the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

Executive brief: I'm getting better every day, so don't worry. 

This morning, I saw a picture of a young female Air Force captain--whom I did not know--who has committed suicide, and I feel compelled to share my story.  

I have not tried to commit suicide. I do, however, know how it feels to lie awake at night wondering if there's a point to going on. 

I'm not a failure--not in my eyes, anyway. I have a huge network of friends, an amazing and beautiful wife who loves me, a beautiful home, financial solvency. I am fairly strong and healthy, I have hobbies I enjoy, pets who bring me happiness and pleasure, and a job I love, which brings me fulfillment. I have skills and plans and art in my life. I laugh a lot. There's nothing wrong with me. But there is: I have an ongoing problem with depression. 

People who don't have depression think all you have to do is get out more, see friends, exercise! Etc. It doesn't work that way, though. It's strangely insidious, sapping your interest and motivation behind your back until one day, you wake up and realize you don't care anymore. About anything.  

This happened to me sometime in January. But I get ahead of myself. 

As I've described, this doesn't just "happen." But...it kinda does. It's difficult to explain. 

I knew, around Thanksgiving and later, that I was more angry than usual. Anger is a strange emotion, when you think about it. It doesn't just pop up by itself; it rides on the back of pain, or some form of it (such as fear, worry, or guilt). As my anger rose, I tried to root out the causes and deal with them. I'd just been turned down for an academic promotion, which I admit hurt and, to some degree, offended my sense of justice.* I fought to shake it off and press on; after all, it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of my life. I don't plan to pursue a PhD or a career in teaching when I retire. It didn't really matter (nonetheless, it mattered enough for me to pointedly fulfill all the requirements and apply). 

* I was informed that, in addition to the regulation that states requirements for all academic ranks, there are "unwritten expectations" which I did not meet. The "unwritten expectation" for the rank I sought is a written expectation for all ranks above the one I sought, so you might understand why I feel wronged, somehow. 

This particular hurt was surprisingly persistent, even though I was otherwise having a great semester. My students put in the extra time and work and amazed me with their final projects. I was on schedule with my lesson prep and grading all semester. 

I'd been on Prozac for years, incidentally, but I'd gone off of it in May last year. It "flattens" my emotions, which is not workable in the long term. And I'd been great for months. I think the academic promotion thing was the initial trigger. I couldn't seem to bounce back. 

Around this time, Mich was having some issues of her own, which amplified my anxiety. We went on vacation to Vegas and enjoyed ourselves, but I was sinking more into a funk all the time. We got out of the house over the holidays and celebrated with friends, then the new semester began, and I had not finished my syllabus. More stress--so I focused on finishing it and getting ahead in my lesson prep again. Michelle's issues went away mid-January, but I was still sinking, somehow. No matter what I did, I was just...a little lower every day. I began to lie awake at night, staring into the darkness, thinking about my life and wondering what the struggle was for. I went to class and my students seemed so far away. I taught and performed, but I didn't feel it. I couldn't feel the connection.

It's like when your sinuses get so stopped up with a nasty head cold that everybody sounds very far away, except with depression, you're emotionally stopped up. You're in a fishbowl, and everyone else is out there somewhere, and you can't figure out how to connect with them.

That's when I gave up. The last Wednesday in January, I told Michelle I was going to get an appointment with my doctor and get back on antidepressants. I immediately called the Tricare appointment line (it was 0700), and was told that they could get me in to see my doctor within a couple of weeks. I hung up and went to work, where I contacted my doctor's team through MiCare, asking for an appointment ASAP. I was in his office two days later. (That same day, I'd gotten my final Promotion Recommendation Form and learned that I was shafted this year; last year, I had a good PRF; this year? No; I was deliberately "damned with faint praise." So there was that, too.)

I told my primary care manager that I'd been sinking over the past couple of months, dealing with disappointments and stress, and had been drinking again. My drinking wasn't bad yet, and it wasn't going to get there. I needed to go back on antidepressants immediately, please. He did this and at my request, referred me to mental health so I could see a (new) therapist. I wasted no time beginning the medication and getting an appointment with my new therapist. I was scheduled to meet him at 1pm the following Tuesday, although I was to show up at 12:30 to do some intake paperwork with Maj Archer. I said ok.

I was there at 12:20. At 1pm, Maj Archer called me into his office and asked me why I was there. I was a bit confused, but figured they were running behind. I told him I'd just recently gone back on antidepressants and was here to see a therapist about my depression because over the past couple of months I'd been dealing with some stressors, sinking anyway, and I'd begun drinking again. As soon as I mentioned drinking, the conversation changed. He started going down their list of "Do you have a problem with alcohol?" questions. It has stuff like, do you ever drink more than you'd planned to? (no) Do you ever wake up and need an "eye-opener" in the morning? (no) And so on. Right about there, he paused and said, "You've gotta give me something...." 

Something for what?! I don't know.

I didn't mention, but from the moment I walked in, he made lame jokes about trying to watch his grammar since I was an English teacher, and tried to engage me in light conversation for a bit which served only to convince me that he (1) isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and (2) I intimidated him in some indefinable way. I was not even in uniform, but we're both majors anyway, so that's a wash. It was weird, but I did nothing to set him at ease, either. He was--somehow--rubbing me the wrong way. He was taking up my scheduled therapist time, but it was...something else. I don't know. 

His next question was "Do you have a tolerance?" I said, "Of course."* Apparently, this gave him what he was waiting for, and he announced that he would have to refer me to ADAPT. 

* As my friend Nicola says, "Everybody has a tolerance. That's like asking, 'Do you have a height?'" 

I sighed deeply and said, "Please don't." ADAPT is the military's Alcohol and Drug Abuse Prevention Team. It's a 6-9 month program, I think, where you are diagnosed into one of four "categories" and do anything from read a little literature to attend meetings to serving time in a detox clinic. "I am an atheist," I said. "ADAPT is based on Alcoholics Anonymous, which is religiously based. If for any reason I am forced into that program, I will go immediately to the Area Defense Council and raise holy hell. Don't do it." 

He said, "I know.... I had an airman once who went through six months of the program and all he had to do to pass was to walk in and say he believed in a Higher Power. He wouldn't do it. I begged him to just...walk in there and say it. He refused and failed the program." He paused, then said, "As your clinician"--so that's who he is?--"it is my job to oversee your medications and I am also obligated to refer you to ADAPT. I can also refer you to one of our therapists. Dr. Galvin, I'm told, has a very good record working with women. You can fire us if you like...."

I said, "You're fired."

He laughed, a bit nervously. I said, "I had an appointment for 1pm today with Dr. Galvin. I was only supposed to spend 30 minutes before that with you, but"--I looked at my watch--"I should have been talking with him about my depression during this time you've sucked up."

Maj Archer looked at his computer and said, "Not according to my schedule. You were supposed to be with me for 1 hour." 

I stood and gathered my things. I asked, "Are you going to refer me to ADAPT?"

He sighed and said, "I have to." 

I said, "You're still fired. Now...since I'm already here, let's go find the ADAPT people so we can do the paperwork where I say I'm not interested in their treatment."  

He followed me out, then led me around to the offices where they'd normally be, but no one was extant except a senior airman in the front office. By now, it was 2:40 and Maj Archer had spent over 1.5 hours ignoring my depression while trying to get me to voluntarily go into their ADAPT program. I was, in a word, furious. My voice, however, was calm, detached, and professional. I was utterly in control of the situation. 

Maj Archer tried to get information on some secular options available through ADAPT from the hapless senior airman, who didn't have the information. Finally, Maj Archer turned to me and said, "Can you come back in a week and we'll have some answers for you?"

I peered at him like it had just struck me that he was an idiot, and said, "I fired you."

He laughed, nervously again. I looked into his eyes and calmly said, "Look. You do whatever it is you feel you need to do." Then I walked out. 

I was boiling when I got home, my anxiety levels high. I'd been on my new antidepressant for five days at that point and was beginning to see some tiny changes--enough, already, to relieve my urge to drink--but I was not yet in a position to deal with bullshit like this. 

It just so happened that Mich had an appointment the next day in the same office with a different therapist. When she walked in, several therapists were standing in the hall discussing someone's case in a loud voice. It was immediately apparent that they were discussing me. Her doctor just sighed and said, "Your wife...."

She learned that they were discussing the possibility of getting my commander to direct me into the ADAPT program. 

Oh. Really?! 

The next morning--I'd been arriving at work earlier and earlier, thanks to my new medications--I made an appointment with my department head for as soon as I could. I laid everything out for her. She said she thought it might be a good idea for me to do the ADAPT program, in her opinion, but it was "foul play" for them to schedule an appointment for me with a therapist then leave me with some guy who ignored the reason I'd self-referred in the first place so he could try to force me into his pet program (my words, mostly). I asked only that if they did decide to try to get me into command-directed ADAPT participation, that I be granted an audience with the commander who would make the decision. At the very least, I wanted my side heard before he made his decision. She said she would do that. I thanked her and promised to keep her in the loop. 

A week came and went without any word. Meanwhile, I kept taking my medications and sleeping better. I saw my therapist for the first time, too. He seems nice and reasonable (unlike the last one who not only is Church of Christ himself, but constantly tried to push AA on me and who I dropped not long after he saw Mich and me together and asked which one of us was the man). I'm becoming interested in things again, finding joy here and there. I no longer feel as though I'm slowly settling to the bottom of the ocean. These are all good things. Then I got an email Thursday that I had a mandatory 0800 appointment with the ADAPT folks Friday morning.

I figured it wouldn't be a problem. I was covering two morning classes for a fellow instructor, but they didn't start until 0930. I should be finished before then. 

I appeared at 0820, filled out my "quality of life" survey (it's a simplistic diagnostic tool that presumably gives them a feel for your emotional "temperature." It's ok, as far as these things go, but so dangerously limited--just like their "alcohol abuse" questions). I was told to go down to Family Advocacy for my appointment, where I rang the bell until someone produced a sheaf of papers with questions about my mental state, my alcohol use, my education level, how many friends I have, my family history.... 

They disappeared and I spent about 30 minutes with the questions, many of which I skipped over. I rang for someone when I was ready to discuss them, but no one appeared. I walked into the hall where I had a phone signal and called the office to ask a sweet young captain to cover those classes for me that morning because I was trapped in medical hell. He said, "No problem, Ma'am." I went and rang the bell again. Finally, someone came to the door. I asked for SSgt Hill, and she disappeared. He came to the door and said he thought I'd ring the bell when I was finished with the questions. I said I had--twice. 

Once again, I was swiftly moving from an acceptable, reasonable mood to a not-so-good mood. We went to his office. He brought in another Staff Sergeant (a trainee), then said, "Do you know why you're here?" 

I said, "You know..." I leaned forward, interested. "No. Please. I want to hear this." 

He said, "Well, it seems that you hurt yourself--head trauma, I think--while under the influence of alcohol. Because of this, you've been referred...."

"SSgt Hill, do you know when that happened?"

"No Ma'am." 

"23 February 2014. Not three weeks after that, I was in the ADAPT office waiving the program." 

He smiled and said, "I remember you, Ma'am!" 

I said, "Why the fuck am I in here again for the same thing?"

He looked genuinely confused. "I don't know, Ma'am. This is highly irregular." 

ME: I'm sorry. I don't mean to take this out on you. While I'm here, though, can you tell me what the ADAPT program is, exactly? There is a veritable black hole of information available concerning what the 'treatment' actually consists of." I'd been looking online and had found nothing, which is, you must admit, suspect at the very least. I'd asked SSgt Hill the first time we'd met if it used the AA model and he'd acknowledged that it had, which was the only inside information I had--but not even in writing. 

This time, he said that they diagnose the patient into one of four possible categories, and based on the category, they might be worked with on an outpatient basis or an inpatient basis. They work with local agencies, including Cedar Springs. I am aware that Cedar Springs has a secular addiction group, among other things, so I took this as good news. At some point, though, he commented that "a Higher Power can be anything; it can be yourself." 

Ah. So I was right. We are ultimately talking about a (possibly command-directed) religiously-based program. If a member is command-directed to complete the program and they do not complete it, it is grounds for administrative discharge from the military. 

In short, command-directed religion. 

I was not directed to do it, though, and I waived it again. When I went to the colonel in the Dean of Faculty who has the G-series orders for his signature, he told me that my boss had told him about what had happened when I went to mental health, and he wanted to make sure they'd gotten their stuff straight. I said they appeared to have done so. He said that if I get any more such negligent treatment, I'm to go directly to him. I thanked him and left. 

Now. This happened to me. I know the military pretty well and I'm of a rank that people generally don't try to fuck around with. But this still happened to me when I self-referred to mental health to seek help for my depression. 

Who else has gone through this...this shit?! How much does the Department of Defense really care that some of us really are hanging on by a thread, and that ignoring their pain to push them into some other program just may break that thread?

If this therapist does not work out, I will never return to the mental health clinic here again. Ever. Nor, at this point, would I recommend it to anyone else. 

***

As an aside: The top page of disclaimers for the ADAPT program, which I was supposed to read thoroughly then sign that I accepted the program (which I didn't sign, of course), had this (I know the photo is outsized; I'm leaving it that way to make sure it's legible): 

In case you missed it, they're still using a form that says that one of the things--should it come out in course of my ADAPT treatment--that they don't have to keep confidential is "Where an active duty member engages in homosexual behavior, etc." The Don't Ask, Don't Tell law was officially repealed December 22, 2010. We were all told to stay quiet while The Powers That Be made sure the services could handle it, and changed the regulations and such (including paperwork like this), and were only allowed to official "be gay" on 20 September 2011. So...our Mental Health clinic has somehow accidentally (?!) overlooked this item on their intake paperwork for over four years. Yeah, right. 

Pardon my cynicism, but there is no good reason for it to be on there at this late date. None. In all this time, I refuse to believe that they simply didn't notice. 

Well, I did. Before I left, even the commander of the mental health clinic--a major herself--told me at the end of our chat about my waiver, "Oh, and thank you for pointing out the problem with our paperwork. We'll get it fixed immediately." 

It seems my comment worked as designed. It made the rounds, and quickly. 

d