When I was diagnosed with PTSD, I was a master warrant officer in charge of a maintenance company that supported a service battalion. When the doctor told me, I thought, “Oh, shit. Okay, I have PTSD.” The first thing I asked him was, “Am I fit to serve in the position I have?” It had a lot of responsibility, and he said yes.
Then, because I was a master warrant officer in charge of these troops, there was a secondary responsibility I had, at least I felt I had, and that was to let the people I worked with know I had PTSD. It's a leadership issue, as well. When you're in a position like that—and it's sergeant and up—you have to remember that there are people counting on you, and you have to come forward and let them know that you have PTSD, you're not fit to hold this position anymore, and get help. You can't hold it in.
For me, I had introduced myself to my command team partners. At the right time, after they got to know me a bit, I said, “By the way, I have PTSD.” A couple of things happened with that. In one case, the guy wouldn't talk to me again. The relationship was over. He was a major. I was an MWO. He was just thrown right off by the fact that his sergeant major had PTSD, and he couldn't really accept that. The relationship really was junked.
The other guy asked a lot of questions about what happened, how it was going, what I was doing. It became more of an education, and that's the perfect way it should work.
Nobody wants it—got it—but everybody can share the experience, especially if you're at the top, or near the top. Let the guys know that it's not a career ender. But you have to let people know, because you're in the military in charge of weapons and, really, it's for the mechanical health of the battalion that you're okay and you can still function.