Living with Pain: A Veteran’s Journey to Managing the Unmanageable

Me on Deployment 1

I jumped out of planes. I’ve marched with 100 pounds on my back through blistering heat and frigid cold. I’ve sat in silence with warriors before the first light of dawn in places most people couldn’t find on a map. I’ve participated in three combat tours. I’ve seen things that don’t fade with time—and I carry pain that reminds me daily.

This isn’t a story of war. It’s not about medals or missions. It’s about what happens after. It’s about pain—real, relentless, unforgiving pain—and the quiet war veterans fight long after the bullets stop flying.

The Body That Doesn’t Forget

For me, it started with my lower back. Years of airborne operations will do that. Landing hard. Carrying weight. Moving fast. No complaints back then—pain was part of the job. But after I left the military, that pain didn’t leave me. It grew roots.

And over time, it spread.

My neck began to seize up more often. The burning between my shoulder blades, the numbing in my fingers, the stabbing shocks down my legs. Some days I feel like my spine is a rusted-out machine trying to keep up with the demands of a body that’s already been through the ringer. I stretch. I breathe. But I still wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck.

The VA: A Lifeline and a Labyrinth

I want to be fair—the VA has been a positive experience overall. I truly believe my primary care physician and specialists care. But as a disabled veteran, I often feel like a tiny fish swimming in an endless sea of patients—each of us carrying our own invisible rucksacks of pain and trauma. I’ve been seen. I’ve been heard. But I’ve also been forgotten in waiting rooms and left to my own devices when systems get overwhelmed.

It’s not malice. It’s the nature of the beast. And I get it. But understanding it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

The Pills That Almost Took Me

From 2016 to 2019, Tramadol was part of my daily life. Not just part of my treatment plan—part of me. Like a side dish to every meal, I was popping them constantly. At first, it felt like control. Then it became a cage.

When the VA cut me off—when they decided they’d no longer issue Tramadol—I realized just how dependent I’d become. The withdrawal hit me hard. Cold sweats, anxiety, insomnia, shaking. I wasn’t just coming off a drug—I was rediscovering how to exist without it.

That was the wake-up call.

I told myself I’d never go back to that. No matter how bad the pain got, I had to find a different way.

So How Do I Manage?

The short answer? Day by day.

I stretch every morning—not because it cures anything, but because it keeps me mobile. I take walks even when my body begs me not to. I’ve adapted my workouts and learned to listen to my limits. Pain is no longer the enemy—it’s just part of me. I acknowledge it, not fear it.

I use heat and ice. I breathe deeply. I’ve experimented with chiropractic care, acupuncture, physical therapy, and massage. Some things help. Some don’t. But I try.

There’s a kind of peace that comes from acceptance—not giving up, but understanding that this is your life now. That you can still find joy, even on days when getting out of bed takes all the strength you’ve got.

A Word to My Fellow Veterans

If you’re reading this and nodding along, I see you.

You’re not weak. You’re not lazy. You’re not making it up. Chronic pain is a thief. It steals sleep, motivation, sometimes even hope. But you’re still here—and that means something.

If you’re scared of pills like I am, I get it. If you’re angry at the system, I get that too. But don’t give up on yourself. Keep trying. Keep advocating. Keep looking for your formula.

Because pain may be a part of us now—but it doesn’t define us.

Final Thoughts

I don’t need sympathy. I need understanding. What I’ve written here isn’t just for me—it’s for every veteran trying to live through the aftermath of their service. You’re not alone in this. And if we share our stories, maybe—just maybe—we make it easier for the next warrior to speak up.

Pain changes you. But so does resilience.

And I choose resilience.