The Jim Effect

In 1979 my life changed. I crashed a military airplane. It only took a few seconds, but the near-death experience would unequivocally and permanently alter the rest of my life. My relationship with my family, my ability to work, and view of myself would never be the same.

Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was hardly even a fragment in someone’s imagination at the time, so I did not seek counseling nor was any seriously offered. Military medicine was embarrassingly negligent. A series of unexplained symptoms increased in severity until an extremely stressful incident in 2008 brought all my past unresolved issues to a head. I fell into a tailspin and retired unceremoniously from all work on a psychological disability. I was in total crisis.

I became a professional patient and sought explanations to what was going on with my body and my mind. But in only a few weeks I received a diagnosis. The good news: we knew the problem. The bad news: PTSD is a mental illness. Until you have experienced being diagnosed with mental illness, you have no idea how society treats such individuals. To read about the symptoms and the effects don’t do it justice.

So imagine yourself walking through a sunny parking lot. It’s a Sunday afternoon and you’re out running errands. You see someone you know—a leader in your community known for his political activism. You watch him make eye contact with you, but then avert his eyes. He ducks quickly into his car, turns the key and drives off.

But I don’t need to imagine. It happened. The only thing I needed to imagine was whether wearing a sign saying, “Don’t worry, PTSD isn’t contagious” would have helped.

Successfully dealing with mental illness on your own is simply not possible. It’s no easier than trying to walk on a broken foot without a crutch. Intuitively I knew to seek help from the Department of Veterans Affairs. But being able to crack the nut of making a case, being correctly classified, approved, and then be scheduled for treatment wasn’t an easy task. It would take more than a year but I eventually read about an organization with a class offering some hope. Its name was NAMI and the class was called Peer-to-Peer.

I fought the instinct to leave the group. I didn’t feel like I belonged. I didn’t have schizophrenia. I didn’t have bipolar. I wasn’t one of “them.” But after hearing their stories and accounts of what they learned I realized I had much to gain from them. I realized that despite a different name for my illness, we had many things to share. The class wasn’t easy—I continued to struggle with acceptance—but I eventually made it through the entire course.

Making the transition from initial diagnosis to becoming part of a new club, to what to do next was aided by a single graphic used in Peer-to-Peer and NAMI Connection Peer Recovery Support Groups. The Stages of Emotional Response to Trauma chart showed me the path leading to a predictable and better end state. I was certainly still in crisis at that time, but as I learned to cope, I would gain knowledge and skills leading me to a new reality: advocacy.

One of my Peer-to-Peer instructors asked me to attend the next NAMI Connection facilitator training. I went and discovered every single one of my fellow students was also diagnosed with PTSD. I learned, I practiced, and I set up a new group.

Facilitating a NAMI Connection support group on a weekly basis was extraordinarily rewarding. I saw fragile souls blossom as they met with like individuals who suffered the same judgment by friends and family, dealt with unjustified inner shame, and shared their hopes and fears for a better life. Support groups are not therapy, but ask any therapist and they will tell you they are a welcome addition to any recovery plan. Each time I concluded one of my groups, I would call my wife and tell her I was on my way home and glad I had been able to make a difference to someone in need.

My role within NAMI grew over the years as I realized I was good at being a facilitator. In turn, it helped me cope too. As a former educator, I found I had a knack for helping others with mental illness take on the role of facilitator. My training audience expanded outside of my State, and I found myself called upon to help my fellow veterans wherever they lived. We took facilitator training into the criminal justice system. For two years now, NAMI Connection groups have been run inside the largest jail in my state and facilitated by inmates with mental illness. Our first inmate facilitator became active with a NAMI Affiliate upon his release and now facilitates groups every week. Because of his volunteer activities with NAMI, a judge reduced his probation conditions. This change that I have helped bring about in just this one individual makes my work with NAMI more fulfilling than anything I have ever done.

NAMI is an example of an organization that offers hope to people like me who needed to be shown the path to recovery. NAMI offers hope to family members who are beside themselves in trying to deal with people like me. The need is great, but the reward is even greater. The reward multiplies as each individual comes to term with their new realities. Their connection with NAMI provides continued hope to themselves and to those they meet. I will always say yes to NAMI because NAMI was there for me and my family when we most needed optimism. I trust you too will say yes and help us help all people who need hope.