yoda said “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
Today I am a doer. Trying is not an option anymore.
Every day, I draw on the strength I found in the Marines, and the strength I found in my faith. Those birds were God sent. I believe that.
