My Mental Health Origin Story

Image Source: Brett Jordan (Unsplash)

As I mentioned in my last blog entry, I will be sharing my mental health origin story in several installments. I originally wrote this essay in 2018 for a mental health anthology. All participants were asked to write 6,000 words, but because of the vast number of submissions, the editor reduced the following story to a few-page inclusion in the anthology.

However, now is as good a time as any to share this essay in its entirety. September is observed as Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. Although I never expressed suicidal ideation, I discuss my mental health struggles due to occupational injury exposures. By sharing, I hope that what I write will resonate with others who are still looming in the shadows of the stigma that surrounds mental health. Know that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but the greatest act of courage one can take to begin their healing journey. And so, it begins.

Cathartic: providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions.

Introduction
My name is Tim Grutzius, and for the last 24 years I have had the honor and privilege of serving the citizens of this world as a firefighter/paramedic (current rank of Lieutenant) in the Village of Alsip, Illinois. I am extremely humbled to have been asked to chronicle my healing journey from the full-blown throes of undiagnosed PTSD to my present pearls of wisdom.

It is always my mission to give hope to all who read the words penned in this narrative – whether they are a first responder or not. This story is about having a can-do attitude and never giving up in the face of adversity. I dedicate this essay to my wife Judy, who has my undying gratitude and love for weathering the storm these many years as a firefighter's wife.

The Early Days
Growing up in the 70s, I was at an impressionable age and easily captivated by television. From 1972 through 1977, I watched one of the most influential shows of the time (to me): Emergency! This was a procedural drama that followed the day in the life of Los Angeles County firefighter/paramedics John Gage, Roy DeSoto, and the crew of Station 51. This show was the first to bring the concept of paramedicine into the homes of the American public. At that time, there were very few paramedics in the United States; therefore, the show was groundbreaking.                                                                

Unlike today's television dramas, Emergency had very little character development that would sidetrack the main message: paramedics are an extension of a doctor (in the field) and were able to provide advanced life-saving interventions long before patient care was transferred to the emergency room staff.

I was completely enamored by how cool it would be to have a job like that where I could help people in need, wear a uniform, and be respected by the public. In fact, my twin brother (who is a police sergeant) and a good friend of ours would often spend hours re-enacting scenes from our favorite show in the basement of our home. It was thrilling to pretend to be Johnny or Roy and "help" others in need. When we needed to "cook" for ourselves, we used my sister's Easy Bake oven.                                                                            

From ages 8 to 13, all I ever wanted was to be a paramedic like John Gage. However, like every other teenage kid of that era, my attention span waned, and all the police shows on TV easily captured it. Now that became cool that I could carry a gun and arrest the bad guys. Either way, I was destined to become a public servant.

Fast forward to 1986, when I graduated from the University of Illinois at Chicago with a degree in Criminal Justice (still on the cop kick), I spent several years out of college working as a retail security officer. During that time, I applied for several Federal Law Enforcement jobs (DEA, ATF, U.S. Marshals, Border Patrol, local law enforcement, etc.) to no avail, as a federal hiring freeze prevented me from attaining this goal.

After a few years in the retail game, I became restless with the thought of never becoming a public servant. As it happened, I had a friend taking courses for his Master's in school psychology who told me he had an FBI agent in his class. He suggested that I meet with him to get some pointers. I thought, "Now this is interesting," and I agreed to a conversation.

This agent related that a fast track into federal law enforcement would be through the US military – especially if I had a job like military police or intelligence. This sounded like a great idea, and in 1989 I joined the Army. I was reserved a spot in military intelligence where they would train me to become an interrogator/interpreter at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California.                                    

However, (damn the bad luck) I was assigned to the Russian school, where the Army would send the top 1% of our class to the Moscow Embassy. This was an intensive 42-week school where all you did was eat, sleep, and learn Russian. After that, you were sent to the military intelligence school for several more months, learning the art and science of interrogation.

Unfortunately for me, I washed out of the Russian school after 2 months. I was shipped off to Unit Supply school and then assigned to permanent duty at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin, California, in the Mojave Desert just outside Barstow.

Life continued to roll by, and suddenly we were immersed in Operation Desert Storm after Hussein invaded Kuwait. I never served in-country, but we had long days preparing a detachment of 14 soldiers who were deployed to the Middle East. As the conflict settled in, I looked for a way to keep my mind focused on things other than war. I remembered a friend of mine back home who had taken an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) course, and that reignited a passion inside me.          

I enrolled in the Basic EMT course at Barstow Community College and graduated after 17 weeks. Months later, a Sergeant I became friends with on the base recruited me to join the soldier-volunteer firefighter program. The volunteers augmented the federally contracted fire department (staffed by active-duty San Bernardino County Firefighters), which ran weekly drills to teach us all things firefighting. I had a blast learning this craft but never finished the required coursework because my time in the service had ended in June of 1992. I obtained reciprocity for my EMT certification and returned home to Illinois. Little did I know that I was about to embark on the journey where my childhood dream would come true. Until next time-

Namaste,

Tim