/// HEALTH & WELLNESS
SURVEY
38%
44%
Veterans who reported feeling lonely or isloated from people around them sometimes, most of the time or always
Service members who reported feeling lonely or isloated from people around them sometimes, most of the time, or always
After a lengthy recovery inside military hospitals in Saudi Arabia, Cambell returned to Kuwait in the Army’s rear detachment. Immediately, he went searching for those three golden rolls of film that would become his legacy, in his own words. The film had been stolen by one of his own squadmates. “These people got me killed and stole from me,” Campbell said. “These were not my people. That’s when I got angry.” COMING TO AMERICA After 27 months of service, it was time to go home. The young Army private saw a lot more than 27 months’ worth of horror during his enlistment. At age 19, Campbell married his nurse from the U.S. Military hospital in Saudi Arabia. She was 10 years his senior, but the couple bonded over their shared PTSD, anger and betrayal. She was sexually assaulted and abused by her own comrades. The couple left the Middle East together and moved to Louisiana, where the gravity of his PTSD weighed crushingly on Campbell. “I got out of the military and said, ‘Screw this, screw you guys, screw everybody on this planet,’” he said. “I started drinking hard. My only option was to be an alcoholic. I thought that was the best it was ever going to be.” After his wife tried to commit suicide, the couple got divorced, and Campbell ramped up his drinking and drug use. During daylight hours, he ran a successful photography studio in New Orleans. At night, crippling PTSD and addiction reared its ugly head. “I drank every day after work, as much as I could because I didn’t want to dream,” he said. “I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to be me. I could not stand the thoughts, the shame, the guilt, the anger — I couldn’t handle it.” This culminated in an attempt at suicide. When the attempt failed, Campbell only grew angrier at God. The last time Campbell got drunk was at a dive bar in Bullhead City. He ended up in a fight with five members of a biker gang. It was only then — drunk and bloodied lying on the tarmac outside that bar, literally getting kicked while he was down — only then did he get the message. A few days later, he checked into a rehab center in Salt Lake City. HIGHWAY TO HELL Interstate 10 has not been kind to David Campbell. In 2004, around the time he moved to Arizona, Campbell was rear-ended by an SUV at 80 miles per hour on I-10 in Tucson. The crash destroyed his left leg.
Source: Pew Research Center
that we can deal with. It’s a normal reaction to an abnormal situation.’” American Veterans Magazine contacted Phoenix Municipal Court and the Arizona Judicial Branch seeking the name of that judge. Even with case numbers in hand, neither source could name the judge. Because the charges were dismissed before arraignment, the courts confirmed the case files were not maintained in their database. Campbell says it was an act of God. ‘NOT A FUCKING PSYCHOPATH’ Today, Campbell is thankful for his PTSD. Sounds weird, right? His PTSD is a window to his own humanity. A psychopath wouldn’t be bothered by specters of death or the horrors of war, he came to realize. For Campbell, his PTSD is confirmation he has a normal mind. Not healthy, but normal — a normal reaction to abnormal circumstances. His PTSD taught him he wasn’t as cold or as disconnected from society as he always thought. It humanized him in his own eyes. In 2022, Campbell’s nephew committed suicide. It was a life cut short, and a glimpse at how his own life nearly ended. David Campbell doesn’t consider himself a veteran, he’ll remind you. To this day, he considers himself an addict. “Saving others is my new drug,” he said. “I just found a healthy way of expressing my addiction. If I can be helped, anyone can be helped.” That’s why, in the late hours of the night and wee hours of the morning, Campbell avails himself to accompany Mesa Police Department on distress calls involving veterans with PTSD. He brings Caleb, of course. Melissa, his wife of 24 years and a retired federal agent, helps him answer those calls. In the meantime — between popping wheelies and drifting around corners on his electric wheelchair — the couple and Caleb are focused on the Pleasant Valley Veterans Retreat. Campbell just wants to spare someone the pain that defined most of his life. “That was me sitting there, suffering. I was the veteran who was screaming at God, wanting to kill myself,” he said. “You know what? Be glad you have a little PTSD. That means you’re not a fucking psychopath, and I can help you. “We all need help.”
He pulled off at a convenience store and bought the biggest, flashiest can of Four Loko he could find. He kicked back on his couch, popped the tab on his alcoholic energy drink and switched on Full Metal Jacket, his favorite military movie. Gunnery Sgt. Hartman is just like my own drillmaster back in Kuwait, Campbell thought. A badass Vietnam jumper with bullet holes peppering his extremities. It was a dead ringer. As the scenes of the 1987 war drama flicked by, and the Four Loko can became lighter in his hand, Campbell felt himself starting to lose grip. “I thought I was back in a bunker inside Iraq,” he remembered. “Next thing I knew, I was getting pulled over on the interstate. I don’t even remember leaving my house.” Barefoot and disoriented amid a nasty PTSD episode, five officers jumped on Campbell and laid him out on the concrete during a felony traffic stop on I-10 near the junction with Arizona 51. “I snapped on them. I told them I was going to kill them all,” he said. “I said, ‘I can rip your ears off, I’ll pull your throat out.’ I wanted to kill that day or be killed.” In 25 years of alcohol and drug abuse, Campbell said, only PTSD ever made him lose his mind like that. The officers took him to jail, where the symptoms of his psychological disorder worsened. He heard voices in his head. “All these thoughts started coming back; my dad yelling at me, ‘Piece of shit!’” he said. “Life is not for you. I’m the worst of the worst. I’m the meanest, ugliest piece of shit on the fucking planet.” In that cell, Campbell tried to hang himself with a shirt. He was transferred to a padded jail cell for his own safety. He was charged with two counts each of aggressive driving and reckless driving — punishable by up to 20 months in jail, plus years of probation or thousands of dollars in fines. Campbell thought his life was over. Little did he know, at age 40, it was just beginning. After a couple of days in jail, he was released with no charges. A Phoenix Municipal Court judge dismissed the case for unknown reasons. “I wrote a letter to the judge and the responding officers saying, ‘I now realize this isn’t an excuse that my dad used. It’s not an excuse that we have PTSD. It comes out when we least expect it. “This is now my mission in life — educating others about PTSD and letting all veterans know that this PTSD thing is not a scary thing. It’s something
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I snapped on them. I told them I was going to kill them all. I said, ‘I can rip your ears off, I’ll pull your throat out.’ I wanted to kill that day or be killed. ” DAVE CAMPBELL
During the Gulf War, he was exposed to mustard gas and depleted uranium, making his blood, skin and bones more fragile and susceptible to injury. For more than a decade, he waited in excruciating pain for the VA Medical Center in Phoenix to authorize the surgery he needed. At last, in 2015, his leg was amputated below the knee. He got around with a prosthetic for a while, until last year, when his leg was amputated again above the knee. Little did he know at the time of the crash, his bad luck streak on I-10 was far from over. On the way home from intensive outpatient in 2012, Campbell’s first year of sobriety, he said, “Fuck it. I’m having one beer, but it’s gonna be a good one.”
Former Army Pvt. David Campbell might have lost one leg, but he gained four when he met his canine best friend, Caleb.
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AMERICAN VETERANS Summer 2024
Summer 2024 AMERICAN VETERANS
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