Daniel
Somers was a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was part of Task
Force Lightning, an intelligence unit. In 2004-2005, he was mainly
assigned to a Tactical Human-Intelligence Team (THT) in Baghdad, Iraq,
where he ran more than 400 combat missions as a machine gunner in the
turret of a Humvee, interviewed countless Iraqis ranging from concerned
citizens to community leaders and and government officials, and
interrogated dozens of insurgents and terrorist suspects. In 2006-2007,
Daniel worked with Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) through his
former unit in Mosul where he ran the Northern Iraq Intelligence Center.
His official role was as a senior analyst for the Levant (Lebanon,
Syria, Jordan, Israel, and part of Turkey). Daniel suffered greatly from
PTSD and had been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury and several
other war-related conditions. On June 10, 2013, Daniel wrote the
following letter to his family before taking his life. Daniel was 30
years old. His wife and family have given permission to publish it.
I am sorry that it has come to this.
The
fact is, for as long as I can remember my motivation for getting up
every day has been so that you would not have to bury me. As things have
continued to get worse, it has become clear that this alone is not a
sufficient reason to carry on. The fact is, I am not getting better, I
am not going to get better, and I will most certainly deteriorate
further as time goes on. From a logical standpoint, it is better to
simply end things quickly and let any repercussions from that play out
in the short term than to drag things out into the long term.
You
will perhaps be sad for a time, but over time you will forget and begin
to carry on. Far better that than to inflict my growing misery upon you
for years and decades to come, dragging you down with me. It is because
I love you that I can not do this to you. You will come to see that it
is a far better thing as one day after another passes during which you
do not have to worry about me or even give me a second thought. You will
find that your world is better without me in it.
I
really have been trying to hang on, for more than a decade now. Each
day has been a testament to the extent to which I cared, suffering
unspeakable horror as quietly as possible so that you could feel as
though I was still here for you. In truth, I was nothing more than a
prop, filling space so that my absence would not be noted. In truth, I
have already been absent for a long, long time.
My
body has become nothing but a cage, a source of pain and constant
problems. The illness I have has caused me pain that not even the
strongest medicines could dull, and there is no cure. All day, every day
a screaming agony in every nerve ending in my body. It is nothing short
of torture. My mind is a wasteland, filled with visions of incredible
horror, unceasing depression, and crippling anxiety, even with all of
the medications the doctors dare give. Simple things that everyone else
takes for granted are nearly impossible for me. I can not laugh or cry. I
can barely leave the house. I derive no pleasure from any activity.
Everything simply comes down to passing time until I can sleep again.
Now, to sleep forever seems to be the most merciful thing.
You
must not blame yourself. The simple truth is this: During my first
deployment, I was made to participate in things, the enormity of which
is hard to describe. War crimes, crimes against humanity. Though I did
not participate willingly, and made what I thought was my best effort to
stop these events, there are some things that a person simply can not
come back from. I take some pride in that, actually, as to move on in
life after being part of such a thing would be the mark of a sociopath
in my mind. These things go far beyond what most are even aware of.
To
force me to do these things and then participate in the ensuing coverup
is more than any government has the right to demand. Then, the same
government has turned around and abandoned me. They offer no help, and
actively block the pursuit of gaining outside help via their corrupt
agents at the DEA. Any blame rests with them.
Beyond
that, there are the host of physical illnesses that have struck me down
again and again, for which they also offer no help. There might be some
progress by now if they had not spent nearly twenty years denying the
illness that I and so many others were exposed to. Further complicating
matters is the repeated and severe brain injuries to which I was
subjected, which they also seem to be expending no effort into
understanding. What is known is that each of these should have been
cause enough for immediate medical attention, which was not rendered.
Lastly,
the DEA enters the picture again as they have now managed to create
such a culture of fear in the medical community that doctors are too
scared to even take the necessary steps to control the symptoms. All
under the guise of a completely manufactured “overprescribing epidemic,”
which stands in stark relief to all of the legitimate research, which
shows the opposite to be true. Perhaps, with the right medication at the
right doses, I could have bought a couple of decent years, but even
that is too much to ask from a regime built upon the idea that suffering
is noble and relief is just for the weak.
However,
when the challenges facing a person are already so great that all but
the weakest would give up, these extra factors are enough to push a
person over the edge.
Is
it any wonder then that the latest figures show 22 veterans killing
themselves each day? That is more veterans than children killed at Sandy
Hook, every single day. Where are the huge policy initiatives? Why isn’t the president standing with those families
at the state of the union? Perhaps because we were not killed by a
single lunatic, but rather by his own system of dehumanization, neglect,
and indifference.
It
leaves us to where all we have to look forward to is constant pain,
misery, poverty, and dishonor. I assure you that, when the numbers do
finally drop, it will merely be because those who were pushed the
farthest are all already dead.
And
for what? Bush’s religious lunacy? Cheney’s ever growing fortune and
that of his corporate friends? Is this what we destroy lives for
Since
then, I have tried everything to fill the void. I tried to move into a
position of greater power and influence to try and right some of the
wrongs. I deployed again, where I put a huge emphasis on saving lives.
The fact of the matter, though, is that any new lives saved do not
replace those who were murdered. It is an exercise in futility.
Then,
I pursued replacing destruction with creation. For a time this provided
a distraction, but it could not last. The fact is that any kind of
ordinary life is an insult to those who died at my hand. How can I
possibly go around like everyone else while the widows and orphans I
created continue to struggle? If they could see me sitting here in
suburbia, in my comfortable home working on some music project they
would be outraged, and rightfully so.
I
thought perhaps I could make some headway with this film project, maybe
even directly appealing to those I had wronged and exposing a greater
truth, but that is also now being taken away from me. I fear that, just
as with everything else that requires the involvement of people who can
not understand by virtue of never having been there, it is going to fall
apart as careers get in the way.
The
last thought that has occurred to me is one of some kind of final
mission. It is true that I have found that I am capable of finding some
kind of reprieve by doing things that are worthwhile on the scale of
life and death. While it is a nice thought to consider doing some good
with my skills, experience, and killer instinct, the truth is that it
isn’t realistic. First, there are the logistics of financing and
equipping my own operation, then there is the near certainty of a grisly
death, international incidents, and being branded a terrorist in the
media that would follow. What is really stopping me, though, is that I
simply am too sick to be effective in the field anymore. That, too, has
been taken from me.
Thus,
I am left with basically nothing. Too trapped in a war to be at peace,
too damaged to be at war. Abandoned by those who would take the easy
route, and a liability to those who stick it out—and thus deserve
better. So you see, not only am I better off dead, but the world is
better without me in it
This
is what brought me to my actual final mission. Not suicide, but a mercy
killing. I know how to kill, and I know how to do it so that there is
no pain whatsoever. It was quick, and I did not suffer. And above all,
now I am free. I feel no more pain. I have no more nightmares or
flashbacks or hallucinations. I am no longer constantly depressed or
afraid or worried
I am free.
I
ask that you be happy for me for that. It is perhaps the best break I
could have hoped for. Please accept this and be glad for me.
Daniel Somers
