“Purpose is the antidote to despair.” — Viktor Frankl
A quick update before I dive into today’s topic. I recently did a podcast with Nick Ward—a former 1st Group Green Beret—over at Lesser Known Operators. If you haven’t seen the episode yet and want to hear some cool stories, transition talk, and real-life perspective, go check it out on his YouTube channel. He’s doing important work for the SOF veteran community, and he deserves your support. It was a blast catching up with Nick.
Now, back to the article.
It’s Friday. A great day to be alive. And the greatest holiday in world history is upon us—July 4th. That’s non-debatable.
Enjoy work today, England.
But in light of this nation’s most important holiday, I want to take a more serious turn and talk about something that’s been weighing heavy on me: veteran transition, the suicide epidemic, and what I believe is the real root cause behind it all.
This might shock some of you, but here’s my take—it’s not just PTSD.
If you were to ask me what the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life was—after all the deployments and high-risk missions—my answer might surprise you. It wasn’t the Special Forces Qualification Course. It wasn’t combat. It wasn’t maintaining elite physical and mental standards for over a decade.
It was transitioning out of the military.
And I know for a fact I’m not the only one who feels this way.
For SOF veterans especially, that shift can be a knockout blow if you’re not careful. We worked in tight-knit teams. Everything we did revolved around our teammates. We lived and breathed for one another.
Then, one day, it’s all over.
No more team room.
No more mutual suffering.
No more shared mission.
Just silence—and a quiet, sterile civilian world that doesn’t understand anything about us.
When I left the service, it felt like my world collapsed. One day I was shooting the shit with the boys, and the next—I was alone. Literally. I didn’t know what to think or what to do. I felt paralyzed. The only people I wanted to talk to were my teammates, but they were scattered across the globe doing what they do best.
The first five months post-transition were some of the darkest I’ve ever experienced. I drank heavily—almost every day. I was numb and distant from my family—physically present but mentally gone. I lied to my wife, my kids, and everyone else about how bad it was. I self-medicated with alcohol and tried to white-knuckle my way through it, thinking I could figure it out like I always had.
But this wasn’t something I could do alone.
I wasn’t just dealing with the emotional whiplash of PTSD. I was dealing with a loss of purpose. That’s what really crushed me. I had spent years being needed, being relied on, being a critical part of something that mattered. And suddenly, that was gone. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
People would try to help by saying, “Your purpose is your family.” And sure, that’s true—but let’s be real: the most dedicated warriors in Special Forces often have to put their families second in order to complete the mission. That mission—along with your teammates—is your purpose. It has to be. Otherwise, you don’t survive the job.
In order to make your family your purpose after the military, you have to find a way to provide for them—and to enjoy how you’re doing it. That’s just my two cents.
Eventually, I got out of my own head long enough to take a job opportunity in Montana. That change saved me. And if it hadn’t been for my wife, my kids, and a few friends who refused to let me sink, I’m not sure I would be where I’m at today.
We always hear about the “22 a day.” Maybe that number’s accurate. Maybe it’s higher. Maybe it’s lower. Either way—it’s inexcusable. It should be zero.
The VA has failed veterans when it comes to mental health. I don’t think it’s out of malice—more like systemic incompetence, red tape, and a lack of innovation. We’re dealing with a complex, layered crisis that goes far beyond diagnosis codes and therapy sessions.
And here’s what I think is being missed:
Purpose.
This might be controversial, but I believe purpose deserves just as much attention as PTSD. Let’s think outside the box for a second.
Speaking from personal experience: when I feel like I have purpose and I’m staying busy, I’m far less likely to drift off into my own head and start feeling sorry for myself. When a man has real purpose again—what incentive does he have to end his life?
Do you know anyone who’s taken their own life while actively contributing to their community, their family, their passions—while doing all the right things?
Sure, there are outliers—there always are—but a man with purpose seldom drifts into the dark.
My biggest issue is that society has turned PTSD into an identity of helplessness. We’re told that those of us with PTSD are explosive, unpredictable, and dangerous. That we should feel sorry for ourselves.
We need to stop doing that.
We need to start treating purpose and PTSD as equally critical fronts in the fight. I believe doing that will solve a lot of the issues plaguing our community.
Yes—PTSD is real. It sucks. But I’d argue that lack of purpose is equal to, if not a greater threat. Especially in the SOF community. We were part of something real. Something consequential. The work we did mattered—on a global level. That all falls of a cliff when it’s over.
When you step out of that world, there’s no replacement. Most SOF guys aren’t wired for office politics, corporate fluff, or small talk over coffee. We’re high-functioning misfits. ADHD. Slightly unhinged. Brutally honest. Hyper-capable. Borderline psychotic.
We thrive in chaos—and then we’re dropped into a world that runs on fluff and niceties.
Society doesn’t know what to do with us. And the truth is—most don’t know what to do with themselves either. If you’re going through a critical time without a strong support structure, one slip can turn into a freefall you can’t stop.
So what happens? You isolate. You spiral. You question your worth. And sometimes, tragically, you take your own life.
Purpose is the antidote to despair.
And it’s time we start acting like it.
If we want to tackle the veteran suicide epidemic, we have to start putting serious effort into helping each other find new purpose. Not just lip service. Not just awareness campaigns. Actual mission-focused reintegration.
I’m passionate about this because I deeply care about our nation’s veterans. Some of our veterans are the most capable and brightest our nation has to offer. Especially from the SOF sector. Also non-debatable.
I’m tired of getting texts or phone calls saying, “Hey—did you hear? So-and-so just killed himself.”
There are nonprofits doing incredible work, but they’re few and far between. We need more. We need mentorship programs. Leadership pipelines. More veteran-run companies. And spaces where warfighters can still be warriors—just in new ways.
But it also starts with us.
We have to do a better job of checking in on each other. Holding each other accountable and refusing to let eachother disappear into the darkness.
A text or a phone call a week can go a long way. Trust me.
If you’re a veteran reading this, let me remind you:
You are not broken.
You are not expendable.
And you are not alone.
You don’t need to become someone else—you just need a new mission.
A new reason to get up in the morning.
You still have a purpose.
And we still need you here.
And if you’ve already walked through the shitstorm and made it out the other side—reach back. Be the hand that pulls another brother out.
That’s how we win this fight.
It is our duty to prepare the next generation for whatever hardships they may face.
It is our duty to share our experiences, wisdom, and knowledge—so that history stops repeating itself.
If this resonates with you, give me a call or reach out to me on Instagram @gkboomer173. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
I care.
Happy 4th of July.
Stay in the fight.
Respectfully,
Garrett Kossick
“First in Asia” — De Oppresso Liber