It has now grown to 10 names.
I didn’t know how to respond. I have an amazing support system and come from a religious background. I suffer because suicide isn’t an option. I cope through non conventional means and even some of my doctors are flabbergasted because by all means I should be a statistic.
I didn’t have an answer Jackson. I don’t really remember saying anything meaningful that would change his course. I started choking up trying to explain to him how I manage. We walked together to the chaplains office. I left him in Chaplain Webb’s hands. God’s greatest gift to us would be able to help Jackson as he had helped me.
Jackson soon went awol and never returned. I went through a medical evaluation board and was medically discharged. When I went one final time to turn in my gear, the supply sergeant informed me that one of my former soldiers owed $4500 in gear and that they needed to turn it in to avoid being charged for it. I almost shrugged it off but asked what soldier?
This motherfucker Jackson.
I called Jackson on the way home. I could feel his smile through the phone. He sounded truly happy. He had left Washington and moved back to North Carolina. He confessed and apologized. He was a heroin addict. He didn’t know how to cope with his buddy’s suicide. So that’s what he turned to so he could numb his pain. He would feel guilty and sober up enough to pass a piss test and then come to drill till he relapsed. I knew why he was grinning when he showed up.
I told the chain of command, who called him a piece of shit soldier, that he had issues and needed help and as the UPL I suggested we use the ASAP (army substance abuse program) to address this because he wasn’t a bad soldier he just needed help.
He apologized, but said he’s in a better place and Washington wasn’t helping him. He told me to tell the unit they can come get their $4500 because he’s not coming back.
It felt good to hear the change, but like all demons they come back and you’re never truly free. Summer 2018 rolled around. It’s been a year. We keep in contact on and off. It’s his buddy’s deathversary. Jackson relapses and ODs but survives. 2 weeks later. He’s dead from an overdose. North Carolina PD rules it a suicide. We don’t find out for a few months.
I feel like a failure. I spent countless nights up with other NCOs making sure he was taken care of. I couldn’t help him by explaining my own struggles. I’ve found ways to cope with other deaths.
Jackson’s death. I don’t know how to cope with that.
I’m not mad. I don’t question, “why?” None of the emotions I’ve felt with my other buddies. It’s just an endless sea of pain and misery. It’s suffocating. I bury that shit really deep. Deeper than any of the other shit associated with the other deaths I’ve had to work through.
I think it has to do with pouring so much into helping him and he ended up succumbing to his demons.
He left behind 2 little boys. They’re at the age where they couldn’t possibly comprehend why daddy isn’t around.
That just adds to the pain.
– Ryan Brazil
COMMENTS