It’s a scary place, the 5th floor of a Naval Hospital. That’s the place where the damaged are housed. Those whose broken pieces are shattered over many years, some pieces lost forever. White, Black, Latino, Asian, European, male, female, heterosexual, homosexual, or transgender, it didn’t matter. We were all pulled apart by the poisonous claws of spiritual monsters that lurked within the souls of those who claimed to love us. The Damaged clung to each person’s emotional scrap heap. We needed to believe we were not alone. We needed the alliance. No one else seemed to understand our emotional and psychological plight. Our secrets had been buried within our minds and souls for years. Now, a group of ten military strangers, enlisted and officers, were being forced to air their damages. Our stories were many. Our stories were bloody. Our stories were what Hollywood movies are made of. My story isn’t very unique, but not many knew of it until the writing of this book. I’m sure many women and some men will relate to my damages. Some will be angry. Some will be appalled. Many will feel embarrassed. What I fear the most is some will be outright disgusted with me for living such a life because they believed I was perfect, too strong a woman to tolerate the madness I experienced. However, It doesn’t matter what other people think of me or my damaged comrades. All that matters is I have recognized that we all are damaged, and for some of us, putting back the pieces isn’t always a good thing to do.