Growing up, I would constantly tell my parents that one day I’d skydive, too. They’d always tell me how expensive and dangerous it was, I think because a part of them did not want to see pictures of their daughter hanging off the strut of a Cessna.

I would jump from the low parts of our roof with a shaky umbrella or quartered-up bedsheet, neither of which worked. I always crashed with a thud. But the seed was planted, and it wouldn’t be long before I’d try it for real.

After college I wound up in an unhealthy relationship. I was depressed and needed to do something about it. One of my coworkers, Ray, had recently started skydiving and was always encouraging people to come to the Ranch in Gardiner, New York, to try it. I was pretty desperate, so I figured, “What the hell?”

Ever since I was young, I’ve been the adventurous type. I constantly seek new experiences and never let “no” get in the way. I’ve never had the mentality of letting life come to me; I’ve always chased it. I’d see something I wanted to try and go after it, whether it be acting in movies (I was in two), doing stand-up comedy or excelling in my career.

There’s nothing like the bonds soldiers forge during their service to our nation. Perhaps the hardest thing in civilian life is separation from that brotherhood. It leaves a hole. I think every veteran feels that. But when a veteran battles post-traumatic stress disorder, the feeling is even stronger. It’s like nobody but your buddies understand, and they ain’t there.