The Weight of the Trigger… Or the Lack Thereof

by Darrius Varnell Dickerson, Sgt., U.S. Army (Ret.)

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I did not feel the weight of the trigger the very first time I pulled it.

Not physically — it was light; mechanical; almost entirely too easy. But the weight came later — as I imagine it did for many a Vet before, after, or during my time Down Range (deployed). It came in the deafening silence after the shot. In the utter stillness of a body that would not move again. Ever. In the way our own breaths sound louder than the all-but-ubiquitous gunfire of The (Middle Eastern) Region.

I was not quite 21 years young, stationed at FOB (Forward Operating Base) Warhorse in the Diyala Province of Iraq. My job was to be ready — always — to wreak havoc on America’s enemies. That is what they trained us for. That is what we were told we needed to be proficient at undertaking.

And for a while, I believed it — wholeheartedly. I wore that readiness like armor, and/or a badge of honor. I laughed a lot louder, walked much harder, and kept my finger incredulously close to the edge of the very ginormous concept that is consequence.

Conversely, absolutely no one tells you what it feels like to carry that readiness Back In The World (home/stateside/CONUS [Continental U.S.]) with you. No one tells you that the trigger does not merely fire just once — it echoes. It follows you into the quietest of rooms and into the most crowded, busiest streets, invariably. It shows up in your dreams, in your interpersonal relationships, and even in the way you may/may not flinch at fireworks or hesitate before answering the knocks at the front door or the ring of the doorbell.

The weight of the trigger is not simply about what you did. It is, far more often, about what you were immensely willing to do. What you were unequivocally expected to do. And what you still carry with you — essentially everywhere you go — because of that weightbearing willingness.

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Addendum

This brief missive to my younger self — and/or to future Warriors who will turn 21 years old in a combat zone, far from the only home they ever knew — is a letter I regret was not available to me prior to my Tour to The Region some 15 years ago.

I am grateful and thankful for the potentiality of being that warning call to my fellow Bros./Sis. in Arms.

This piece also serves as a promotional one for my photojournalism memoir, Wartime Snapshots: Unseen Views/Photography from OIF. As with almost all of my recent entrepreneurial endeavors, a percentage of the proceeds go to benefit nonprofits that are fighting tooth and nail on behalf of the USA’s hopeless/homeless Vets — a phrase that ought only to exist in the history books of old, if anywhere. And yet, here we are.

I bought a then-top-of-the-line, water-resistant, 12x zoom $300 camera while deployed, thereby having the means to capture around 150 quality pictures. No fewer than 57 of said photographs appear in the aforementioned memoir. Some even appear in my apparel brand — which I’m currently on another brief hiatus from — War ‘N’ Tees.

In closing, and as the headline for my brand goes: Prayerfully, everyone reading this will (continue to), “Stay blessed; Free; & dangerous!” Salutations.

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Darrius Dickerson is a proud former 5/20 INF grunt, a devoted GirlDad (soon to be four times over), and—by grace or grit—a lifesaver more than once. His many brushes with death, along with the lives he’s helped save, remain close to his Braveheart.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.