For many veterans, the transition from military service to civilian life is marked by invisible wounds. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can linger long after the deployments end, and for some, seeking help through the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) becomes another battle altogether. In a deeply personal and harrowing account published by The War Horse, Navy veteran Dylan Harrington shares his journey through trauma, disillusionment with the VA system, and his determination to forge his own path to healing. His story sheds light on the complexities of PTSD treatment, the importance of validation, and the power of personal agency.

Harrington served as a cryptologic technician aboard the USS O’Kane, deploying twice to the Persian Gulf. During his second deployment, Operation Inherent Resolve began, and he witnessed the operation unfold via live stream. One bombing, in particular, left an indelible mark: a child on a bicycle and a woman—likely his mother—running toward him before the blast. The image haunted Harrington, especially after becoming a father himself. “I still carry his small ghost everywhere I go,” he wrote, describing how the trauma followed him into civilian life.

After his honorable discharge in 2015, Harrington tried to manage his symptoms alone. He enrolled in nursing school using his GI Bill but found himself too depressed to continue. He struggled to hold jobs, battled suicidal thoughts, and avoided discussing his experiences. Eventually, he sought help through the VA. What followed was a series of disappointing encounters: therapists who pushed religion, psychiatrists who prescribed medications without meaningful dialogue, and a system that often left him feeling like a number rather than a person.

The article details how Harrington’s initial attempts at treatment left him emotionally numb or physically unwell. Prozac dulled his emotions, while other medications caused severe side effects. One psychiatrist diagnosed him with PTSD in a matter of minutes and handed him a prescription for Ambien. “It helped,” Harrington admitted, “but I was afraid of becoming dependent.” Over time, he cycled through five or six therapists, only to find himself starting over each time someone moved away or left the clinic. He eventually gave up on the VA’s mental health services.

While navigating this difficult terrain, Harrington also faced the loss of two close friends to suicide. The grief and survivor’s guilt were overwhelming. At one point, he even considered ending his life at a VA facility as a form of protest. But a turning point came when he met his wife, Ana. Her support, along with the birth of their son, Samson, offered a new sense of purpose. Still, the road to healing remained steep. Harrington failed a drug test, lost another job, and moved in with his in-laws. Encouraged by his wife, he returned to school—this time for creative writing, a field he felt passionate about.

It was during this period that Harrington encountered a fellow veteran who encouraged him to apply for disability benefits. Until then, he had resisted the idea, believing his trauma didn’t compare to others who had experienced more direct combat. But a visit to the Wexford County Veterans Services Office changed his perspective. The staff member, a Vietnam veteran, immediately recognized Harrington’s pain and validated his experiences. “Trauma is trauma,” Harrington realized. “It’s not a contest.” That encounter helped him begin the process of applying for benefits, and shortly before his son’s first birthday, he was granted 100% disability.

Despite this progress, Harrington’s journey with medication continued to be fraught. He remained on Lamictal for three years, but eventually increased the dosage in hopes of alleviating his depression. The adjustment worsened his back pain, and additional medications like Wellbutrin and mirtazapine introduced new, severe side effects. The emotional toll became unbearable. Harrington told his psychiatrist he wanted to stop all medications, a decision the doctor advised against. Still, Harrington felt strongly about regaining control over his treatment. “I don’t like being told what to put in [my body],” he said.

Going off medication was not easy. He experienced intense withdrawal symptoms—irritability, anxiety, insomnia, and vivid nightmares. But he found solace in writing. Within three weeks, he wrote and self-published his first work of fiction. He also leaned on techniques learned from therapy, such as using cold water to reset during panic attacks, practicing mindfulness, and focusing on sensory details like tree branches in the wind. Music, especially Radiohead, became a calming presence.

Harrington also turned to marijuana, finding it more tolerable than the side effects of prescription drugs. “I’d rather be a little sluggish than have my intestines twist,” he explained, highlighting the trade-offs many face when managing mental health symptoms. Although he continues to struggle, he finds grounding in his children and his writing. The journey is far from over, but he is determined to find his own way—without the VA.

One of the most poignant moments in Harrington’s reflection comes when he reads his own VA appointment notes. After expressing frustration about being pressured into medications, he discovered a dismissive entry: “Patient said he doesn’t like being told what to do.” For Harrington, that single sentence encapsulated the lack of understanding and empathy he had encountered. It was a final straw, reinforcing his decision to seek healing on his own terms.

The story offers a sobering look at the mental health challenges many veterans face and the limitations of institutional support systems. It also underscores the importance of peer validation, individualized care, and the power of creative expression. While the VA has helped countless veterans, Harrington’s experience reveals that one size does not fit all. His determination to carve out a path of healing is a testament to resilience and the human need to be seen, heard, and understood.

Read more at thewarhorse.org