It’s never been easy to write about Iraq, yet here I am, writing about it again.

There are places I don’t like to let my mind go, and it is a struggle preventing my mind from returning to them, but there’s a feeling that if I forget, everyone else will too—so I continue to write and tell the same stories over and over again.

Last month I completed a short documentary about survivor’s guilt and readjustment in combat veterans—”The Guilt.” I do this kind of stuff not only to educate others, but also to learn about myself.

The film focuses on my friend SSgt David Paxson. In 2003, Paxson and I fought at Nasiriyah together—one of the earliest and bloodiest battles of Iraq—and making the film forced us to relive those memories. It was a difficult shoot and took all of us months to recover. Talking about war isn’t easy either.

Paxson and I were 25 when we went to Iraq. One week we were in combat, trying to survive insurgent attacks and the next week we were at home, trying to survive panic attacks. After Iraq, we didn’t see each other much. We spoke, but rarely about our experiences. We didn’t talk about the smell of death, the killing, the loss of friends. Day-to-day life was a struggle, but we pretended like we were okay.

We thought we had experienced the worst life had to offer, but Paxson still had another round of pain coming his way.

In 2005, our unit deployed again. This time I was out of the Marines and Paxson, who had ten years of service under his belt, was injured. He wanted to redeploy with his unit and fought for the right to go back with them. Paxson was a Marine’s Marine. A lifer. Hardcore. He’d already earned two combat action ribbons, one for Kosovo and another for our Iraq tour, and wanted to go to combat again. However, Paxson was not allowed to deploy because of the injury, a injury that would eventually end his Marine Corps career. Instead of deploying with his unit, they left him in the rear with the gear.

A few months after the unit deployed to Iraq, Sgt. Brad Harper and fourteen other U.S. Marines, were killed in Al Anbar Province. An IED destroyed their amphibious assault vehicle. Brad was one of Paxson’s best friends and Harper’s wife asked Paxson to escort her husband’s body home from Dover Air Force Base. So, Paxson squared away his uniform and went to Dover to pick-up his friend.

At Brad’s funeral, he was a pallbearer and took part in the funeral detail. All of it was rough for him, but Paxson pushed his emotions aside. He said it was the least he could do for his friend—but there was the family:

“The only thing they recovered was the dog tag. Had to give that to his wife. But, when I went to hand it to her, his mom also put out her hand. I only had one item. I had to give it to the wife because she was next of kin. I don’t think the mom understood at the time. It was horrible. I did it for Brad. I don’t think I could do it again.”

It’s been five years and Paxson still hasn’t fully recovered. The feeling that he could’ve prevented the death had he only been there has haunted him. He knows it is a ridiculous thought. There was nothing he could do. Nothing anybody could’ve done. Still, he carries that thought around daily, obsesses over it.

Survivor’s guilt arrives in the form of the veteran, always asking, “Why did I live?” The veteran who drinks himself to sleep every night because he thinks that he let his buddies down in battle is drowning in it. The guy who writes about war all the time because he thinks he let his buddies down, too, by not deploying a second time is surrounded by it. It is a lonely feeling. Helpless. Depressing.

Writing Soft Spots: A Marine’s Memoir of Combat and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder helped me explore and face my struggles. “The Guilt” helped all of us explore the pain. It’s difficult, but talking is the first step. I only hope that my contributions will help other combat veterans realize they are not alone.