I don't really know how to write this

The decision to try and kill myself grew inside me for a pretty long while.

When I got back from Iraq, they'd broken up the platoon I'd been a part of, and had transferred all of the infantry guys into line companies. I got transferred into Able Company, into the same platoon as Sgt. Simmons, the guy I'd spent most of the year driving a HUMMM-V for.

Still, I started having trouble about six months after we'd gotten home, just after the start of 2006. I spent most evenings alone in my room, drinking and watching movies. It never got in the way of my day to day work of being a soldier, not in any obvious way. I just spent most nights and weekends drinking shot after shot.

1st platoon was a good bunch of guys. They'd been right in the middle of most of the heavy stuff our battalion had been a part of, in Ar Ramadi, the city we'd been posted outside of for most of the year we'd spent in Iraq. I liked most of them, and they seemed to like me.

But I got the idea I wasn't measuring up, and I couldn't shake it loose. I tried, I did all the stuff you're supposed to. At least I thought I did.

I went to talk to the Chaplain, one morning. I asked him about the possibility of changing my specialty to something other than the Infantry. I broke down, there in his office, talking about how I felt like I was going to get someone killed because I wasn't a good enough soldier. That idea'd been with me since the beginning of basic training, but now it was something I knew was going to happen.

I couldn't have it. I could not be the cause of someones death, of one of my platoon mates dying.

I talked to Sgt. Simmons, and to Lt. Anderson. Once each. But nothing much changed. Sgt. Simmons was my guy, we'd been blown up together twice. And Lt. Anderson, he was a good platoon leader, smart guy, West Point grad, really seemed to care about all of us. They tried to help. I guess they must've. But it didn't seem to change anything.

And I couldn't complain again. With how badly I thought I was doing, how much of a millstone I was on the other guys, I couldn't add in being a broke dick, too. That's what you called the guys who always had some kind of problem, always had some shit that had to be dealt with.

And one Sunday night, I decided I wasn't going to be able to take another week of failing. I decided I'd rather die.