06/28/2024
Seven years ago I moved back to Virginia. My dad bought an suv, drove to Arizona, picked me and my dog up, and made the long trip back. Made even longer by all of my belongings being stolen while we were asleep at a hotel. I had been struggling with my mental health and that was made worse by my medications having been stolen with the rest of my stuff. I was home for a couple of weeks when everyone had had enough of the mental state I was in and my grandma took me to the community services board to get me help. They immediately put me back in the antipsychotics that keep me connected to this world, and put me in adult partial hospitalization. Most of my friends didn’t know me then, or they knew me then but haven’t seen me since. I could not engage in treatment. I didn’t care about getting better. I didn’t think I could get better. In the past seven years I have done adult partial hospitalization six times. I was in care csu once, Brandon house csu once, dominion mental hospital trauma unit once, and wellness circle csu (crisis care) like 18 times(I lost count at 15). There was one summer that I was at crisis care longer than I was at home. I was depressed. I was anxious. I was actively hallucinating, engaging in delusional thought patterns and crippled by my intrusive thoughts. I didn’t want to be part of this world anymore, and I was determined to get people to stop trying to help me. But they didn’t. Every time I showed up to wellness circle I was greeted with understanding, care, love, patience, and determination that they would let me know that none of them were about to give up on me. During that time I also spent time in the ICU with half my blood clotted, had a number of bad allergic reactions that led me to be on a medication that messed up my psych meds, had six jobs before finding my place at Bishops events, and dealt with loss. Lots of loss. It has been hard. That’s an understatement. I’m packing now, moving back to Arizona at the end of next month. Putting things in boxes is scary. And it seems like everyone I take something off the wall I get a wave of emotions. Art that I made in recovery. Poems that I wrote. Quotes that were printed and given to me to remind me of how other people saw my recovery. Seven years ago I did my first Aph program, and ended up in crisis care during the program. This was before I was assigned to my care team who have all been incredible. The person I was assigned too fought with me the entire summer to engage in treatment. At the end of the program they give you a certificate and a sheet of quotes they have prepared for you. But there was a third sheet of paper in my folder. It was a much brighter color orange when I put it on my wall seven years ago. It took me years to understand this. It took me years to believe this. But it’s now my best quality. I am awesome!!!! Live is awesome!!!!!! Moving is terrifying but equally awesome!!!!! For everyone that didn’t know me seven years ago, you don’t even know cause that was a completely different Jack. For those that did know me, I’ll see you in a couple weeks and can’t wait for you to meet the new me. Thank you to everyone who has been a part of my recovery. Thank you to everyone who is always excited to see me. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. Thank you to my incredible dad who has given me more chances than I could have ever asked for. Thank you to my gmaaaaaaaaa for bringing me to the care I needed. And thank you to myself, Jack, for never giving up, even when I thought I had, because if I had I wouldn’t been here writing this post right now. And if you’ve read this whole post, thank you for being invested in my recovery story.
