Tim Whitson

When Tim Whitson heard the rounds getting closer and saw the metal shrapnel flying into his guard post, he ducked behind a sand bag.
“When they walk them in, they walk them closer and closer until they finally hit you.”
The next rocket-propelled grenade landed just outside of his guard post. The bag of sand wouldn’t have helped.
“It exploded, and I blew my ear drums immediately. You see stars, and you can’t breathe really well because of that gunpowder smell, like fireworks, getting in your nose and your mouth. You can’t see because there’s so much smoke and dust.”
Whitson was lucky at that moment — he didn’t die and wasn’t visibly wounded. His brain injury and post traumatic stress disorder wouldn’t show up until later.
“I would have panic attacks, and I wouldn’t really know what it was at first. Your mind goes crazy, and you feel like you’re losing control of yourself.”
The change in lifestyle from the military to college exacerbated his PTSD.
“The unit that I was in would just keep you on edge all of the time. Jumping out of airplanes is terrifying, jumping out in combat gear really low to the ground. Being combat is terrifying. Being shot at, blown up, it just keeps you on edge. To go from that to a laid-back lifestyle is difficult.”
When Whitson enlisted, he said he thought he was doing the right thing. Now, he would never do it again.
“What did we really accomplish? I don’t see that the ends justify the means.”