Page 52 of Loving London

The rush of blood coursing through my body subsides enough that the ringing in my ears quiets so that I can hear his words as he speaks.

“The problem with PTSD and depression is that, for many soldiers, they don’t know how bad it is until it’s too late. Those who go into the armed forces have a certain type of mentality. Soldiers are strong, tough, resilient. Men and women go into the military because they think they have what it takes to defend our country, to go to war, to fight.

“But it doesn’t matter how strong someone is. Some things are so gruesome that our brains can’t process them. Humans are not meant to kill other humans. Taking another’s life is something that’s impossible to forget. Watching another soldier be tortured or killed isn’t something you can get over. Watching your best friend be blown into little pieces isn’t something you can get over.”

Loïc pauses. He looks down toward the ground. His chest rises as he pulls in air.

Then, he continues with renewed conviction, “Yes, many soldiers come home, but they never come home the same. Even if they aren’t physically damaged, they are mentally wounded. There’s such a stigma regarding mental illness in this country that many soldiers don’t seek the help they need. There’s shame that comes with admitting that you’re mentally unwell. So, many soldiers choose to suffer alone, believing that they’ll be able to pull themselves out of the hole. Yet, before they know it, the darkness takes over and pulls them under.

“Twenty-two veterans commit suicide every single day. Twenty-two.” Loïc’s voice breaks with the last word. He scans the crowd.

Raw emotion prickles across my skin as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest with its inexplicable pull toward him.

Loïc continues, “That number is unacceptable. We are failing our soldiers. The mental demons that accompany many soldiers home can lead to depression, rage, substance abuse, addiction, and mental illness. It is estimated that two hundred thousand veterans are homeless on any given day. Two hundred thousand.” He breaks off again, allowing the number to sink in.

“These are people who put their lives on the line to serve our country. They are someone’s sister, brother, son, daughter, husband, wife, or friend, and we are failing them. We have to bring more awareness to the battles our veterans fight when they come home. More resources need to be available for them. We owe it to them to help when they can’t help themselves. These are good people who gave up everything for their country.”

It is with a near tangible sorrow that Loïc says, “I’ve been there. I’ve seen the darkness, and I know how lonely it is.”

A frenzy of emotions pounds through my veins, the loudest being guilt.

Loïc pulls in a steady breath before going on, “I lost so much, yet I’m one of the lucky ones because I’m standing here before you today. We need to stand together to help our soldiers. Thank you.”

The crowd rises to clap for Loïc.

I can’t make myself stand. My legs feel shaky and weak. I didn’t hear the beginning of Loïc’s speech, and I could barely comprehend the latter part. But I heard enough.

I heard enough to know the horror he must have been going through.

Loïc was drowning in a dark depression, and I left him. I should have known. It didn’t make any sense. I tried to respect him by giving him what he wanted. Yet he didn’t have a clue what he wanted because he needed help.

Why didn’t I fight harder?

The guilt that floods my mind weighs down on me like a tsunami of despair, threatening to drown me in remorse.

The worst part is, I can’t go back. I can’t change any of it. I wasn’t there for Loïc when he needed me the most, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’m so ashamed.

I left him.

I left the love of my life when he needed me.

But I didn’t know.

That thought brings me no absolution from my guilt. None.

I pull in air, but it doesn’t reach my lungs. I inhale again and again.

I feel faint.

I have to get out of here.

Standing, I throw the recorder into my purse.

“Excuse me. Excuse me,” I say to those I pass as I get closer to the aisle.

Once I’m in the clear, I run toward the back exit of the auditorium. A desperate desire to escape this room propels me. I throw the door open and sprint across the lobby toward the entry doors.

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