Drama Fiction Inspirational

This story contains themes or mentions of mental health issues.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Master Sergeant David D. Hommer, Retired. Sir, the floor is all yours.”

Those were the words from my Masters of Ceremony, giving me the podium, to present my retirement speech, and the last time I felt relevant with in life. That was one year ago today.

I gave twenty-three years to the United States Air Force, and they were the best years of my life. The Air Force was my life, and nothing came close. I was even married, but that became a casualty of the Air Force. She couldn’t take being number two anymore. So why did I retire if I loved it so much? Had no choice. The body and the Air Force said you had enough then medically discharged. I was on a daily dose of Tylenol, Motrin, painkillers, yearly trips to specialists, medical waiver requests, and doctors telling me to slow down and rest. Rest? I’ll rest when I’m worm food, was my mentality.

I had been treading in uncharted waters since and sinking. My depression was also dragging me down deeper. I was pounding a sixer of beer nightly, then on weekends, a twelve pack. If I was feeling froggy, I’d switch to hard liquor. The owner at my favorite liquor store knew more about me than he should, to the extent that he was my only friend.

Like most veterans who put time in uniform, you went overseas to warzones like Afghanistan or Iraq. I drew the long straw and got both. Returning home was a glorious feeling; can’t beat stepping on American soil after time in “enemy territory.” That feeling was short lived, because you brought PTSD with you, and it gets comfortable with you back home.

More times than I’d like to admit, after a night of getting greased up on alcohol, sorrow, and trying to convince myself life can be exciting without the military, catch myself peeking at my gun cabinet. That was my fail-safe, just in case things got too bad, and wanted a way out.

In the Air Force I was a gunner on a C-130 Spectre Gunship. I was always gone, saw constant action, and never had a dull moment; hated being stateside longer than I had to be. The job did come with some downsides. A broken marriage. Stress. Lack of healthy routines and growing unhealthy habits. While deployed, I saw death, caused death, I was death. If I wasn’t inside that aircraft flying around the globe, life did not feel normal, and there wasn’t enough juice on the outside to quench my thirst.

One weekend on a real bender, I pulled out a Glock 9 handgun from my gun cabinet. I was so inebriated, couldn’t even remember the combination numbers. I must have dialed that damn thing ten times. Pulled that gun out, then stared at my shiny, new, never-used pain reliever.

Sat down with a beer in one hand, and Glock 9 in the other, as tears flowed down my face. The voices and thoughts raced around my head like the Daytona 500. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I finished my beer, threw the can on the floor, cocked the Glock, stuck it in my mouth, then the most opportune thing happened -- the phone rang. A VA number was on caller ID but didn’t recognize it. I contemplated continuing what I started, then pulled the cold barrel out of my mouth and picked up the phone.

“Hello.”

“This David Hommer?”

“Yea. Who’s this?”

“My name is Dr. Holly Boudreaux. I’m with mental health here at the VA. I know it’s a little late, this a bad time to talk?”

Oh, the irony.

“Uh…no it’s fine.”

“I won’t be long. I’m contacting individuals who were given to me as new patients. Some information given to me by your old doctor caught my attention. He wrote that you’ve been having a lot of suicidal ideations. That true?”

“Yea.”

“I see you did a few tours overseas; had a pretty stressful job. You were a gunner on a C-130, that correct?”

“Correct.”

“You probably saw some things. Perhaps even caused some of it.”

“You could say that.”

“He also mentioned you miss a lot of your appointments. Can I ask why?”

“It was a waste of time. Wasn’t really making any progress.”

“Was it because of Dr. Stillwell?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Wasn’t going anywhere. Figured I’m just fucked up, so why waste time driving there?”

“May I be honest with you, Mr. Hommer?”

“Call me David, and yea.”

“Thank you, David. I’ve been practicing for a long time; about twenty years. One thing that’s constant for successful therapy is you must show up and be present. It takes work. Lot of work. From you. From Dr. Stillwell. From me. Whoever. If one doctor isn’t working, find another. Plenty to go around. Now, I gotta ask this question because it’s important. Are you thinking about harming yourself?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“Do you have weapons in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Have you grabbed the weapon at any time?”

“Right next to me now.”

Silence came over the phone.

“David, will you please put that weapon back where you found it, and come into my office first thing in the morning?”

No answer from me.

“David. I think, I mean I know, I can help you. I’ve done it before, can do it again. Just asking you to put the gun back, go to bed, and come in tomorrow. Will ya do that for me?”

“Ok.”

“Can you be here at eight?”

“Yea.”

“David, if you don’t show up, I will have to call the authorities and request a welfare check.”

“I get it. I’ll be there. Probably hungover.”

“I’ll take ya however I can. Just be there. Have a goodnight, David.”

“Roger.”

I said I’d be there tomorrow, but did I really believe that? I’ve been down this road before; same ole shit, different day. But grabbed the Glock, put it back into the gun cabinet, turned off all the lights, then racked out. I lived to survive another day.

Morning came and felt like death warmed over. Put on some clothes, hat, brushed my teeth and went to the fridge. Usually, beer is the first thing I consumed in the morning. This time grabbed a water bottle, my keys and left.

I stood outside her door, hesitant to knock. Partly because I wasn’t convinced, she could help me, and this was going to be a waste of time.

“Come on in,” she said from the other side.

Opened the door and she was already in her therapy chair with a notepad, waiting.

“Heard your keys and shuffling, figured it was you. How ya feeling this morning?”

“Like shit.”

“At least you’re here. Chair or couch. Your choice.”

“Chair. I’ll just fall asleep.”

“David, I want you to know that I’m not here to blow smoke up your ass with stupid medical jargon or throw every diagnosis from the DSM at ya. Sometimes I won’t be kind; try to challenge you. I may even piss you off. Call me a bitch, get mad, I don’t care. Just don’t use violence.”

“What type of guy do you think I am?”

“It’s happened before.”

“Listen, I’m still not sold on this, but I’m not gonna come at ya, if I don’t like what you say. It’s your job. I get it.”

“I appreciate that. Let’s start with the first question. Gonna need you to be a little vulnerable and be honest. Were you gonna attempt suicide last night?”

I started to squirm in my chair. Initial answer was to say no, but I already told her the gun was by my side. No getting out of this one.

“Yea.”

“How close?”

“Gun was in my mouth right when you called.”

“Wow. Glad your file was on top. What brought you to that moment?”

“I don’t know who I am, no purpose anymore. Don’t feel like a man not being in uniform.”

“You think you’re no longer a man if you’re not in uniform? Everybody at some point has to take it off.”

“I wasn’t ready to. Felt my life was taken away. That was all I knew.”

“David, did you know that only one percent of the population serves in the military? Our country has nearly three hundred and fifty million people in it. Half of those are men. So around…I’d say…little over three million serve in the military. That leaves about…three hundred and…let’s say…thirty-eight million people left. Out of that three hundred and thirty-eight million, you don’t think there isn’t a lot of, so called men, in that group?”

“Never really thought about it that way. Was always busy traveling, doing my shit.”

“Being part of the one percenter is a great club to be part of, but it’s not the only club. Your identity as a man, isn’t eternally tied to the uniform. Being a man means a lot more. A man is someone God created for many things. Not just serving in the military. Can you see where I’m going with this?”

“I do.”

“If anything, how you respond no longer in uniform, is a good indicator of the type of person, or man, you are. So, I’m telling you this, not to dimmish what you’ve been through, or going through, but to let you know there’s hope. It can get better. You can find your purpose again, but you have to come to terms, that you are no longer a military man. Those days are done. You put your time in. You did your duty and be proud of that. But now, it’s time for a new chapter. Time to move on. And whatever you were doing, wasn’t working. Now it’s time to find ways that do. Does that make sense?”

“I know, I know. I got to let go; got to move on. It’s hard, but I have to.

“It will be hard, but we’re at the beginning. If you put in the work, it should get easier. Once a week we see each other. Can’t miss our appointments. I also want you to join this veteran support group. They are exactly in the same boat as you. Great guys too. I think you’d really benefit from them. You up for that?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Would you do me another favor? Till we get on stable ground, can you give your weapon to someone? I think it’s best for you, and it would give me a peace of mind.”

“Yea, I agree on that.”

“Good. Just give me a chance to help ya. But you need to meet me halfway.”

“I know. I will. Just give me some time. Be patient. I’m not easy to deal with.”

“I seen it all, David. I’m not afraid. I just want to help you. I want you to be around.”

“Thanks.”

“Ok. Now let’s talk about coping skills.”

I sat for the next hour listening to how to gain a new perspective on life, while badly hungover. Thank God she had plenty of water in her office.

The very next day sold my Glock to a pawn shop, then stopped at a local AA meeting. It was time to get help with that other problem. A week later, knocked on Dr’s door sober, hopeful, and eager to find out who I truly am as a man. This was now my new purpose in life.

Posted Oct 17, 2025
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4 likes 3 comments

Yuliya Borodina
18:27 Oct 19, 2025

The dialogue felt very realistic and I thought you've captured the character's mental state very well. I'm so happy the phone rang when it did! I was worried the Dr. would say the wrong thing and all would be over. Great tension.
Thank you for sharing!

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Bryan Sanders
15:32 Oct 18, 2025

"I'll rest when I am worm food." goo line. Excellent story and the back and forth conversation, easy to follow, precise. Thank you for sharing this. Speed and cadence make this story easy and fun to read. I strive to make mine as precise. Again, thank you. B

Reply

Stephen Schester
14:52 Oct 19, 2025

Thanks for the compliment. You just have to keep writing, let the ideas flow, then go back and edit, and edit, and edit, till you get it right.

Reply

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