WASHINGTON — Retired Army Command Sgt. Maj. Samuel Rhodes keeps pictures of the dead in his pockets.

They're the faces of young soldiers whose eyes stare out resolutely from photocopied pages worn and creased by the ritual of unfolding them, smoothing them flat and refolding them.

They're the faces of men who, haunted by problems at home or memories of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan — the dead children, the fallen comrades and the lingering smell of burnt flesh — pressed guns to their heads and pulled the triggers or tied ropes with military precision and hanged themselves.

The pictures remind Rhodes of how close he came to joining them and how, sometimes when the sadness presses in, he still mentally pens suicide notes.

"How many times have I written that letter in my head? I still think about suicide, but when I start thinking about it I have to think, 'What's the impact on everyone I care about?' "

It's been roughly five years since Rhodes came home from his third tour in Iraq. And despite a highly decorated 29-year career in the Army, a new book, more than a hundred speaking engagements and praise from the likes of Gen. George Casey, the Army chief of staff, for his efforts in suicide prevention, Rhodes still wrestles with his own demons. When he speaks to crowds and gently holds up the photos of fellow servicemen who've committed suicide, it's as if he's holding up a mirror.

"It's not about me," he tells soldiers. "Every one of us can tell our own story. Start telling it. Change the culture of silence."

Rhodes, 49, is among a small cadre of senior officers, commissioned and noncommissioned, opening up about their journeys back from the brink of suicide — efforts that top military commanders applaud as they battle a suicide epidemic. The open support from the military's uppermost ranks for openly discussing a topic long considered taboo is a revolution triggered largely by both greater awareness and pressure to curb record-high suicide rates.

This month, the Defense Department reported that there were 160 reported active-duty Army suicides in 2009, up from 140 in 2008. Of these, 114 have been confirmed, while the cause of death in the remaining 46 remains to be determined. The increase in military suicides includes men between the ages of 18 and 30, midcareer officers and, increasingly, women.

Many soldiers are embarrassed to seek help and worried that doing so will hamper their prospects for advancement.

In response, the Pentagon has poured millions of dollars into suicide-prevention programs. Through programs such as the Real Warriors Campaign, with its catchphrase of "Resilience. Recovery. Reintegration," the military encourages soldiers to help others by sharing their stories of sorrow.

For Rhodes — who lives near Georgia's Fort Benning, where he once led troops — the Iraq war gnawed at his marriage and his sanity.

He lost both during his third tour. Rhodes' sky cracked open in April 2005.

"The first hundred days, we didn't have a boy get a scratch. Then we lost two guys when their suits caught on fire. It started then." In all, he watched 37 soldiers die.

Then one day, everything went dark. "I woke up on the helicopter, and a young soldier put a card in my pocket and said, 'You've been serviced by Angel Flight.' "

Rhodes was flown to a military hospital in Baghdad and diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

He was sent to Fort Benning to help lead a brigade. At night he'd go back to his now-empty apartment — he had divorced — drink and think about whether in death he might find respite from the nightmares and the guilt he felt because he'd survived. "I went to a friend's house, a retired veteran, I got a gun from him with bullets, and the next day I was trying to figure out when and where to do it."

The brigade commander pulled him aside. "He spent the day with me, and he recognized I was having issues; he didn't know I was considering suicide," Rhodes said. "It was just a very positive day. He told me I was doing a good job. When somebody reinforces you're doing good things, it makes it seem better."

One day, following a presentation on suicide prevention in the Army, Rhodes went up to the facilitator and said, "I think I can help."

He has. Rhodes receives hundreds of e-mails every week from soldiers with secrets they don't feel they can tell their spouses or commanding officers. He encourages them to get help, and once in a while they do.