By Christian Davenport
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The first time Sgt. Kyle Payne came home from Iraq, the Army's counseling program was well-intentioned, he felt, if mind-numbingly boring. "It was 'Welcome back. Don't kill yourself. Don't kill your family. Now go on your merry way,' " the reservist recalled.
He tried to pay attention, but coming just days before he and his fellow soldiers were to see their families again, all he could think was: "Please just let us go."
So when Payne, recently home from his second Iraq tour, was again ordered to go through post-deployment counseling, he groaned at the prospect. But it soon was clear that things had changed.
The event was held at a downtown Baltimore hotel on a recent Saturday, not on an impersonal Army base. Instead of being excluded, families were encouraged to attend. The presenters were some of the best mental-health professionals in the state -- university psychologists, Veterans Affairs social workers and private-practice therapists. A psychologist from the Johns Hopkins medical school set the tone by opening the event with a frank discussion about suicide, a growing problem in the Army.
Although he had quibbles with parts of the program -- did he have to discuss suicide at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday? -- Payne, 30, of Alexandria couldn't help but say, "They put a lot of thought into this."
The Yellow Ribbon Reintegration Program, launched last year by the Pentagon, is designed to ease the transition home for reservists. It comes as the Army's suicide rate of soldiers on active duty climbed to an all-time high of at least 133 last year. Last week, the Army announced that so far this year there have been 56 reported suicides, of which 22 have been confirmed.
In a statement Friday, Gen. Peter W. Chiarelli, Army vice chief of staff, said that seeking help "without fear of stigma has to become second nature in our Army community, it has to become part of our culture. We're not there yet, but we're going to get there."
A recent Pentagon study revealed the particular troubles citizen-soldiers face: Thirty-eight percent of active-duty soldiers report psychological symptoms within 90 to 120 days of coming home. That number jumps to almost 50 percent among the National Guard.
Part of the problem, officials say, is that once home, citizen-soldiers did not have to check in with their units for as long as 90 days. Suddenly cut off from their "battle buddies," they feel isolated in civilian life. And the counseling they did receive was often no more than a group session they were forced to attend shortly before being released from active duty.
"If we screwed them up, we should fix them," said Lt. Col. Michael Gafney, who runs the reintegration program for the Maryland National Guard. "We tend to give soldiers the information they most need at the worst time and in the worst way. Who wants to sit through a PowerPoint presentation right after you get back from Iraq?"
But now, he said, "the military is working hard to change all that."
The new reintegration programs are held on weekends, 30, 60 and 90 days after the soldiers come home. The sessions cover anger management, financial planning and substance abuse, and feature several resources designed to help the soldiers get back on their feet. The soldiers learn about veterans benefits and can meet with job counselors or college representatives.
Although Gafney thinks the program is an improvement, he said it still is not as comprehensive as it should be. Mental-health problems can surface long after 90 days, he said, and he has pushed to extend the program. "We were adamant that this needs to be for a year," he said. "But the answer was: 'We don't have any money for that.' "
In fact, a permanent funding source has not been set up. The Pentagon is hoping for more than $200 million for the current fiscal year, but that has not been approved. To bridge the gap, Maryland's program is funded in part by two nonprofit organizations, and the state has contributed $350,000.
Another problem is getting soldiers to show up. Capt. Tad Marinelli, commander of the Army Reserve's 352nd Military Police Company, told his soldiers that the event held at a Sheraton in Baltimore was mandatory. Still, only about 60 percent of the unit attended, he said.
Some soldiers had schedule conflicts, but others are simply tired of all the counseling, he said. His soldiers had to attend when the Rockville-based 352nd deployed to Camp Bucca, Iraq, last year, then again when they came home through Fort Bragg, N.C. And then there was the Pentagon-produced DVD on suicide prevention that Marinelli had to show them.
"I think soldiers are kind of tired of hearing about it," he said. Some even joked, "I'm going to kill myself if I have to go to another suicide prevention meeting."
But those other classes didn't begin with a large photo of Conan the Barbarian -- hair flowing, biceps bulging, sword at the ready -- and a lesson on the history of anger.
In Conan's time, aggression was essential to ward off enemies and fight for food, said Peter Allman, a VA social worker who was leading an anger-management class. It's a normal, natural emotion, as human as happiness. A soldier is trained to harness it and to act on it, he said, and in combat, it can be heroic. But in the civilian world, it can be trouble.
Allman offered a scenario: Say you're walking in a parking lot and someone bumps into you. "Watch where the [expletive] you're going," the person says.
What do you do?
"Laugh at him," the wife of one of the soldiers offered after an awkward silence.
"Slash his tires," a soldier said.
Allman asked why the scenario triggered a violent reaction.
"It's pure instinct," the soldier said. "It would kick in, and you would want to fight."
And that, Allman said, is what a soldier has to watch for. Learn to take a timeout, he said. "Often, walking away is the best thing."
Payne knew from personal experience that walking away was easier said than done. After his first tour, he said, he went through "bouts of anger and alcoholism and depression that took time to work out." He picked fights with strangers and got thrown out of bars. He eventually got his life together, but he credits the healing power of time and the support of friends and family more than anything the Army did.
Coming home from the second tour was easier, he said. He had been to war and back before. But as he sat through the classes, looking at the younger soldiers, he couldn't help but wish they'd had this guidance the last time.
"These guys are lucky," he said, "because the first time all we got was a slap on the butt: 'Good luck out there.' "
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