[Photo courtesy Jarod Brackens]

Editor’s note: This story contains graphic imagery and pertains to sensitive topics such a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

“Even right now, sitting with my back to the door is awkward,” Senior accounting and finance major Robert Tracy says as he recounts his experiences with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  

He’s sitting on the second floor of the Polytechnic United Methodist Church in its student lounge. Down the hallway are classrooms and professor offices; no immediate danger looms. Yet, Tracy feels uneasy—as he always does.  

Tracy, 58, is a military veteran, and like many others, he’s fallen down the pipeline of deployment, disability and eventual homelessness.  

While in the military, Tracy worked as a combat medic and pathologist for the Navy. As a child, he dreamed of becoming a doctor and performing operations. The military fulfilled that dream, but it destroyed many others.  

“I have nightmares on a regular basis,” Tracy said about his PTSD symptoms.  

One recurring nightmare involves Tracy performing an autopsy on a fallen soldier’s body. He’d already operated on the head three days earlier; it had been decapitated during a storm—the body had recently washed up to shore. After cutting the body open, he found crabs and other mollusks in the soldier’s ribcage eating his remains from the inside out. Although a nightmare, these images were ones Tracy experienced—and now reexperiencing—while stationed in Puerto Rico during Hurricane Hugo.  

Another nightmare involves Tracy coming to the end of an autopsy before realizing he recognizes the person he’s operating on.  

“When I finished and I was sewing him up, I realized it was somebody that I knew from boot camp,” Tracy said. “I had up to my elbows in his insides and it just—I have issues with that.” 

For decades, Tracy lived with this PTSD undiagnosed.  

Tracy left the military after six years, ready to pursue a college education funded by his benefits.  

“When I got out, I found out that they had not taken the money out of my check for me to go to college,” Tracy said. “I felt like I had been robbed, been lied to… I felt like I was left behind.” 

One of Tracy’s main objectives for joining the military was getting a college education. After graduating high school, his parents told an 18-year-old Tracy that they didn’t have the money to put him through college. He graduated high school in May 1986, and by June 1 of that same year, he was in basic training. 

Now at 24, Tracy was left as a veteran without support. Despite the extensive medical training he received in the military, where he assisted with over 20 autopsies, he was left without any necessary certifications to cultivate a career in the field.  

“The sad thing is most of the military does not certify you,” Tracy said. “I have the experience, but it doesn’t matter.” 

Instead, Tracy jumped from job to job, eventually ending up in Fort Worth in 1993. His disability and undiagnosed PTSD made jobs hard to keep. 

Eventually, in 2007, Tracy found work as a caregiver for a boy with cerebral palsy—a job which provided him housing, a steady income and a worthy cause. In 2009, the trust fund which took care of the boy and paid Tracy’s salary was depleted. Tracy was assured by his employer that he’d have six more months at the job—what he thought was plenty of time to save for a car and an apartment.  

“Six days later, he [the boy] was in a group home and she [his employer] looked at me and said, ‘Where can I take you?’ and she dropped me off in the [homeless] shelter,” Tracy said.  

Tracy lived in the Presbyterian Night Shelter for 18 months. 

“You’re walking through, people are blowing crack smoke at you, meth, and they’re doing whatever, and you just don’t even pay attention,” Tracy said. “You get numb to it.” 

Tracy overcame homelessness in 2010.  

At 44 years old, he was finally able to enroll in college. He became a student at Tarrant County College (TCC) in 2012, where he received two associate degrees and a certification as a library technician. 

Even after conquering homelessness, the stigma lingered.  

“When I started going to Tarrant County College, I was afraid to tell people that I was homeless,” Tracy said. “Because they would grab their purse or their wallet or their books or whatever, thinking that I was going to rob them.” 

His undiagnosed PTSD lingered as well. Unbeknownst to him, for years he was given PTSD treatment by doctors, who continually denied that he had the disorder. An official diagnosis would entitle him to compensation from the government.  

“She [his doctor] told me that I don’t have PTSD, that they were just treating me for PTSD-like symptoms,” Tracy said. “I told her that was like giving me prenatal vitamins and telling me I’m not pregnant.” 

Tracy then got another doctor who told him the truth. Tracy has yet to receive his owed compensation. 

“I’ve had nothing but struggles with the VA [the US Department of Veteran Affairs],” Tracy said.  

After four years at TCC, Tracy transferred to Texas Wesleyan University to complete a degree in accounting and finance. Upon completing his bachelor’s degree, he has plans to pursue a Master of Business Analytics.  

On campus, Tracy is involved in six organizations—the Accounting Society, the Bilingual Education Student Organization, the Finance Club, the Entrepreneurship Network, Beta Gamma Sigma and the Student Government Association (SGA). The highlight, he says, is being the At-Large Representative for the SGA. There, he’s able to advocate for marginalized groups all over campus and provide the support that has so often evaded him in his own life.  

“[He’s] good for society; we need people like Robert,” Associate Professor of Economics Dr. Gokcen Ogruk-Maz said. “He wants to make a change in everything he’s involved with.” 

SGA President Daylan Anderson Harris, a junior religion and business double major, commended Tracy’s dependability and willingness to help others.  

“He’s always been someone I could rely on,” Harris said. “He’ll give you the last dollar that he has.” 

Throughout the years, Tracy says that university life and being involved on campus has replaced the community he’s sorely lacked. 

“People don’t realize after being homeless, you go from living in a homeless shelter with 500 people around you every day… to a two-bedroom apartment where I’m there by myself,” Tracy said. “It’s almost like I was in a prison of my own making. By putting myself in this organization, that organization, it gets me out of the house so I have something to do and something to keep me occupied.” 

In addition to his work on campus, Tracy is a prolific advocate in the wider community, acting on behalf of others who suffer from homelessness, disability and veteran-related mental health issues.  

He serves on the North Texas VA Mental Health Advisory Council.  He also serves on the board of directors for the Texas Homeless Data Sharing Network (THN) which conducts data analytics for 228 counties in the state of Texas. Additionally, he is a member of Partnership Home, formerly known as the Tarrant County Homeless Coalition. 

“Robert is one of the most driven individuals I’ve ever met,” said Ash Campbell, director of system response for Partnership Home and a board member for THN. “He’s always the first to volunteer to be a part of a project to share his voice and his experience.” 

Partnership Home is a non-profit organization that aims to find and implement community solutions to homelessness in Tarrant County. In his three years working with the organization, Tracy has served on its Allocations Committee, Fatality Committee, Advisory Council and Jail Diversion Program, contributing in any way he can to support those suffering or recovering from homelessness.  

“He is the true definition of advocate,” said Partnership Home Chief of Staff Shannon Barnes. “He’s somebody who has that will and conviction to help.” 

Barnes says Tracy represents hope.  

“A lot of people feel like once you experience homelessness, there’s no more hope,” Barnes said. “I think Robert proves that wrong.” 

Tracy’s battles, trauma and ability to overcome have shaped him into an unyielding advocate.  

“When I finally got out of the homeless shelter after 18 months, they were like, well, don’t forget where you came from.”  

Tracy never did.