I served in Iraq in 2004-05 with the 2nd battalion 63 Armored Regiment, 1st Infantry Division. In that year, I watched my own platoon change before my eyes. After each firefight and improvised explosive device, my men, and I became angrier with Iraqis in our sector.

It is hard to accomplish your mission when the enemy's key weapon is an IED. While on my forward operating base, I often heard IEDs go off in the distance. After a few months you could determine the size and number of rounds used and whether the IED had been laid on the surface, buried or borne by a vehicle. This was only by the sound.

No matter who you were or what your mission was, you feared the IED. My sergeant said it best: "It's like playing the lottery. You play long enough, you will win." The insurgency in Iraq knows that it cannot beat us toe to toe. Time and again, U.S. forces have beaten the insurgents down that way. So they have devised their tactics around us.

This is why they use IEDs. They dishearten the servicemen and women who are hit by them. Any vehicle that is hit by one is instantly engulfed with smoke, dirt and frag. The intense noise and the shockwave itself disorient even the most war-hardened veterans.

I remember a stretch of road called Scunion highway, named after my forward operating base. This road was a hotbed for IEDs. My platoon was constantly clearing it of insurgent activity and roadside bombs. After a time my gunner reported that he always saw two younger boys in the area whenever we were on patrol. They stared at us as we drove past without showing any particular interest. I told my gunner not to worry about them - they were kids and there was nothing to fear from them.

One day a roadside bomb hit a unit on that route. The unit followed orders and questioned everybody in the immediate area. The two young boys were questioned, and the interrogators noticed that they were trying to hide something.

The sergeant in command searched the two boys and found a notebook filled with information on all the U.S. convoys that had traveled the highway in the past month. They had recorded the time of day, number of trucks, whether they were gun trucks or logistical trucks. They even had identifying features for each convoy. As it turned out, the two boys were selling the information to men from Baghdad for food for their families.

I learned two things that day: Always trust your men no matter what they say, and there are no innocent people in war. In war there is only one thing on a soldier's mind: to survive. Over time everything else becomes less important.

After receiving my discharge from the Army in January 2006, I returned home looking forward to living the simple New England life style. But it was only a matter of days before it became apparent to me that what was important before the war; was no longer important after the war.

All around me, my family and friends were more worried about the next “American Idol” or what was the newest fashion trend in clothes and music. Everywhere I turned I found that just as quick as people were to shake my hand and say “thank you for your service;” they would turn their head and walk away from me when I spoke of my experience in Iraq. Simple things such as driving became impossible for me to do unless I was drunk or stoned. Every piece of trash, guard rail, and pot hole brought the fear of IED’s back into my life. I still avoid large crowds of people, whether it be in the line at your local wal-mart or walking down the local main street; unless I have my men, whom I served with standing beside me.

It is hard to fit into a life where everyone around me has no understanding that I lived my life for a year in a place where every decision I made either killed someone, or saved someone. I hope that in time we as veterans will find a way to bring our experience from war into society so our children will know the truth: war makes monsters of us all.