Susan Barron experienced one of the most difficult nights in her career a couple of years back, while she was on a trip to Manhattan, where she unveiled Depicting The Invisible – a series of mixed media art. Barron’s collection included military portraits adorned by paint and text. It was designed to raise awareness of veterans suffering from post-traumatic disorder (PTSD).
Barron received a call from her phone just before the performance. The mother of one her subjects was on the other line. Barron says, “She told me he’d succumbed to PTSD. He had taken his life.” “It hit me in the gut.”
Since 2001, nearly three million military personnel have been deployed to support the Global War on Terror. In Iraq or Afghanistan between 11-20% of veterans suffer from PTSD. These glaring statistics have left an interminable trail of suicide victims in their wake—individuals, like Barron’s friend, who quietly endure the invisible wounds of combat, personal loss or sexual assault.
22 veterans per day. This statistic is widely known since it was first made public. The Department of Veterans Affairs announced that 6,146 veterans committed suicide in 2020. That’s an astounding 17 deaths per day. While this was the lowest number since 2006, it is still 6,146 more than enough.
Barron’s discovery of this disease inspired him to design “Depicting The Invisible,” a traveling exhibit which, ever since it was launched, has occupied hallowed spaces at both the National Veterans Memorial and Museum (Columbus, OH) and the Army and Navy Club (Washington, DC). Among others.


Barron said, “I was very grateful to these courageous men and women who shared with me their stories.” I wanted to shed light on the epidemic of PTSD, suicide and mental illness. We all need to contribute in any way we can. “As an artist, I did what I thought I could.”
Barron’s series of photos was taken in black and white, a style she describes as “intentionally opposite the brutality that their stories portrayed.”
“They’re heroic. Barron calls them elegant.
These works were also conversation starters and eventually became the topic of a NPR podcast as well as a short award-winning documentary with the same title.
Barron reports that “this project was a collaborative effort, with many people contributing to its success. I have been contacted from strangers who tell me how much it has changed their lives or the life of their partner.” “Sons, mothers, grandmothers—so many family members have been thankful for destigmatizing this, for honoring this as a wound of war and not a mental illness.”
The stigma surrounding cannabis has been shattered, allowing for a wider range of treatment options to be available for veterans suffering from PTSD.

Ryan Cauley is not one of Barron’s subjects but, his story, as well as the many veterans who have suffered neurological trauma, are strikingly similar. Cauley is originally from Pendleton (Indiana) and joined the Army’s 1st Squadron in 2004. He served until 2007 as a scout with the 101st Airborne Division, 32nd Cavalry Regiment.
The transition to civilian life proved challenging. The post-traumatic stress affected Cauley’s connection. Depression and anxiety began to recur in a vicious cycle. The change in his behavior and attitude affected both his personal and professional relationships.
Months of anger management and cognitive behavioral therapy helped Cauley understand how to manage the condition, but it wasn’t until his 2016 foray into medical cannabis—and subsequent launch of the cannabis and PTSD advocacy company Combat Cultivators—that he’d experience a real transformation.
Cauley: “I was trying to persuade my wife to use cannabis. She could see my change of attitude almost immediately.” I could give more affection and compassion. “I was able to focus on my tasks without being consumed by negative thought.”
Cauley’s attitude changed over time, and he became more interested in this industry. In 2018, he completed his first growing. Cauley smiles as he recalls his youthful innocence. I wanted to grow cannabis myself because the prices at that time were higher than now. “We grow our own today, because it is superior to anything available in dispensaries.”
Cauley’s curiosity as a child soon became his profession. In Michigan, he became the lead grower for a large company, where he learned about large-scale growing, environmental control, and cloning. Carlos Ozuna was recruited to take on the same position by his friend, who is also a veteran of the Army. The duo created the Combat Cultivators Instagram page to reach out to other veterans who are struggling with PTSD.

Cauley says that even though the two have left the business, the combined knowledge they acquired there is what has led to their success at Combat Cultivators. Cannabis has also made a remarkable impact in Cauley’s life. He says, “It has given me back so much of life.” This sense of purpose in doing things. Carlos and I were able to collaborate again.
Veterans are finding new ways to deal with PTSD. Barron and Cauley have used their platforms to bring life to a mental health conversation that had been dormant far too long.
This dreaded telephone call, which Barron endured that day in Manhattan, is something that today’s military and veteran families have suffered ad nauseam. Each story is different, but there is a commonality in the pain that comes with loss. Barron insists that we should be striving to stop this happening.
Barron describes that day as a “personal low” for him, which sparked a stronger desire to spread these stories. We all need to be more active.
This story was originally published in issue 47 of the print edition of Cannabis Now.