My name is Mike Coonan. I was a Navy Corpsman in Vietnam; my job was to keep my Marines alive. I was wounded in combat, I am a licensed mental health clinician, and the founder of On Point 4 Veterans. On Point 4 Veterans exists to keep you alive and connect you to VA care and benefits you have earned. My primary work is helping you with your serious mental health conditions to reach real VA psychiatric treatment when VA barriers, gatekeeping, or misdirection stand in the way. At the same time, we walk along together as you move through the VA disability system, helping ensure your mental health conditions are accurately recognized and your service is appropriately compensated.

I am a Vietnam combat veteran. I was an infantryman. I was wounded by a grenade and shot while trying to get off the ground. I was evacuated through multiple hospitals and spent months at Walter Reed. I came home with a Purple Heart and injuries that never really healed, some you could see, and many you could not. For the next 45 years, I lived with severe PTSD, depression, anxiety, insomnia, and chronic pain. I isolated myself. I struggled to function. I relived Vietnam every day. I did what a lot of veterans do: I kept going, stayed busy, and didn’t talk much about it. The VA had many chances to help me. They didn’t.

For decades after the war, I lived with things I could not explain and could not escape. Nightmares. Anxiety. Depression. Panic. Sleepless nights. Constant vigilance. I learned to scan rooms, watch exits, and stay guarded even when nothing was happening. I pulled away from people. Relationships fell apart. I became isolated without fully understanding why.

I went to Vietnam as an infantryman with the 4th Infantry Division in 1968. I spent most of that year up in the Central Highlands, catching mortar rounds, rockets, and small-arms fire. I ran patrols near the Cambodian border with little backup and saw good men wounded and killed. I earned my Combat Infantry Badge and a few medals, but I also came home with busted hearing and memories that never left. When I got back, I wasn’t the same man. Not even close.
I had nightmares, couldn’t sleep worth a damn, and stayed wound tight all the time. Loud noises set me off. I didn’t trust crowds. I kept my distance from folks, even people I cared about. Jobs didn’t last. Relationships didn’t either. I felt angry, numb, worn down to the bone. Truth is, over the years, I thought about ending my life more times than I care to say.

I was raised in Michigan, in a family that looked out for one another. I stayed busy growing up with sports, odd jobs, and the usual things. After high school, I enlisted. It felt like the next right step. The Army sent me to Fort Knox and Fort Sill. I served with artillery in Germany, then was sent to Vietnam in 1971. I ended up on Fire Base Pace close to the Cambodian border.  Those months were a grind. Incoming rockets and mortars were part of the routine. My friends were hit and killed. I carried them to the Medivac.   

My name is Echo. I grew up in New Jersey. Home was not always safe when I was young, and school became the place where I found stability and hope. I worked hard, graduated early with honors, and believed that discipline and service could give me a better future. I joined the Army in 1986 because I wanted purpose and structure. I completed basic training and administrative school with high marks, even after a serious medical setback during training. I was proud of myself. For the first time, I felt seen for my effort and potential. I was stationed at Fort Stewart and later in Hawaii. I married another soldier and continued to do well in my career. When I became pregnant, I made the difficult decision to leave active duty so my husband and I could face that together. Even then, I stayed connected through the reserves because serving mattered to me.

 I grew up in Michigan in a steady, working family. I had a good childhood, played sports, worked after school, and did what was expected of me. After high school, I joined the Army. I trained at Fort Knox and Fort Ord, then Fort Gordon.  I was deployed to Vietnam at the end of 1967. I served with a signal battalion attached to the 1st Air Cavalry, and later with the 586th Signal Corps. I arrived just as the Tet Offensive began. Vietnam hit hard and fast. Then I became a rifleman defending our base. We were under constant fire, rockets, mortars, and artillery. Some days it felt like one barrage after another, sometimes more than a hundred rounds in a day. During Tet, our position was overrun. The perimeter was breached. Helicopters were blown up. The enemy sets ambushes for anyone trying to secure the area.

My name is Golf.  I grew up in Michigan. I did well in school, played sports, and tried college for a year before going to work. I didn’t want to wait to be drafted, so I asked the draft board to move me up. A month later, I was in the Army.

I trained at Fort Knox and Fort Polk and was sent to Vietnam with the 101st Airborne. I served in I Corps near Quang Tri and the DMZ, where combat was constant. I was an infantryman on patrol, taking fire and engaging the enemy directly. Friends were wounded and killed. In June 1971, I was seriously wounded by a booby trap. Shrapnel tore through my liver, abdomen, and leg. Two friends were killed in that blast. I was evacuated by helicopter, spent weeks in intensive care, and months recovering in Japan and then Valley Forge. I survived, but I didn’t come home whole.

In March of 1970, I joined the Army. I trained at Fort Knox and Fort Sill and was sent to Vietnam later that year. I was assigned to the 1st Air Cavalry, A Battery, 1/21st Artillery (Airmobile). Vietnam changed everything. Our unit moved constantly, supporting infantry operations. We went from one landing zone to the next, sometimes more than twenty in a short period. We took incoming rockets and artillery. On one occasion, the enemy breached the perimeter of our firebase and had to be driven back. You learned fast that nowhere was truly safe. I lost one of my best friends in combat. Another was badly wounded. There were things we were ordered to do that I still can’t forget, things that go against everything I was raised to believe. Those memories have stayed with me for more than fifty years.

For years, my struggle was misunderstood and mishandled. While I was in the Air Force, I experienced a serious mental health breakdown. This is not speculation; it is documented in my military medical records. I was treated for severe depressive neurosis, placed in ongoing psychotherapy, and even had an overseas assignment delayed because my mental health condition was considered serious enough that disrupting treatment would jeopardize my stability. I was breaking down while still in uniform.

I was born and raised in Michigan. Before the military, I had a good upbringing and learned early how to work hard. I was social, played sports, and liked working with my hands. When I was seventeen, I bought a small garage and started fixing cars on my own. I worked steadily, paid my bills, and supported myself. I expected to live a normal, productive life. I was independent and motivated long before I wore a uniform.