We had many cadences during my time in the Army – many of
them not appropriate to share, however, my favorite was the simple “Ah-hard
work-work…. Ah-hard work-work” chanted in response to various calls of the
Drill Sergeant. I absolutely loved the physical training we went through. It
was motivating to be one unit, one team, embodying everything the Army stands
for – Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal
Courage (which spells “LDRSHIP” or, "Leadership"). What didn’t float my boat was hours upon
hours of sleep deprivation. Perhaps it was this less-wanted form of training
that eventually broke me down mentally.
By the time I reached Advanced Individual Training, I had begun to seriously decompensate in my mental faculties. When it caused me to fail, I pushed harder and stress began to seep into my chest, driving me out of control. At the compassionate suggestion of a Drill Instructor, I went to be seen by CMHS (Community Mental Health Services). While there, I was diagnosed with a severe mental illness, and was put in the Moncrief General Army Hospital's psychiatric ward for about a month, then was confronted with the decision to either fight to stay in, or sign the papers and allow myself to go home with a “general discharge” – which is neither honorable nor dishonorable, simply circumstantial.
I was deeply torn – between my desire to serve my country and honor her with my service (and my grandfather being a General and the one who swore me in – wanting to make him proud, too), and my deep need for psychological healing. I wasn’t a bad apple – I was already a team player, a leader, and a hard worker – not to mention always having respect for my superiors and toeing the line every day – but my brain just couldn’t handle it anymore. I don’t think I was built for the Army. You see, I came from a performance and academics background – in high school I was an A student, a National Merit Scholar, received over twelve gold medals for my singing, was Vocal Captain of Show Choir, Dance Lead of Concert Choir, won several academic achievement awards, and my friends loved to tell me that choir was simply “The Jacob Jackson Show” – “and you know it’s true,” they would say. Granted, I was also a Varsity Men’s Volleyball player, and was even an NCAA Division I athlete in college at the University of Wisconsin – Madison, but most of my aptitudes were not that of an Army Private that needed to be broken down – my “building” was already on a good foundation.
That foundation was my faith – and what ultimately helped me to stay with it and not give up – not choosing suicide, the thoughts of which came to me many times over the course of the next 9 years. You see, I had entered a time in which God would allow me to experience what life would be like without Him, showing me my pride in thinking that all these talents and abilities and honors were somehow coming from me alone, and that I didn’t need to be serious about obeying His commands. He had warned me, and I did not heed those warnings. He had told me in an intense and “just knowing” way that I should not go into the Army. I disobeyed.
By the time I reached Advanced Individual Training, I had begun to seriously decompensate in my mental faculties. When it caused me to fail, I pushed harder and stress began to seep into my chest, driving me out of control. At the compassionate suggestion of a Drill Instructor, I went to be seen by CMHS (Community Mental Health Services). While there, I was diagnosed with a severe mental illness, and was put in the Moncrief General Army Hospital's psychiatric ward for about a month, then was confronted with the decision to either fight to stay in, or sign the papers and allow myself to go home with a “general discharge” – which is neither honorable nor dishonorable, simply circumstantial.
I was deeply torn – between my desire to serve my country and honor her with my service (and my grandfather being a General and the one who swore me in – wanting to make him proud, too), and my deep need for psychological healing. I wasn’t a bad apple – I was already a team player, a leader, and a hard worker – not to mention always having respect for my superiors and toeing the line every day – but my brain just couldn’t handle it anymore. I don’t think I was built for the Army. You see, I came from a performance and academics background – in high school I was an A student, a National Merit Scholar, received over twelve gold medals for my singing, was Vocal Captain of Show Choir, Dance Lead of Concert Choir, won several academic achievement awards, and my friends loved to tell me that choir was simply “The Jacob Jackson Show” – “and you know it’s true,” they would say. Granted, I was also a Varsity Men’s Volleyball player, and was even an NCAA Division I athlete in college at the University of Wisconsin – Madison, but most of my aptitudes were not that of an Army Private that needed to be broken down – my “building” was already on a good foundation.
That foundation was my faith – and what ultimately helped me to stay with it and not give up – not choosing suicide, the thoughts of which came to me many times over the course of the next 9 years. You see, I had entered a time in which God would allow me to experience what life would be like without Him, showing me my pride in thinking that all these talents and abilities and honors were somehow coming from me alone, and that I didn’t need to be serious about obeying His commands. He had warned me, and I did not heed those warnings. He had told me in an intense and “just knowing” way that I should not go into the Army. I disobeyed.
Fast forward a few years and you’d find me on several
heavy-duty medications, hardly able to communicate, sleeping for extended
periods of time, sometimes up to 20 hours a day, and with no clear direction in
life. I tried and failed at re-entering the UW twice, not able to wrap my mind
around any topic, not even the familiar ones. It was rough. I went from
psychiatrist to psychiatrist, receiving one diagnosis after another, and
eventually they settled on schizo-affective disorder, some sort of combination
of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I also have depression and anxiety. Personally, I couldn’t help but think it
was more like post-traumatic stress disorder. The depression was like watching an extremely boring television show, the same episode over and over, with no commercials. That was my life. The anxiety was like intense panic and feeling like I was spinning out of control - and my thoughts began to run amok inside my head, and I tried with all I had to keep them under control, but couldn't. I would often, during an anxiety attack (which was also usually accompanied by dissociative issues) just get home, get in bed, and pull the covers over my head and hide until it was over. Even though it always ended eventually, it always feels like it's going to last forever when you're in it.
Now, these medications are nasty things – most of them are major tranquilizers, and few of them made me feel anywhere near close to “normal.” The only medication that actually seemed to help me was lorazepam, which helped me talk and relax communicatively. However, this was also the one medication I knew I didn’t want to get too much of – fearing an addiction. Thankfully, I didn’t. As the years wore on, I grew more and more overweight – eventually getting to 100lbs over my weigh-in in college, another side-effect of the medications. Being a dancer, this was devastating, as I couldn’t really dance without completely embarrassing myself.
I tried performing in a couple musicals, and did very well, but the sense of pride and fulfillment just weren’t there. I was an empty shell with a nice voice. I was having anxiety attacks nearly every day, at every rehearsal, for hours at a time, feeling like I was losing my mind and fearing I had become a social introvert after always being a sort of social butterfly in times past. The weight, the depression, the lack of energy or motivation to do anything, was starting to snowball – until I started to advocate for myself.
With God’s help, I was able to start studying in a smaller, more forgiving academic environment – Herzing College. I can’t begin to tell you how much I did NOT want to go to school at Herzing. I was incredibly torn – I wanted everything to be “back to the way it used to be” at the UW, where I lived in the dorm and had many friends and was participating in lots of activities. Herzing felt like a step down for me and I didn’t like it. I also thought that while Game Development sounded like fun, I should be doing something more like engineering or dance or vocal performance. It took time. It took lots of time, dropping out, re-entering, dropping out again, but always with a firm conviction that I needed to finish something. So I kept coming back. Slowly but surely, I began to see things differently. I began to see that God was healing me very slowly, one small step at a time. I saw my mental illness as a gift to help me understand myself and others, and ultimately God. I began to be creative again, I began to have a desire to do programming work and learn new languages to code with. I started to see the pieces fall into place: that God had not truly left me, He had simply withdrawn fellowship for a season so that I could learn that “in Him we live and move and have our being” – before long I was in a group home and learned to open up about my childhood, then an apartment with two friends and started picking up the pieces of my self-image and health, then I received a car as a gift (all of these were prayers at one time or another, now being answered), then, finally, an active desire to actually want to make games. This I did not expect.
I had gone through three, maybe four revisions of a poster board on my wall with all the things I was good at and wanted to do with my life (hoping to figure it all out and catch a dream I could follow after). I would eventually tear it apart and throw it away, only to start again a few months later. Finally I realized life did not consist in the following after of dreams, but in relationship with the Living God, and with other people as He saw fit. Now I’m at a point of – “Okay, God – I’m serious now, I want you back in my life, I want healthy relationships, I want to try again… but where are you? How is this supposed to work?” you see, realizing the truth of what has really been happening the past 10 years was one thing, but coming to a place of surrender and receiving God’s best again, is something else entirely – and I await His reply.
Now, these medications are nasty things – most of them are major tranquilizers, and few of them made me feel anywhere near close to “normal.” The only medication that actually seemed to help me was lorazepam, which helped me talk and relax communicatively. However, this was also the one medication I knew I didn’t want to get too much of – fearing an addiction. Thankfully, I didn’t. As the years wore on, I grew more and more overweight – eventually getting to 100lbs over my weigh-in in college, another side-effect of the medications. Being a dancer, this was devastating, as I couldn’t really dance without completely embarrassing myself.
I tried performing in a couple musicals, and did very well, but the sense of pride and fulfillment just weren’t there. I was an empty shell with a nice voice. I was having anxiety attacks nearly every day, at every rehearsal, for hours at a time, feeling like I was losing my mind and fearing I had become a social introvert after always being a sort of social butterfly in times past. The weight, the depression, the lack of energy or motivation to do anything, was starting to snowball – until I started to advocate for myself.
With God’s help, I was able to start studying in a smaller, more forgiving academic environment – Herzing College. I can’t begin to tell you how much I did NOT want to go to school at Herzing. I was incredibly torn – I wanted everything to be “back to the way it used to be” at the UW, where I lived in the dorm and had many friends and was participating in lots of activities. Herzing felt like a step down for me and I didn’t like it. I also thought that while Game Development sounded like fun, I should be doing something more like engineering or dance or vocal performance. It took time. It took lots of time, dropping out, re-entering, dropping out again, but always with a firm conviction that I needed to finish something. So I kept coming back. Slowly but surely, I began to see things differently. I began to see that God was healing me very slowly, one small step at a time. I saw my mental illness as a gift to help me understand myself and others, and ultimately God. I began to be creative again, I began to have a desire to do programming work and learn new languages to code with. I started to see the pieces fall into place: that God had not truly left me, He had simply withdrawn fellowship for a season so that I could learn that “in Him we live and move and have our being” – before long I was in a group home and learned to open up about my childhood, then an apartment with two friends and started picking up the pieces of my self-image and health, then I received a car as a gift (all of these were prayers at one time or another, now being answered), then, finally, an active desire to actually want to make games. This I did not expect.
I had gone through three, maybe four revisions of a poster board on my wall with all the things I was good at and wanted to do with my life (hoping to figure it all out and catch a dream I could follow after). I would eventually tear it apart and throw it away, only to start again a few months later. Finally I realized life did not consist in the following after of dreams, but in relationship with the Living God, and with other people as He saw fit. Now I’m at a point of – “Okay, God – I’m serious now, I want you back in my life, I want healthy relationships, I want to try again… but where are you? How is this supposed to work?” you see, realizing the truth of what has really been happening the past 10 years was one thing, but coming to a place of surrender and receiving God’s best again, is something else entirely – and I await His reply.
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