I was fresh back from Iraq in July. I decided not to waste any time and jump right back into school that September. I need to keep busy and have a purpose, I go full time.

Serious classes are signed up for but I also need at least one just for fun. The class that catches my eye is introduction to fire arms. We get to shoot guns for fun? Sign me up. Little did I know I was about to uncover a fear I didn't realize I had developed.

In my hands is a 9mm pistol, just like the one that was strapped to my leg in the sandbox for 16 months. It feels so natural, my fingers know just where to place themselves. My finger gives the trigger a smooth squeeze and I admire the circular hole in my paper target. Then the civilians lined up next to me start to fire. Someone is firing a double action revolver, when the hammer strikes I jump. I actually jump. I am not afraid of the gun, I'm afraid of the operator. I don't trust these people.

The back of my neck is getting warm, I can feel it's turning red. Now it's on fire. My mouth is so dry I need water. I tell myself to relax. Now the loud cracks of their hammers and pins seems to be tripping over each other. I can't wait until they are empty, I need to get off this firing line. I am scared, embarrassed and confused. The number one reason soldiers don't except help when they get home, fear is so embarrassing. I put ear plugs in and then place my muffs back on in hopes that it blocks the noise enough so I stop jumping. I ask a classmate if I can bum a cigarette, I haven't smoked in over a year. My first drag is long and deep. Ive been quit so long I can taste the smoke for the poison it truly is. I smoke it down to the white filter.

Rewind to a ordinary day back in Iraq. I am done with my patrols for the day so I am at the gym running on the tread mill. Over the sound of the machines and my headphones I hear the first round impact and the entire building shakes, It's time to head back to my living area. I grab my battle buddy and we start walking back to our rooms before we are locked down to the gym.

The second round impacts 300 meters to our right, we start to jog and then decide "eh lets just walk". You can always tell peoples first rocket attack, they throw on their gear and run to the bunkers. It's as if they think the Army sprinkled magic fairy dust on the two inches of concrete and they are impenetrable.

You learn to relax and enjoy the sounds and if you lucky you can watch a rocket fly over your head, they are quite pretty. Sometimes we would collect rockets, mortar rounds and other ammunition found in the desert on patrols. We would pile it up and bring a explosive team out and we'd blow it sky high. We would park almost a mile away and shrapnel would still land near us or even past us.

Back at the explosion site all that would be left was a deep crater with smoke rising from it. This was far more powerful than the guns we would fire and none of it scared me. I trusted my fellow soldiers. They are my best friends.

My first deer season in two years was very exciting. Our teacher gave us opening week off from our fire arms class. It was time for me to be alone in the woods, just me and my rifle. I wanted a deer but I enjoyed just sitting amongst the trees with my thoughts. On the second day I saw a huge doe trying to sneak behind me and I decided to take her. I didn't realize I had pulled the trigger until after I had fired. It was like breathing, I didn't have to think about lining up my shot or not jerking the trigger, I just did it. I found blood in the area she was standing at the time of the shot so I went home to give her time to die and get someone to help me drag her out.

My cousin and I returned to find her in a clearing on the pipe line. Finding her dead we both started to unload our riffles. Suddenly I heard a loud boom. My ears started ringing and I slowly looked down to see a hole in the ground ten inches from my foot with smoke rising from it. I've seen this before in another world, this one was just miniature. Smoke slowly danced up from the nucleus of the crater. The smoke was spinning and swirling like a ballerina showing off her moves. My heart isn't beating rapidly, I'm not sweating, I'm relaxed.

I am cured.

Story by Sgt. Tristin Laveau