The Testimony of Invisible Scars

 

The Testimony of Invisible Scars

            God has delivered. God has provided. Even when I was at my lowest. He was there.

            I take medication for my schizophrenia. It really busted out of my psyche when I experience hazing in the United States Army. I was duct tape. Now was I acting out? Was I being disrespectful? Yes, but I didn’t deserve to be duct tape.

            Looking back I don’t think my relationship with God would be as strong as it is now had I not faced the storm.

            My parents provided a wonderful life for me to grow up. I grew up in a nice neighborhood. I even had a tv and stereo in my room. When I turned 16 they provided me with a car which I crashed. Were they upset with me? Oh yes very much so, but they got over it. Yes, I grew up in a loving home.

            In the army I probably could have been seen as a spoiled brat that drank all the time. It was probably self-medicating because of the voices and delusions going on in my head. I thought an ex-girlfriend and her family were in the desert stalking me and doing sexual favors for some of the soldiers to make my military life a living hell.  Things were falling apart around me. I had physical pain like foot pain. It was called plantar fasciitis. I had sheen splints. I was in tears one day when I fell out of the run. The section sergeant was screaming at me to stay with the group, but I was in so much pain.

            One day a higher-up officer was with our group ready to run. He came up to me and asked after advised by the section sergeant to tell him the first general order. I knew it in basic training but since then I had forgotten it. I didn’t just make the section sergeant look bad but also my fellow soldiers. 

            A soldier’s routine consists of ironing your BDU’s- your uniform. I never learned how, and no one was willing to show me. I eventually got an article 15 which was a punishment that has a work detail apart of it. It was pretty much yard work like trimming the bushes at Headquarters. I was in the Mojave Desert so most of the grounds were gravel beds. We didn’t have to mow.

            I was also on CQ which is like a guard or receptionist for the barracks. It lasted 24 hours. I came back from the work detail, and I was tired. I still had to do my duties at CQ which was cleaning the barracks like vacuuming all three floors, cleaning the lint in the dryer traps in the laundry room.

            The sergeant said I could take a nap before I do my duties at CQ. I told him if I was going to complete it, I would have to do it now, because I was motivated. If I slept, I would be out for several hours. He kept at it despite my reasoning to complete my work as soon as possible. I slept on the couch of the tv room, and I was in a deep sleep when the sergeant was franticly waking me up to do my duties at CQ. I was not motivated and I guess I was just going through the motions. I had just a few hours to clean the whole building. The sergeant eventually got involved.

            To make a long story short, he took me outside and smoked me. During my military career, I had been smoked a lot. That night the sun was starting to come up as I ran sprints and did pushups. Finally, he woke up my section sergeant who probably hated my guts then.

            This was my opinion, yes, I was tired after the work detail, but if they had listened to me saying I could do my duties when I got back then I could clean the barracks with hours to spare.

            My section sergeant and the other sergeant took me to headquarters to tell the first sergeant what was going on. There were a few NCO’s in the first sergeant’s office. At this point, I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, because it had been a long day. I probably could have gotten another article 15, but they had mercy on me and said I could go back to the barracks.

            It was safe to say the army wasn’t a good fit for me. I remember I was on my single size bed, and I was literary crying out to God for help. The only thing I had was God. The NCO’s and other soldiers hated my guts.

            I started praying again and thought I could hear God. He told me to go to mental health on base. After I took a test they sent me to a psych ward. I was put on medication, but still thought I had special powers. Finally, I got an Honorable discharge.

            That night at Cq was a hard thing to go through along with the duct taping. In the end I drove home with a schizophrenic mind all the way from California to Virginia. I had voices in my head and felt some delusions. I don’t know how I didn’t get lost.

            I got back to my parent’s house, and that was the beginning of my fight with psychosis.

            I was safe but there was a storm in my mind. I was a textbook case of schizophrenia, but I didn’t agree with my diagnosis, I thought I had special powers. I didn’t resemble the son my parents raised. I was manic paranoid ball of psychosis. I was out of control. I was a danger to myself and others, so my parents called the police, and I was taken away. Even in the grips of psychosis God gave me an eased mind. I thought I was finally going to get help.    

            At the beginning of my recovery, I was hospitalized, then I went to a homeless respite, I went to a furnished room, and then my VA claim came though which made me financially stabled. In the homeless respite, my medication started working and I started to agree with my diagnosis of schizophrenia. God had helped me and I felt blessed. Now I have my own apartment. I go to the Va in my town every month for meds. I am a writer, and been published several times. I volunteer for the share network which partner with Janssen pharmaceuticals. I now work in the veteran’s council which is the voice for veterans.

            Yes, God had delivered. God has provided. Looking back on my military service, I believe I was wronged because my superiors did not know how to handle a private with a severe mental illness. They were wronged because they were not trained to handle someone with a severe mental illness. I have forgiven my fellow soldiers and hope they are living the good life.