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Jason Davis
Works at Veterans Benefits Administration, Department of Veterans Affairs
Attended University of California, Irvine
Lives in Bethesda, Maryland


Jason Davis changed his profile photo.

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Cleaned up.
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Got the same cut last week.
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Jason Davis

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The New York Times' At War eBook
Summer 2003, Mosul, Iraq Tonight I'm proud to announce that an eBook I was asked to contribute to has been published by The New York Times . It is now available for purchase at Amazon for your kindle or iDevice.  If you follow OEF/OIF military writing, you'...
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Jason Davis

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Below is a story I wrote for #VeteransDay #ThankAVet. I worked hard on this story despite the weird timelines, deadlines, and access that came with it. 

A version of this story was published today. I will not call it my own. I have instead posted the original text here.

I was also the photographer. 

The Invisible Monster and one Homeless Female Veteran's Journey to Take Back Her Life

Casondra Williams looks away when she speaks of the silent killer. She doesn't know when her invisible monster will attack, only that it has, that it will again, and that she doesn't have to let it win.

Williams, 44, is sitting in a chair on the sixth floor of an office building staring at the impenetrable wall of a cloudy, gray building across a narrow alley. She grabs a tissue, blots her eyes, and speaks with the disciplined caution of one who has been forced, over time, to shut down in order to avoid getting hurt. She thinks about her struggle—the destructive thoughts, the personal vices, the five years she was alone and homeless—and the long suffering in silence from the abuses she endured in the army. It's a trigger, the memory of trauma, she explains, that brings her back to the places she's longed to forget. 

Her thoughts take her back to Fort Jackson when she was in Advanced Individual Training. It’s 1993 and she’s 24 years old. Another soldier had repeatedly sexually harassed her. Williams went to her female drill sergeant and reported the incidents. Though she feels the matter had been effectively resolved, there were other traumatic incidents later in her career that weren’t. Williams’ silent killer, her invisible monster, was borne of those events.

“I was ashamed for a long time,” she says. “I didn’t talk to anyone about what had happened to me [in the army].”

When she stares out the window, Williams’ eyes grow dark. In her thoughts, she fast-forwards to her time at Fort Hood, when another soldier from her unit sexually assaulted her. She had reported what happened, but was told to keep her mouth shut. The threat of further assault remained, and she was continually harassed for being a whistle blower. That’s when Williams took to self-isolation, often shunning after-duty socialization, a tactic she felt was a coping mechanism for survival. 

“I felt like I was no longer part of the team,” she says. “They made me feel like I was the enemy. It felt like I was thrown away. After that [assault], there’s no way to again feel like part of that team.” 

The invisible monster first struck in April 2001, not long after Williams separated from the army. She'd left active duty after 8 years in uniform for a civilian front desk job at the Pentagon, a job she held for almost 3 years until succumbing to what she calls were "personal issues" that affected her performance. It was the nightmares at first, then flashbacks, irritability, and then... she trails off.

“It was a battle everyday,” she says. “I kept everyone at a distance. I couldn’t focus or interact with coworkers—I couldn’t complete basic tasks. I couldn’t communicate with my supervisor. Back then, there was no known PTSD condition. I was irritable all the time because I never knew when the invisible monster would attack, or why.”

Williams left the Pentagon in 2003. Not long after, she lost her apartment. She bounced from temp job to temp job, but she could barely function. She was frustrated, panicked, and alone. 

“It was scary,” she says. “There were a lot of days where I took a suitcase to work, not sure where I was going to sleep that night.”

For the next three years, Williams was homeless and mostly jobless. She had stayed in multiple group therapy houses in Virginia and Maryland, some of them catering to domestic violence cases, or to various hotels and houses of male acquaintances. None of them ever worked out or could provide her the safety and stability she needed to get back on her feet.

“There were days where I had a roof, but no food,” she says. 

Finally, in 2006, Williams took what she felt was the biggest chance of her life: She went to the Veterans Affairs hospital in Washington, D.C. She was broke, hungry, emotionally scarred, and oblivious to the resources and benefits VA could help her with. 

“I was already at bottom, and I was desperate,” she says. “I wasn’t feeling well. I was sick—and that sucks. Being sick is one thing, but being sick and on the streets is just so much worse. I didn’t even know what VA could do for me, but I walked in anyway.”

For Williams, the chance paid off. 

“That’s how I found out I had PTSD,” she exclaimed. “Before I went to the VA, I never connected the dots that the way I had been feeling—all the nightmares and flashbacks and anxiety and inability to function—all of that was related to what happened to me in the army.

“It was difficult to talk about,” she admits. “Even today.”

A month later, Williams was put in contact with someone from HUD-VASH, the Department of Housing and Urban Development – VA Supportive Housing program, a joint effort between HUD and VA to move Veterans and their families out of homelessness and into permanent housing. Until her Housing Choice Voucher was approved, VA arranged for Williams to stay at a homeless shelter in Virginia. 

“It wasn’t a picnic,” she says, “but it gave me the motivation to get out of that situation.”

While there, Williams met other Veterans in similar predicaments. Though she was hesitant to tell her own story, she grew confident in hearing others tell theirs. She soon became a resident adviser, and enjoyed helping other Vets. She even managed to save a little bit of pay. 

“Not much, though” she adds, with a glimmer of a smile lighting up her face. 

With that newfound confidence, Williams began a slow return to normal life. She began volunteering at the VADC Hospital—and when she was ready, she started video recording her own story, uploading the videos to YouTube, a way for her to reach out and connect with other MST survivors. 

“Don’t isolate yourself,” she warns. “It’s easy to hide. It’s easy to push people away.”

Today, Williams is still in the HUD-VASH voucher program, but she’s working to get into her first home. To get out of the apartment—away from the TV and self-imposed isolation—she joined a gym. And she’s also using her Chapter 31 Vocational Rehabilitation and Employment education benefits. She’s enrolled at University of Maryland University College, where’s she’s studying Cyber Security and Legal Studies. 

She’s still adapting, still battling the invisible monster. 

“PTSD encouraged me to build my own prison, and that was the nightmare. I thought I had to protect myself from everyone. I was in survival mode. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m getting there. I don’t want to isolate. I’m not going to feed it [the invisible monster]. 

“I’m taking my life back.”
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#governmentshutdown  day 9 is my #furlough  day 2: Today, I posted a picture to Tumblr, automatically fed to Twitter. It seems to be doing rather well. 
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Jason Davis

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Fungi on the Capital Crescent Trail
This fungi knows how to get down Fungi on a log, Capital Crescent Trail, Maryland. In response to  yesterday’s Instagram photo . Went for a hike yesterday with the family on the Capital Crescent Trail near our apartment. Stuffed the Busch Pressman Model D (...
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Jason Davis

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Live to Remember
I was an old college student, but a small handful of my journalism friends meant as much to me as those I served with in combat. Recently, my closest college friend included me in an email 25th birthday request to share my experiences at 25, to share what I...
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The Invisible Monster: One Homeless Female Veteran's Journey to Take Back Her Life
Below is a story I wrote for Veterans Day.  The published version is not to my liking, so I've preserved the original title and text here. Army Veteran Casondra Williams Casondra Williams looks away when she speaks of the silent killer. She doesn't know whe...
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Jason Davis

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read this.
I am an excepted employee. I just finished up day 10 of working for IOU’s. I am an excepted employee. Meaning regardless of the shutdown I’m required to work. The cable bill is due, the phone bill, the water bill,...
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#governmentshutdown day 8 is my #furlough day 1: Today, I walked the kids to school.
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Michele Bachmann and a 97-Year Old Honor Flight Veteran at the WWII Memorial
With the #governmentshutdown, I knew that affected sites would include those monitored and staffed by the National Park Service. In Washington D.C., this includes various museums and monuments near the National Mall. One of those sites--the World War II Mem...
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Program Analyst/Social Media for Veterans Benefits Administration, Department of Veterans Affairs, Film Photographer, Former Automotive Journalist/Photographer, Army Combat Veteran - 13F
Writing, Photography, Reporting, Blogging, Social Media
  • Veterans Benefits Administration, Department of Veterans Affairs
    Program Analyst/Social Media, 2013 - present
    Associate Editor/Photographer, 2011 - 2013
  • United States Army
    Fire Support Sergeant, 2001 - 2006
Map of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has lived
Bethesda, Maryland
Fort Campbell, Kentucky - Mosul, Iraq - Baghdad, Iraq - Tustin, California
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Former Auto Journo/Photog, Combat Veteran, Fantasy Baseball Champion
I used to write about and photograph cars. Drove them sometimes, too. It's a pretty great life for a single, straight out of college kinda guy. But I'm not a single, straight out of college kinda guy, so I packed my car and drove across the country. Now I'm a social media dweeb for a government agency. I try to help people.

In a previous life, I was a forward observer in the Army's 101st Airborne (Home of Old Abe, the Screamin' Chicken, Air Assault). There, I did a bunch of hooah Infantry stuff like jumping out of helicopters, kicking in doors, urinating from bridges, and learning how to swear in Arabic. 

In my spare time, I play with vintage, audiophile stereo and home theater gear, rock out to death metal, black metal, and classical music, support Angels baseball, drink hoppy craft beer, and collect and shoot vintage film cameras (Hasselblad, Rolleiflex, Yashica, Bronica, Busch Pressman, Dejur, Polaroid, Nikon, and more). I even develop black and white film in my kitchen sink and make enlarged prints from my home darkroom. It's pretty dorktastic. Oh, and I own two turbocharged, all-wheel drive Subaru station wagons. 
Bragging rights
I've urinated in the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.
  • University of California, Irvine
    B.A. Literary Journalism, 2009 - 2011
  • Irvine Valley College
    Humanities, 2008 - 2009
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13 Stoploss, Appeal to Emulsion
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