My eyes dart from left to right, my pulse thunders in cadence, and sweat forms on my forehead. The taste of raw sewage and dust fills my mouth. The sounds of gunfire, children playing and explosions echo like a dull headache. Even after four months home, the streets of Iraq are still vivid. People ask, "How does it feel to be back?" I tell them all is well, then go about my business. The truth is, I don't know. I lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, in search of an obscure answer in the ceiling tiles. I toss and turn in a fitful sleep, never feeling truly rested. I walk down Broadway hunched over, hands in my pockets, iPod rocking, trying to feel like I belong.

It has been harder readjusting than I imagined. I still feel my arms and face going numb from the crushing weight of my body armor, the restrictiveness of my helmet, and the need to see my weapon within arm’s reach. I am not alone in my readjustment, but that has no effect on the intensity of my everyday reactions. I believe a part of my soul was left in Iraq that I will never get it back. The sadness and degradation that permeate the streets of Baghdad will change you in a way that cannot be put into words. People must realize that when you ask a Veteran of Iraq or Afghanistan how it feels to be back, you are asking a very difficult question.