As a local retired service member, I spent over a decade fighting a war that most people don’t see — a war within my mind. Returning home from multiple deployments to Afghanistan and Iraq, I continued to find myself fighting battles. This inner war was a grueling fight against depression, anxiety and thoughts of suicide. In a culture where masculinity often means suppressing emotions, many of us struggle silently, unable to express our vulnerability. The brotherhood we relied on in combat is replaced by a loneliness that magnifies our inner turmoil.

Once I finally asked for help, I was met with the standard course of treatment. I spent hours in therapy sessions, swallowed countless pills and cycled through different medications in search of relief. Yet the crushing weight of post-traumatic stress disorder and the hopelessness of suicidal thoughts remained. I became a statistic — one of the myriad veterans struggling with mental health, feeling betrayed by a health care system that seemed ill-equipped to understand or help. It was hard to admit that I was suffering — and it was killing me.

Here in San Diego, we’re a gigantic military town, and the military and civilian communities know this story all too well. Many of us feel left behind by traditional treatments that often fail to address the complex trauma that comes from military service. The mental health crisis among veterans in our community is not an abstract problem — it’s a reality that affects our families, neighbors and friends. Yet we often battle these demons alone, afraid to appear weak or vulnerable. The waiting lists are long, the therapy options are limited, and many of us turn to substance abuse as a way to cope.

After years of being stuck in ruminations with no forward progress, let alone the goal of happiness, I stumbled upon something that changed my life: psychedelic-assisted therapy. I know it’s controversial, but when traditional treatments failed me, psychedelics like psilocybin offered a new path. Through guided therapy sessions, I confronted the root of my trauma in ways I never could before. I was finally able to be vulnerable in a setting that felt safe, allowing me to embrace parts of myself I had buried for years. For the first time, I felt like I was truly healing — not just masking my symptoms but addressing the core of my pain.

Psychedelic-assisted therapy is not a quick fix, and it’s not a cure-all. But for me, it was a breakthrough. With the support of conventional therapists, I was able to reframe my traumatic experiences, finding a sense of peace that had long eluded me. The therapy taught me that vulnerability is strength — a crucial part of healing that allowed me to reconnect with the camaraderie I had missed since leaving the military. This therapy gave me the tools to see my life differently, to embrace the present and to finally silence the dark thoughts that had plagued me for years.

Our San Diego community — and our country at large — needs to change how we treat our veteran neighbors. The Department of Veterans Affairs and mental health providers must expand access to innovative treatments like psychedelic-assisted therapy, which has shown incredible promise in studies and personal stories alike. It’s time to challenge outdated notions of masculinity that prevent many of us from seeking help and embrace treatments that allow us to be vulnerable, open and honest about our struggles.

To my fellow veterans: You are not alone, and your battle is not in vain. I urge our community, our health care providers and our lawmakers to support research and access to psychedelic-assisted therapies. Let’s redefine what it means to be strong — to be a warrior. It’s time to break free from the stigma, embrace innovation and give veterans the tools they need to heal. For many of us, this is not just about treatment. It’s about survival.

Having walked the line between hope and despair, I am proof that there is another way. Psychedelic-assisted therapy offered me a second chance at life, and I believe it can do the same for many others. It’s time to stop fighting this battle alone and start exploring new paths to healing. The brotherhood we built on the battlefield can continue off it if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to reach out, and to support one another in our healing journeys. The future of veteran mental health depends on it.