Invisible Wounds: A Veteran’s Mental Health Journey

by Dominic Barrett

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I was born and raised in the industrial heartland of the North of England, in a region known for its rich history, and its distinctive and proud mining culture. However, my childhood was far from idyllic. My family was dysfunctional, to put it mildly. There was a pervasive sense of chaos and instability that marked my early years. My parents’ marriage was a tumultuous one, characterised by frequent arguments they had daily. They were unable to provide me with the emotional support and guidance that every child needs to thrive. Instead, I grew up feeling isolated and misunderstood. I longed for stable role models but got none from my immediate family or extended circle. Furthermore, my unruly behaviour often landed me in hot water. I was frequently disciplined for getting into mischief. At the age of fifteen, my parents could no longer cope with me. So, they decided to kick me out of the family home, leaving me homeless. This pivotal experience forced me to confront the harsh realities of the world head-on and develop resilience in the face of adversity. Despite the hardship of being homeless, I refused to give up on my dreams for a better future.

Being homeless used to be considered a logical outcome for alcoholics, people addicted to drugs, misfits, and people with serious and persistent mental illness, however, there is an increased number of young people and or ex-Armed Forces, desperate to find their way back from the abyss. Some of them succeed, and many more would succeed if they did not feel that their family, friends and society had rejected them in their hour of need.

I decided I needed to move away from my hometown, the place I had known all my life, which was an overwhelming experience. The thought of starting anew in an unfamiliar place, especially without a stable source of income or a roof over my head, filled me with anxiety and uncertainty. I found myself in the southern part of the county, far removed from the familiarity of my northern roots. The initial days were the most challenging. I had no job, no savings, and also no family or friends to turn to for support. Each day brought new uncertainties—where would I sleep that night, when would I eat next, and how would I be able to afford the necessities like clothing and personal hygiene products to keep me clean?

Despite these challenges, I refused to give up hope. I spend my days looking for suitable accommodation, scouring job boards and applying to any position that seems within my reach. I also sought out resources provided by local charitable organisations dedicated to helping the homeless population. These organisations offered food banks, shelter services and other essential lifelines for those struggling to get back on their feet and reintegrate back into society. As time passed, I began to adapt to my new surroundings and started building a network of support around me. With each passing day, I grew more determined to overcome my circumstances and rebuild my life from the ground up. Although there were still difficult challenges ahead, I knew with some initiative, perseverance and help from the charitable organisations I was in contact with, there was some hope for a brighter future.

One day while wandering through the city centre, I came across a recruitment office for the British armed forces. The idea of joining the military offered a glimmer of hope—a chance to escape my current situation and build a better and brighter future for myself. After much consideration and several interviews with the recruitment team, I decided to enlist in the army. The journey to begin my military training was filled with mixed emotions. Leaving behind familiar faces was difficult, but the prospect of a stable income, food, shelter and skills was too enticing to resist. The train ride south to the training depot seemed endless but also represented a new beginning, one filled with opportunities and possibilities that I had not experienced before.

Upon arriving at the training depot, I underwent rigorous training that not only tested my physical and mental abilities but the discipline and structure provided by the army helped me regain focus and purpose in life. The camaraderie among fellow recruits created a sense of belonging that had been missing during my time on the streets, and most importantly the skills and qualifications gained through my military service opened doors to other opportunities when my military service ended.

In retrospect, those dark days spent homeless and on the streets were some of the most challenging experiences of my life and came in handy in army life. They have served as valuable life lessons that shaped who I am today—resilient, determined, and very grateful for every opportunity that comes my way.

After my training had finished and I was with my regiment, one of the defining moments of my military career was being deployed on operational tours. My first operational tour was a secondment to the United Nations as a UN peacekeeper. Serving in a foreign land, far away from home, taught me the true meaning of sacrifice and service. Despite the challenges and danger, we faced knowing our mission was to try to bring peace and stability to a war-torn region, which gave me a sense of fulfilment like no other. However, there would be an incident whilst on tour in Cyprus that would change my life forever.

It was one cold Cypriot night, whilst on routine foot patrol, I was patrolling the UN demilitarised zone, or as we called it the “BUFFER ZONE”, I can remember it being a chilly night, with no breeze and very little skylight. One-man patrols can be a very scary experience. But you can collect one’s thoughts, but you still have to be observant, and keep your eye on the ball at all times. You can’t afford to let your guard down for one moment. This is because it could mean the difference between life and death. This may seem over the top, but in stark reality, it is the truth.

On this particular night, I was on a single routine foot patrol in the “BUFFER ZONE” from my base location to my next post, which was UN76 (UN76 is roughly a ten-minute walk from my location which was UN66. I approached an area affectionately known as the magic map, a post that was operated by the Greek Cypriot army. As I approached their location for intelligence building and a general chat, to pass on the time. However, on this night, a section of the lights was out. Just my luck, I thought to myself. So, all the Greek soldier saw was this six-foot-four-inch shadow advancing towards their lightly guarded location. As I approached cautiously with a switched-on attitude, or so I thought, the Greek sentry got spooked, then proceeded to panic and with this he aimed at my head with his antique-looking rifle. He started shouting something in Greek, I think? In doing this, it sent all the other Greek soldiers running out. One thing I still distinctly remember about the incident was his finger on the trigger, shaking uncontrollably.

My young unfilled life flashed before my eyes, and within milliseconds my thoughts had gone from how long that bullet would take to reach my head to never seeing my family, friends and what put the icing on the cake, no more women? I think the very last thought that I had was, who gives a fuck, my brains would be everywhere and I would not feel a thing, or I least I hope I would not feel anything. I managed to recompose myself and my training kicked in. I muttered something back to him, which seemed to de-escalate the highly volatile situation. My heart was pounding nearly out of my chest. I was sweating profusely. The whole incident seemed to last for an eternity and in slow motion, however, in reality, minutes.

All I had for protection was my mouth and my SA80, which is my army-issue rifle with a magazine of ten rounds. The bummer was my rifle had to be slung behind my back, this was to do with not looking threatening. By the time it would have taken me to react with a shot, it would have been too late anyway. Lights out for me. I thought you had the training and skills, use them. So, I did, and very fast. After the situation had de-escalated and the situation had settled down, the Greek soldier had some light-hearted banter, but deep down, all I wanted to do was to rip his head off his shoulders. But, what would that achieve? A lengthy stint in the Glass House (army slang for military prison), so what do you do? You just crack on; you get on with your job. The rest of my patrol went without incident. Years on I still have flashbacks to that incident. Little did I know, that incident made me an emotional time bomb waiting to explode. Not long after that time bomb went off with devastating consequences that would ultimately end my military career.

After my time in Cyprus, I was posted to Germany, where I encountered new challenges and opportunities for personal growth. Adapting to a new environment and culture tested my adaptability and resilience once again. However, with the support of my military family and my wife, as I had just recently gotten married, I found the strength to face these challenges head-on. My final posting in the military was to Warminster in the UK, this was meant to be a new chapter in my life. Surrounded by lush greenery and historical landmarks, I found solace and tranquillity amidst the chaos of military life. Balancing military life with spending time with my new wife was hard. I strived to create a loving environment for her. Something I had always craved growing up. Subsequently, I found out that my wife had only married me to get away from her toxic life and not for love, and we divorced soon after.

One fateful night whilst on leave I got into an altercation that would have devastating consequences and would ultimately finish my military career. I will not go into the events of that night as twenty-five years on they are too painful for me. However, on reflection, it leaves me with mixed feelings and a deep sense of loss for the path I once was my life calling. The news that my army career was over hit me like a brick. Three years of dedication and training were abruptly cut short by a moment of madness.

My mental health challenges began, I believe when I had two distinct experiences, a near-death experience in Cyprus and an emotionally toxic marriage.

That first was a sudden, intense burst of emotion; the marriage was more of a slow burn. I was married to a woman who showed little affection or concern for my well-being. The emotional toll of this loveless marriage weighed heavily on me, leaving me feeling drained and hopeless. Despite my best efforts to communicate openly and honestly about my feelings, she remained distant and unresponsive. The lack of emotional support from someone who should have been my closest confidant made it difficult for me to cope with the stresses of daily life, let alone the trauma I had experienced in Cyprus.

These experiences have taken a heavy toll on my mental health, leaving me with feelings of anxiety, depression, and being disconnected from the world around me. It wasn’t until much later, and with help from many dedicated mental health professionals, I truly began to open up and learn coping strategies for managing my emotions and dealing with the trauma I had suffered.

On reflection, these experiences have profoundly shaped my life, teaching me valuable lessons about resilience, self-care and the importance of seeking out professional help when needed.

For the past twenty years, I have been on a challenging and tumultuous journey with my mental health. The ups and downs, the triumphs and setbacks have all shaped me into the person that I am today. It has been a long road filled with numerous mental health hospital admissions, hard reflective therapy sessions, medication adjustments and countless moments of private self-reflection.

There are still times when it feels like the weight of the world is crashing down on me. The dark cloud of depression seems never-ending, suffocating any glimmer of hope. Anxiety still grips me in a tight embrace, making the simplest task feel insurmountable. The stigma surrounding mental health makes it harder for people like me to reach out for help as I feel judged for my past actions.

As time passed, I never sought a formal diagnosis for PTSD due to several reasons. Firstly, I believed that I could cope with my symptoms on my own. Having gone through challenging situations in the past, I had developed resilience and thought that I could manage my PTSD symptoms without external help. Additionally, the stigma surrounding mental health issues made me hesitant to seek help. I was afraid of being judged by others and did not want to be labelled as someone with a mental health condition.

Furthermore, living in solitude became an appealing option for me as I grew more comfortable with my own company. Being alone allowed me to focus on my thoughts and feelings without any external distractions or pressures. It gave me the space and time to process my experiences and come to terms with my emotions. Over time, I found that living alone helped me manage my PTSD symptoms more effectively than trying to hide them from others or seeking external validation.

However, I need to stress that everyone’s experience with PTSD is unique, and what works for one person may not work for another. While some people may find solace in being alone, others may benefit from the support of friends, family members, or mental health professionals.

I continue to work on my mental health. Being alone allows me to truly connect with myself, and to listen to my inner voice without any distractions from external influences. In solitude, I find peace and clarity that has eluded me for so long.

​EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR / EDITOR: Gabriel Nathan | DESIGN: Leah Alexandra Goldstein | SITE ORIGINATOR: Bud Clayman