I know, right? Let's back up. Some of my appointments in the Writing Center are recurring tutorials—students who have registered for a one-credit course to accompany their freshman comp class. Sometimes we review their essays, sometimes we brainstorm, but occasionally, I get to read with them. 

There's one student who often ends up wanting help reading, and they [choosing the anonymizing pronoun here, for privacy's sake] get assigned the coolest essays. The craziest part? They're all in a textbook. 

The Writer's Presence. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given Robert Atwan of The Best American Essays fame is a co-editor. There are classics of your college textbook variety: "The Declaration of Independence," "Letter From Birmingham Jail," "A Modest Proposal," which don't age, if you ask me. But there are also gems: essays like Lars Eighner's "On Dumpster Diving" and Laura Kipnis's "Against Love"; journalism like Charles Bowden's "Our Wall." Just a solid anthology of stuff you'd actually read after college.

I keep meaning to get a teacher's copy (perk!) but its name is so unassuming that I've forgotten for actual weeks to look it up. Consider this my own reminder.

No, I'm not some kind of shill for the book or getting paid to gush. I just really love a good collection, and this one took me by surprise.

Not to be a downer, but I've been coming across some heavy stuff lately. 

"We Kill Ourselves Because We Are Haunted" by Jennifer Percy.

A story at Guernica that, while not saying much we don't already know about the appalling lack of care for returning veterans, is compelling nonetheless. An excerpt from Percy's book, Demon Camp, the story follows Sergeant Caleb Daniels through coming home, trying out Native American medicine man treatments, and nearly killing himself until a friend calls and interrupts. Holy smokes.

As someone with a little brother in the Army, these kinds of stories horrify me. (Luckily, he hasn't seen battle yet, and I'm hoping he never does.) I've read lots of stories on PTSD and post-combat soldiers—the recently deceased Matthew Power's "Confessions of a Drone Warrior" sticks out as a memorable one—but none have quite articulated exactly what it means to be haunted after a war like Daniels and Percy do. 

I think what I value in that description is that the Thing doesn't feel isolated, quarantined, in the soldier's experience—anybody can feel it. I'm not a mental health professional, but I do know that feeling like you're not alone matters. Being understood, if only briefly, matters.

It's worth noting that the US Department of Veteran Affairs has a list of resources for those suffering.