Hitting rock bottom: One officer's tale of resilience and recovery

  • Published
  • By Capt. Anonymous
  • Air Education and Training Command
JOINT BASE SAN ANTONIO - RANDOLPH, Texas --  As a young boy growing up on Coronado Naval Air Station in San Diego, I used to watch my father fly A-6s in the Navy. His father had died at a young age, so he raised us the best way he knew how…through physical discipline, mental strength, and zero emotion. But he loved his three boys more than life itself and always told me, “If you join the military, join the Air Force. They take care of their people.” I never knew what that meant until now.

My earliest memory is sitting on his shoulders watching the Blue Angels scream overhead at an airshow and saying to myself, “I want to fly jets.” Every decision I made was intentionally to get me one step closer to that dream.

The first time I faced defeat was when my high school guidance counselor told me I “didn’t have the grades” for the Air Force Academy and I needed to “seek alternative options.” I ended up in a senior military college where I was broken down and built back up as a man who doesn’t show emotion, never quits, and never leaves a brother behind.

My newly forged character was first put to the test my junior year when I got an e-mail that read, “You have been disqualified from pilot/navigator selection.” Everything I had worked for was gone in a one-line email. After the initial shock, I decided to dust myself off and take whatever job the Air Force would give me. I used the disappointment as motivation and figured I would try again later. I passed my first tough guy character test.

I was put to the test again at age 23. A new Air Force officer, I had just met my wife and we were sitting in my apartment when my phone rang. It was a good friend from high school who I hadn’t talked to in a while. He cut right to the chase, “Hey man, I’m guessing you’ve heard about Paul.” I frantically responded, “No! Paul who? What is it?” He proceeded to tell me that my best friend in the entire world, the man closer to me than both of my biological brothers, had unexpectedly collapsed leading his Army Ranger platoon in a standard PT run. Paul was dead at 22 – a West Point graduate who could run 5-minute miles.

We had been on multiple diving trips together, rigorous mountain hikes, and long runs over the years. I instantly felt a shortness of breath, dropped the phone, and looked at my wife speechless.
My tough guy act crumbled in the blink of an eye. I spent the night staring at the wall with tears streaming down my face and didn’t say a word. My wife didn’t know what to say at the time, so she just sat there next to me and didn’t say a word all night. Looking back, that was the most helpful thing in the world. That was all I wanted at the time, to just not be alone.

I didn’t want to be kicked off my first deployment so I kept Paul’s death a secret and never told anyone. It was hidden right under the surface and the mention of his name brought the pain back instantly, so I never liked to talk about it. My wife knew that, and she was a tremendous support over the years. I seemed to be plagued by death over the next few years losing multiple uncles, grandparents, and friends from college. I grew colder every time, just holding it all in and never speaking up. I figured everyone goes through tough times, and the guy next to me probably had it worse.

Three deployments later, lots of funerals, and five years older I grew to be one pretty cold dude. I certainly wasn’t the loving, courageous and humble man my wife committed to five years earlier. I felt like I was a soda can being shaken up more every year. My wife was my only strength, and the one thing keeping the can from exploding. My wife is always so loving, supportive and positive with her words. She keeps me going when I want to quit.

Then one day, I received word that I could again reach my dream with acceptance to Air Force Undergraduate Pilot Training. I couldn’t believe it. This was our new beginning. I didn’t want to waste it.
We PCSed and I went full speed in my commitment to training. My wife knew how much it meant to me, and she was happy to support me through the process. It was a long year. I would come home exhausted, wave “hello” to her as I walked through the door and continued straight to my room to study until bedtime, sometimes falling asleep in my chair studying. The guys would go out on Friday nights, but I stayed in and studied. I studied every waking minute. I never felt burnt out because this was my dream. I enjoyed studying.
On top of it all, I had my dream girl as my wife. We rarely fought. She always smiled and was happy to see me when I came home. She would even help make my flash cards for me to study. Life couldn’t get better. Until one night when I walked in the door and she wasn’t smiling. She was crying. She uttered the words, “I can’t do this anymore.”

I initially laughed thinking it was a joke, but when she left with bags packed the next day, it became very real. I was completely blindsided. Just like losing Paul, I had so many questions. She and I never argued. There was no affair. I never laid a finger on her. It was completely out of the blue. I woke up the next day in a confused daze and did the only thing I did best, showed up to work.

The guys instantly knew something was up, but I was the class leader and wanted to look strong for them and set a good example. I had to be tough and suck it up, because that was my idea of being a man. The last thing I was going to do was tell someone or go see mental health and lose my dream.

I tried to keep pushing, but a few weeks later I started making mistakes I never make and failed four flights in two weeks. I was on a fast track to failing out and losing my dream on my own. A good friend in my class kept pushing me to speak up and go talk to someone about it, but graduation was only two months away. Besides everyone knew that going to visit mental health was the kiss of death. I could make it, right?

I decided to try journaling. Maybe it would help get my feelings off my chest. That way I didn’t have to tell anyone about my issues. I started journaling and left it on my desk every night. It didn’t help. I failed another flight. My buddy kept pressing me while we were out for lunch. I was absolutely exhausted from fighting it, so I caved and told him my problems. I agreed to tell my flight commander and talk to a professional. It had taken three months of denial to finally get to that point.

As my buddy and I walked back into the squadron, my squadron commander stopped me in the hallway, “Hey can I talk to you in my office for a minute?” My heart stopped. I figured it wasn’t about how well I was doing on my flights. Turns out my wife had come back home and found my notebook on my office desk. She called my commander and said she found a “suicide note” written by her husband.
In the blink of an eye, I figured I had lost it all – my dream and my wife. It was fun while it lasted, I thought, but I’ll never strap in a jet ever again. I’ve been labeled a suicide risk. It’s over. How could they ever let me fly again?

It was then that I finally understood what my dad meant when he told me, “The Air Force takes care of its people.”
After reading a few John Q. Public articles online, you‘d be convinced we are just pawns in a communist regime that holds ulterior motives, but that’s not my experience.

My commander put his career on the line for me and never hesitated once. He simply let me know the many options I had available to me and didn’t judge me. He never really talked about “the situation,” he just wanted to help me get better. I told him I wanted to talk to the chaplain, because all I remembered from the base welcome brief was they guaranteed full confidentiality. He drove me there himself to show his support. The chaplain was great, and he recommended I also talk to mental health. He explained they are the real professionals.

I told him I was scared that would be a career killer, and he looked at me and said, “Do you really have anything to lose at this point?” I laughed and he drove me over to the mental health clinic. There I was introduced to a young-looking captain, a mental therapist. I gave him the cold shoulder for the first three hours, judging him as inexperienced. He quickly proved me wrong.

The young captain said, “I know you think I’m here to take your future wings from you, but I’m actually here to fix the Air Force’s injured future pilot so we can get him back in the plane. The end goal is to get you back to 100 percent so you can fly again. Ending your dream? That’s not what we’re here for. Nobody is out to get you. Not your commander, not anybody. We all just want to get the old you back. I know that’s hard for you to believe with the stigma out there about us [mental health], so I’m going to have to ask you to take my word for it in an age where that carries no weight.”

Over the next two weeks, I spent every Monday, Wednesday and Friday with him, logging 15 hours together. Every day I felt stronger. It wasn’t like the movies where you lay down on a couch and they ask you to close your eyes and explain your feelings. It was not so much talking as it was learning. He taught me so many things that nobody ever teaches us growing up about how to handle overwhelming situations.

All the while my commander called me daily to check in and see my progress and let me know he was there for me. He never let me feel like a liability. He was my greatest support through the entire process. It meant a lot to see him drop his extremely busy schedule and worry about just one Airman.

I realized then that most commanders want that. It’s what they live for…to take care of their people. But their people rarely speak up because most of us are scared to ask for help in fear of career repercussions. Well, I guess you’re just going to have to take my word for it in an age where that doesn’t carry much weight.

I used to think all Airmen were normal and the few who weren’t went to mental health. That was for them, not us. It turns out everyone goes through trouble in life and nobody really knows how to handle it. Just ‘be a man’ and ‘suck it up’ don’t always cut it. We go to the gym to work out our muscles, but we neglect our brain. We have broken bones set and healed, yet when our mind hurts, we think it’s crazy to go to a doctor. That doesn’t make any sense. Everyone gets hit by unexpected trials. When that happens, don’t handle it alone and speak up sooner rather than later.

As for the whole career thing, after 14 days I was cleared medically to fly again with no restrictions – as if it never happened. I was in the jet two days later. One week later I flew solo in formation. I’m now on track to graduate in two months and achieve my childhood dream of being an Air Force pilot.

Everyone was so happy to see me back in the squadron and there were no whispers about me in the hallways. My wife ended up seeing the positive change that seeking help got me and chose to come back so we could work together on our marriage. We’re happier than we’ve ever been.

Doing it my way would have certainly ended up with me failing out of flight school, losing my dream, and losing my wife. Doing it their way got my dream back and my wife back. I’ll let you be the judge which way works better.