I’m writing this not as a doctor, not as a historian, but as someone who understands what it means to carry pain quietly, for years. My name is Doc Snafu (aka Gunter Gillot), and I’ve lived with PTSD for three decades. I didn’t earn it on a battlefield, but in life. Still, I’ve learned that trauma doesn’t care if you wore a uniform or not. The brain doesn’t make those distinctions. And for so many veterans—and civilians alike—the war doesn’t end when the world thinks it should.
This message is for anyone still in the fight
You Are Not Broken
Let me say this clearly: you are not weak. You are not broken. What you’re feeling isn’t some failure of character. PTSD is a natural response to unnatural events. Painkiller addiction, alcohol abuse, substance dependency—these are more than just vices. They’re escape hatches. They’re the only tools many of us were handed when the pain got too loud and the world got too quiet.
If you’ve ever stood in the kitchen at 2 a.m., staring at the bottle on the counter… if you’ve ever crushed a pill into powder just to feel anything, or nothing… if you’ve pulled back from your friends, your family, your own reflection in the mirror—you are not alone. And you’re not beyond saving.
The Legacy of Combat—and Life
For veterans, trauma may come from warzones, from firefights, from watching a brother or sister fall. For civilians, it may come from abuse, from accidents, from loss, from chaos that spiraled out of control. But the result is the same: a brain that’s stuck in survival mode. A body that’s always tense. A life that feels like it’s closing in.
PTSD isn’t always what people think it is. It’s not always panic attacks or sobbing. Sometimes it’s numbness. Irritability. Sleepless nights and fake smiles. Sometimes it’s the way you flinch when someone touches your shoulder, or why you can’t sit with your back to the door.
Addiction? That’s often a symptom, not the problem. It’s relief disguised as ruin. And when it grabs hold, it doesn’t let go easily.
The Hard Truth—and the Way Out
Healing is not a straight line. You don’t wake up one day and feel “fixed.” But every step matters. The first one? It’s not rehab or therapy. It’s honesty. It’s saying, “I’m not okay, and I don’t want to stay this way.” That’s where it begins. The rest? You don’t have to do it alone.
Recovery looks different for everyone:
– For some, it’s weekly group therapy with people who get it
– For others, it’s medication that finally brings peace
– Sometimes it’s simply learning how to breathe again when the flashbacks hit
– Sometimes it’s calling someone before the drink, not after
But it always starts with a choice. A whisper of defiance. “I’m still here, and I want better.”
Real Help, Not Just Talk
Here are real resources that can help—whether you’re a veteran or a civilian, whether your struggle is PTSD, addiction, or both:
For US Veterans:
– VA PTSD Support: https://www.ptsd.va.gov/
– Wounded Warrior Project: https://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/
– Give An Hour: Free mental health support for veterans. https://giveanhour.org/
For Civilians:
– SAMHSA’s National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – Free, 24/7 help
– National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI): https://www.nami.org
– Alcoholics Anonymous: https://www.aa.org
– Narcotics Anonymous: https://www.na.org
In Europe? Some US-based organizations still offer support, or you can contact local addiction services or hospitals for mental health referrals.
One Step is Enough
I know what it’s like to function with pain so old it feels like part of your personality. I know the quiet panic, the slow fade, the way you start to believe maybe this is just who you are now. But it’s not. You were not born to suffer in silence. You were made for more. Make a call. Send a message. Walk through the door. Don’t wait until everything crashes. Don’t wait for permission to take care of yourself. The fight inside doesn’t make you broken. It makes you a warrior in recovery.
You’ve already survived the worst of it. Now it’s time to start living.
From someone who understands,
Gunter Gillot
Founder European Center of Military History
Advocate. Survivor. Human being who still believes in people.
If you made it to the end of this message, let that be your sign. You’re still here—and that matters. Even in your darkest hour, you are not alone. And there is no shame in needing help. The real courage? It’s not in pretending you’re fine. It’s in rising—again and again—until you find the light. And I promise you, it’s out there.
A Final Word About Suicide
If you’ve ever thought about ending your life—if the weight feels too heavy, the nights too long, the fight too lonely—I need you to know this: suicide may seem like an escape, but it transfers your pain to those who love you. The people you leave behind—your parents, your partner, your kids, your friends—they don’t get peace. They inherit your torment. They carry the questions. The guilt. The sadness. And many of them won’t understand why. You are not a burden. You are not beyond help. And you are not alone in this. There is still time to turn this around. There is still time to make the call, to open the door, to let someone walk beside you. Your life matters more than you know. Please—stay. Stay and fight one more day. And then another. Help is waiting. And so are the people who would do anything to keep you here.
Call 988 (in the US) and press 1. Text a friend. Tell someone. Just don’t disappear into the dark.
We’ve lost too many. We don’t want to lose you too.
