Sometimes when I sit down to write I don’t even know where to start. I am trying my best to be as honest and as forthright as I can about how it is that alcoholism and mental illness landed us here. While some things are simply too personal and too painful to write about, I know that in order to stay true to my intentions of this blog, I have to be willing to share at least some of the very raw, very real details and, believe me, it is incredibly hard to do. So, please bear with me this week as I share a little bit more of Jamie’s last months with us.
The truth is that September 27, 2017 was the first time I feared for my brother’s life. He called me early at work that morning. He was sobbing and he begged me to come to him. I dropped everything at my desk and I left immediately. I kept him on the phone with me until I got to his front door. I found him on his couch and he looked like absolute death. He had been on a drinking bender of epic proportions and had nearly drank himself to death. He was coming off his drunk and he was sick. Real sick. I was able to sit him up just far enough to squeeze myself under him and take a seat on the couch. Then I cradled my big brother in my lap and in my arms as if he was a child. I cried with him. I pleaded with him. I prayed for him and I told him over and over and over again how much I loved him.
That morning he did, in fact, contact his employer rep at BNSF and ask to seek treatment. With her help we got him enrolled immediately into the 3rd best treatment facility in the country. The very next morning my parents put him on a plane to Knoxville, TN. It was the most hopeful day of our lives. He spent the month of October in rehab. He called me 3 times a week while he was there and those conversations, though very short, were probably the most cherished conversations I ever had with my brother.
He came home on October 31st. Two short days later he relapsed. There began his fast descent. His drinking spiraled even more out of control. He was at an all-time low and as a family we were helpless. The fact is Jamie didn’t go to rehab because he truly thought he was an alcoholic and wanted sobriety. He went to rehab because he thought that going would help him sway his wife’s decision to file for divorce. His elevated drinking then catapulted him into a dark depression unlike anything I have ever witnessed. We tried desperately to get him help for that too; doctor after doctor after doctor. Once again, we couldn’t get Jamie to take ownership over anything. He refused treatment and medication and day by day he became more and more withdrawn.
Sunday morning as I was scrolling through my Facebook feed this headline caught my attention: “Veteran Commits Suicide Hours After Being Turned Away at VA Facility”. The article is a few years old, so I am not really sure why it was trending on social media again. Nonetheless, I clicked on the link to read it. It told me of a 33 year old former Marine and Army National Guardsman that went to the Iowa City VA Medical Center on July 7, 2016 to seek help. He wasn’t a new patient there. In fact, they were familiar with his background as he had been going there for at least a year to seek treatment for PTSD and for substance abuse and addiction. He told them that he was having “serious mental issues” and he asked to be admitted to 9W (their psychiatric ward). They denied him admittance and sent him away. A few hours later he killed himself.
Every suicide I have heard about since April 3rd has set me into an emotional tailspin all over again. My heart literally can’t handle it. It didn’t matter that this article was 2 years old and it didn’t matter that I never knew this solider personally. His story did me in. I sat on my couch and I cried. I am not talking about a few tears either. I am talking about the ugly cry. It was the kind of cry that my neighbors probably heard because my windows were open. It was the kind of cry that my husband and children have become accustomed to over the last 4 months; the kind of cry that they know no amount of consoling will stifle. I was absolutely beside myself.
What was it about that soldier’s tragic story that impacted me so greatly and what does it have to do with my brother? I have been thinking about that myself the last few days. What many people don’t understand is that when a person has an addiction to anything whether it be alcohol or drugs their addiction doesn’t belong to just the addict, but to every single person in their inner circle. Our family was no exception. Jamie’s alcoholism never belonged to him alone. It belonged to ALL of us. He consumed, but we all suffered. As a family we recognized a long, long time ago that Jamie’s consumption went far beyond recreational and that he was, in fact, a true alcoholic. Over the years, and especially in those last 7 months of his life, we begged and pleaded with him, we cried out in desperation, and, yes, on many occasions we screamed out in anger at him. We so badly wanted him to be that solider. We wanted him to be brave enough to say “I need help”!!! It never mattered that we were willing to recognize his addiction to alcohol or his unbalanced mental status because unlike that brave soldier, Jamie never owned it.
Just simply writing about that soldier brings me to tears all over again. I am not going to pretend that after reading one article I know exactly what happened that day or that I know why he was denied admittance. The fact is I don’t know. But, I do know that he cried out for help and he was denied. In one way or the other the system failed him that day. The fact that he killed himself within hours of being turned away is proof enough of that. The mental health epidemic continues to eat away at our society and it continues to be brushed under the rug. Funding continues to get cut. I have been doing a lot of research lately and I have been absolutely shocked to learn that Iowa is ranked dead last in the country in providing institutional care for those suffering with mental illness. It actually makes me embarrassed to call myself an Iowan. The mental health system is broken. And, I don’t say that because of my brother. Jamie didn’t even give the system a chance to work for him. (I do feel that the system failed us in some ways as a family and I will get to that another day). But, for now, I just ask you to help me. I know we can't bring back the people like my brother or that soldier that the world has lost to suicide, but we can be their voice. We have to demand more or people will simply continue to die. I don’t know about you, but I am not ok with that.
XOXO - Jennifer
National Hotline for Suicide Prevention - 1-800-273-TALK (8255)