I began experiencing symptoms of depression when I was 15. Around this time I was finding it hard to really fit in at school. I went from group to group to group, and never really made any deep connections. I have one friend from high school that I still talk to, and conversations are few and far between. Around that same time, I started really having issues with body image as well. And no matter how badly I hated myself, I couldn’t push myself to actually do anything about it. Anytime I tried, I quickly gave up. Which, of course, only made everything worse. Eventually, I hated myself so much, I began planning out my suicide. And I began to be reckless. I’d walk around in the dark alone, take a dangerous route home that crossed a freeway. I didn’t care what happened to me. In my junior and senior years of high school, I had this secret vow that I would not live to see my high school graduation. But I was a coward and couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the strength to. Yes, you read that right. It takes a great amount of strength and bravery to commit suicide. Because even in those last moments, a part of you will always hope that someone cares enough to notice the signs, that someone understands enough to realize there are signs.
Around 19 the anxiety attacks began. At first it was small stuff like ‘is that person mad at me?’ or ‘did I study enough for this test?’ Over the years it got worse; a small conflict would have me hyperventilating, a friend raising their voice meant they were going to leave me forever. Any grade below an A was a complete failure. I was a C average student in high school. I never even had a hope of attending college because I was so lazy in high school. At first, the anxiety helped me immensely. I became a top student totally out of the blue. But now, I have to plan my entire week around my increasing social anxiety and paranoia.
By the time I hit 21, I had attempted suicide twice and was continually putting myself in more and more dangerous and reckless situations. I was abusing alcohol and drugs to cover up my failures and flaws. And I allowed myself to be emotionally abused and manipulated, because I thought that was the best I could do. I didn’t see myself deserving of love and respect, so I didn’t demand it for myself. When I finally realized what he was doing and who he really was, I was too addicted to the measured affection to do anything about it. When I ‘broke up’ with him, it was easily twisted by him into me being crazy and dramatic and toxic. Because by the time I realized it was a problem, it was a PROBLEM. And instead of handling it well, I lashed out like a cornered animal and lived up to the names he called me.
I graduated college, and left the state without saying goodbye to any of my ‘friends’. I don’t think I’ve talked to a single friend from college since. I’ll admit that the cold shoulder is a very manipulative habit I recently managed to break. As a way of proving that I was worthless and pathetic, my brain would convince me to disable my phone for hours, even days on end, so that I could see how people react to me just ‘disappearing’. And every time when I would turn my phone back on, there’d be nothing. No one noticed. No one cared. And it was the fodder my brain used to push me towards suicide. It still is.
Less than a year after college was over, I joined the Army. And for the first time in my life I felt important, necessary. I was actually good at it! I was succeeding where others weren’t. For the first time in 24 years, I felt true happiness and belonging. Learning languages had been the one constant, a reliable source of self worth and encouragement. Languages are just easy for me. Then I went to a school meant for people like me. The Defense Language Institute. Part way through training, the feelings of worthlessness crept back in. I wasn’t doing nearly as well as I thought I would be. The one thing I thought I was gonna be the best at, I was merely mediocre at. And the anxiety, the stress of keeping up with my friends and peers, made things worse. As the training continued, my feelings of worthlessness increased exponentially. By the time I was heading off to my first unit, I was terrified that I would be a massive disappointment and failure.
But somehow I made a good impression. I was liked by my superiors, I did my job well, I was exceeding all expectations. I was in a truly good place in my life. And in November of 2019, for the first time in nearly four years, I fantasized about taking my own life again. And in the following 18 months, my entire life would crumble and go up in flames before my very eyes.
Before continuing on, a few things need to be said: 1) This next section will go into more detail about suicide attempts and ideations, and will include mentions of self harm. 2) There will be mentions of sexual assault. And finally, my entire concept of self worth, up to this point in my life, was built on a VERY fragile foundation. Even after 11 years of experiencing depression, I still hadn’t received any serious treatment or counseling for what I was going through. When I tried to talk to my parents about it, it was always brushed off as ‘being in my head’ or ‘a cry for attention’. So I always did my best to hide what I was feeling, to push it down and just be happy. But bottles break, containers overflow. And so did my brain. My post was on lockdown end of March to end of May. Those two months were packed full of good memories, good times and good people. It was the best vacation any of us could have hoped for. Except for one aspect I hadn’t anticipated. The lack of praise from my superiors and peers ate away at my fragile self worth. That mixed with the highly toxic leadership situation at my unit, led to me attempting to drown myself. I celebrated my 27th birthday in the Behavioral Health Unit of the hospital.
The support and encouragement I received upon my release was astounding. And for some time I felt like I mattered. But a week in the psych ward, plus weekly tele health sessions with a counselor (not a licensed psychiatrist but a social worker) wasn’t going to fix over a decade of issues and a whole hoard of generational issues. But the Army thought it was. So when I attempted to slash my wrists open 3 months later, instead of support and encouragement, I was met with separation paperwork upon my release from the hospital. Had I been at any other unit, they would have attempted to help me. Even if I’d been at a different brigade at my post, they would have done more. But, my unit decided I was a lost cause after 3 months. And all the progress I had made towards a sense of self worth and retraining my brain was gone. The regression of mental stability that occurred over the next few months still terrifies me. I’m not sure if it’s because of the excessive drinking, or just the sheer force of trauma, but there’s a lot from the end of 2020 that I don’t remember.
I was released from the hospital on September 17th. By the beginning of October, I had been removed from my platoon (the only source of support in my unit I had left), my security clearance was suspended (and I would have to be stable for a full year to reactivate it), most of my friends wanted nothing to do with me anymore (apparently it was a little too ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf’ for them now), the promotable status that I’d worked my ass off to achieve was revoked, I was flagged (essentially put on probation), and no one would give me a straight answer on whether I could fight this separation or not. I started to depend on a friend who I thought understood what I was going through. A friend I thought would have my back. December rolled around and right before I got to go home and see my family for the first time in over a year, I get brought into CID and told that this ‘friend’ was accusing me of sexually assaulting him.
The night in question, I don’t even remember getting to his place. To add a little context, shortly before I tried to drown myself, I had been raped. It was my fault. I was drunk, and rather than going back to my room, I asked my friend if I could stay the night with him. I woke up halfway through and didn’t fully comprehend what was going on til it was over. So when CID told me that the one person I had trusted, this ‘friend’, had accused me of sexually assaulting him… I can’t even begin to describe the hatred and anger I had for myself in those days. After my interrogation, I went home and bought the most expensive things on my family’s Christmas lists. And my plan was when I got back to post after the New Year, I was gonna take my own life and save everyone the pain and embarrassment of finding out what had happened. My family still doesn’t know. I’m not really sure why I didn’t go through with my plan. At the time, I guess I had some newfound drive to fix my life. It didn’t last long. Within three months I was depressed and hopeless again. I was in a state of limbo, not sure when I was getting out, or if I would be going to jail for sexual assault.
After four, almost five months of waiting to hear something, anything, I was told that the investigation flag was being removed and the separation flag was being put back on. No explanation, no words other than ‘it was unfounded’. I thought I was going to jail. I thought, if there’s any real justice in this world, I deserve to go to jail if he really believes that’s what happened. No one said anything to me. No one expressed support, or even concern over an extremely suicidal soldier being accused of sexual assault. My direct superiors, the NCO’s I reported to, weren’t even aware of any of it until I told them. My unit acted like I had the Black Plague and was doing everything I could to spread it to everyone around me. The family I was supposed to trust with my life, the people I was willing to go to battle with and die for, they just abandoned me. The life, the career that I’d been working towards for nearly 10 years now was destroyed. And nothing hurt more than the flippant way they dismissed me, as if less than a year before I hadn’t blown away the competition at the Promotion Board, like I didn’t manage extremely sensitive, necessary equipment for the entire battalion, like I hadn’t been a star soldier before May 2020.
And as the icing on the cake, in a quick and very underhanded way, I was given a General discharge. Four weeks before I was supposed to go on Terminal Leave and officially be a civilian again, I get called into the office cause there was a problem at legal and we needed to resubmit something for my packet. I was told to re-sign something I had already signed. And a week later when I went to get my packet from legal, I found out that instead of the Honorable they had originally told me I was getting, I would be getting a General discharge. With the chapter I received, unless there is documented legal charges against the soldier (which I didn’t have any), soldiers with my chapter receive an Honorable. The Army had found one last way to screw me over, right when I thought I was free.
The flag, or probation, I mentioned earlier prevented me from receiving training or courses for a new career through Transition Services before I left the Army. And now the General discharge would block me from receiving the GI Bill after my discharge, and prevent me from getting help in receiving training in a new career. So to sum up, the Army fired me from my job, made it impossible for me to ever return to that job (by denying me the annual language training that was required to maintain status as a linguist and suspending my security clearance), and then effectively blocked me from receiving any training or education for a new career field after my discharge. More accurately, they blocked me from receiving affordable training. I already have enough in student loans from the now useless university degrees.
The past two years broke me in a way I never thought possible. I once thought I was strong enough to weather any storm that crossed my way. I was wrong. I fully acknowledge that it was my own mistakes that caused all of this. I have no one to blame but myself. I made stupid choices, and reckless decisions.
But we can’t change the past, as much as we wish we could. I try my best not to dwell on what happened, and to focus on moving forward. It’s harder some days than others. I know that for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be, I am going to be struggling with my mental health. I am going to be fighting against my own brain to survive. I will have to deal with BPD for the rest of my life.
But I WILL NOT let it control me. I will not let it destroy me. And I will not let it drag me down to rock bottom again.
I mean, it probably will, but I’ll do my darndest to not let it.