Texted Lies, Whispered Truths: Jason Collier's Story

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Texted Lies, Whispered Truths: Jason Collier's Story Page 2

by Terri Anne Browning


  In October of 2014, I had weight loss surgery.

  For anyone who doesn’t know about bariatric, or weight loss, surgery, there are several different types. Gastric bypass (Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass), sleeve gastrectomy, adjustable gastric band, and the biliopancreatic diversion with duodenal switch (BPD/DS).

  For me, I went with the sleeve. It is a laparoscopic surgery in which about eighty percent of the stomach is removed. The remaining portion is a tubular pouch, and it is basically the shape and size of a banana. The new pouch that became my stomach held less, helping me to consume lower amounts of food and, of course, fewer calories. It more or less enforced portion control.

  Once I had my surgery and my doctor released me to start working out, I lived in the gym. I worked out every day, and the weight just seemed to melt off me. I lost a total of 180 pounds.

  Before surgery, you have requirements you have to fulfill before the doctor will do the procedure. Each state and, I assume, each doctor is different, but I don’t remember it being too complicated. I think the most invasive thing I had to do was talk to a therapist, and that was accomplished by phone. The entire call lasted maybe fifteen to thirty minutes.

  What they don’t tell you when you have this surgery is how much your mental health is affected. I wasn’t prepared for the attention I was suddenly getting as more and more of the weight fell off.

  They don’t tell you the statistics of the divorce rate for those who have bariatric surgery. I didn’t know that up to forty-one percent of patients are more likely to get divorced within four years of having the procedure. Some states or doctors make you do couples therapy if you’re married because this can put a strain on your marriage. At the time, I didn’t know that, and it wasn’t a part of my requirements to get surgery. I should have gone to group sessions or at the least spoken with other patients. No matter which surgery a person gets, each one has the same strong, life-altering effect.

  As bariatric patients, we don’t see ourselves losing the weight until it’s so drastic that, one day, we look in the mirror, and we see an entirely new person staring back at us. And that messes with a person’s mind on a totally different level than most people can comprehend.

  Suddenly, I was getting attention. People were complimenting me, telling me how good I looked, noticing me for the first time. It felt good.

  I won’t make excuses and say my weight loss surgery was why my life later turned into such a disaster. Having the gastric sleeve didn’t make me do the things I did. It didn’t put a gun to my head and force me to cheat on my wife or to lie to everyone in my life.

  But if I had known the mental changes it would cause, I might have made a different decision. Looking back on it now, I ask myself, Was the surgery worth it?

  Health-wise, yes. Definitely.

  But in other aspects of my life, when I consider the emotional pain I’ve put not only myself, but those I love the most, through …

  No. I honestly don’t think it was.

  4

  Warning: This chapter may be graphic for some readers.

  The mental challenges I was enduring following my gastric sleeve procedure were nothing compared to what happened January 6, 2015—one of the worst moments in my career, and one that will live with me forever. It was a nightmare every police officer fears having to face, but is the potential reality we have to prepare ourselves for every time we leave our homes.

  I was working at the Pampa Police Department at the time as a detective. A fellow officer and I were called out to a domestic disturbance with two other officers. Shots had already been reported being fired, and the suspect was refusing to come out of the house. The suspect was someone we were well acquainted with since he was a meth user. The night before, he’d spent his time beating his girlfriend. The only reason he’d stopped when he did was because their child needed to be fed.

  Thankfully, the girlfriend had been able to get out of the house before we arrived. But she and her friends were attempting to collect her things, which was why the suspect locked himself in the house and started shooting.

  At first, I was busy directing traffic away from that part of the street, but soon, I was motioned to put on my vest and come assist. We tried to get the suspect to come out, but no one would answer, and after being advised how to proceed, we broke down the door and quickly cleared the front of the house.

  With only two rooms left, my heart was pounding as I went into one with an officer, and the two other officers went into the other room. Just as I entered the room, I heard the unmistakable sound of the blast from a shotgun.

  The officer I was with and I rushed toward the noise.

  One officer was lying on the floor bleeding, while his partner was trapped in a corner, shouting into his radio, “Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down!”

  The suspect was hiding in the closet with a 12-gauge pressed to the door. The bullet had caught the officer in the face, taking off the lower left side of his jaw.

  My partner and I reacted quickly. Call it adrenaline or all the working out I’d been doing since my surgery, but I picked up my fellow officer by his vest with one hand while my partner grabbed his feet, and we pulled him out of the room.

  But we still had an officer trapped inside with the suspect. While my partner began administering lifesaving first aid to the injured officer, I went back and drew fire so his partner could get out. But the entire time I was pulling the suspect’s attention to me, all I could really see and think about was my friend’s jaw, lying on the floor.

  Thankfully, he survived the shooting, but the four of us who were there that day were never really the same after that. They say situations like that bring those involved closer together. That wasn’t the case with us. Instead, it made us all drift apart.

  I still suffer from PTSD because of that day.

  5

  Call it unhealthy, but I have a constant need for sexual affection.

  And that need wasn’t always something my first wife could meet.

  The pain of losing my dad, on top of my mental health challenges following the shooting, put even more pressure on our marriage. I was working not only as a police officer, but also at Sears and even for Coke, stocking shelves in local stores, all while still continuing to work out at the gym most days. At home, there was a rift between M and me, and I was almost thankful for the extra work I had to do to keep up with the bills and the other expenses that life throws at a person.

  Money was stable but tight following my surgery, other bills, and our daughter playing travel softball, which I also coached. But the biggest strain in our relationship was caused by her parents. Her mother was addicted to prescription drugs, and her father was a lifelong alcoholic, and he later turned to prescription drugs as well.

  I felt like we couldn’t go anywhere without getting a courtesy call from the local police, letting me know the cops were going to my in-laws’ home or an ambulance was picking someone up from their residence because of their drug use. We never seemed to have any time to ourselves, time that was just for us. And that distance between us only seemed to increase.

  In April of 2015, I brought up the subject of my wife and I having an open relationship. At first, she was hesitant, but the more I brought it up and pushed, the more she seemed willing to try. We started meeting people who shared our interests and going out to social gatherings with them.

  The first party we attended was the night I met my second wife, O, for the first time. During the night, my cell phone went off, and M and I went out to the driveway to take the call. It was the dispatcher, once again letting me know that an ambulance was going to my in-laws’ home. I was frustrated and angry, but I didn’t want to leave. I felt like they had already ruined so much for us, and I wasn’t willing to let them mess up this night.

  As I tried to open the front door to reenter the party, I found it was locked, so I knocked. After a few moments, it opened, and that was when I saw her for the first time.

  With o
ne look at her, I felt something inside of me shift. When I met my first wife, there was instant attraction, but what I felt for her was more of a puppy-love infatuation in comparison to how I reacted to that first interaction with O.

  There she stood looking at us, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  Later, when we talked about that moment, she told me that when I smiled at her, she knew she was in trouble.

  In this new group of friends, M and I were the fresh blood, and we got lots of attention, but my eye had already been caught. That quickly, this woman changed my life.

  A few days following the party, I found her on Facebook and friended her. After talking for a short while, we decided to go on a double date with our spouses. Once we had dinner, we ended up at a strip club. At the time, M didn’t get along with O’s husband, but that didn’t stop the two of us from getting to know each other.

  That night, I realized there wasn’t just an instant attraction between me and the woman who would become my second wife. There was an immediate emotional attachment forming as well for both of us, and we decided to take our date back to her house. But before we could leave, her daughter called to say she was coming home early from a friend’s house, and our plans were put on hold.

  Disappointed, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to kiss her, make any move, really, but my shyness got in the way. She surprised me when she pushed me up against the building and kissed me, letting me know that everything I was feeling, she was feeling too.

  At the end of the night, we went our separate ways with our spouses, but we stayed in contact, continuing to talk regularly.

  6

  Over the next few weeks, I learned more and more about O.

  She was coming to the end of her second marriage. Her first husband, who was also the father of her two children, had been both emotionally and physically abusive. The man she was married to at that point in time was…for want of a better word, weird. M didn’t like him, so that made it impossible for the four of us to have a relationship, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to be with O.

  At another party, O and I decided it was going to be “our night.” The party was held at the same house as the first party M and I attended, and we were also celebrating the host’s birthday. All I could remember as the night seemed to drag on was thinking, “Hurry up and open your presents. Hurry. Up!”

  As soon as the last present was opened, I grabbed O, and we disappeared into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

  After that night, our relationship started building.

  I knew I had to make a decision. M and I were still technically trying to keep our marriage together, but my heart was somewhere else. While I was dating, so was she, but she was also willing to work on our marriage.

  When I realized I was in love with O, I decided to move out. It wasn’t fair to M to think there was hope for us when my emotions were too far gone for someone else.

  During this time, I was going through training to prepare me to take over as police chief of Pampa since the chief at the time was getting ready to retire. I’d been selected to take his place, and for a few months, I would travel down to Dallas for a week at a time for training.

  O flew to Tennessee for work during my second week of training, and while she was gone, I confessed to her, “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

  “I love you too,” she admitted, and she promised me when she returned, she was going to tell her husband their marriage was over.

  When she flew home, her husband met her at the airport in Dallas with her kids, and they had a family weekend together. But when they got back to their house, she told him it was over and she was moving out. For a while, she moved in with her parents and then her sister. I helped her pack and move in to her sister’s house.

  Because of how her first marriage ended, she always kept divorce documents and decree templates on her computer. She even helped out a few people at her work by printing off the paperwork for them. When it was time for her to file for her second divorce, she didn’t even need a lawyer to handle it because she already had everything she needed.

  M and I had separated, and I was living on my own, and O was out of her husband’s house. Each morning, I would leave early for work and stop at Starbucks before I met up with her. Her favorite was a latte, no foam, two Sweet’N Lows. Sometimes I would be late for work because I just didn’t want to say goodbye to her in the mornings.

  My third week of training in Dallas, I asked her to come down to visit me. We went to Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth, and I felt like I was in my element. There was no shyness, no being uptight. There was just her and me.

  It felt…magical.

  But my own divorce didn’t come without consequences. When my boss found out about our separation and that we were getting a divorce, it was decided I wasn’t right for the chief of police position I’d been training for. They gave the job to someone else.

  That stung because I’d already invested so much of myself, and I was excited to become the police chief.

  7

  Even though my career had suffered a setback, I felt like my romantic relationship was strong and going well.

  But that changed in Christmas of 2015.

  Since the birth of my daughter, I’d always been there on Christmas morning for her and then my son. Even though their mother and I were now divorced, I didn’t want that to change. At least not yet. While I had a new love in my life, I was still friends with my ex-wife.

  I lied to O and told her I was going home after spending Christmas Eve with her and her family. Instead, I went to M’s house, and once the kids were in bed, I helped her put out the presents and set up for the next morning. She slept in her bed, and I took the couch.

  Christmas morning was much the same as it always had been for us—the kids waking up early to open presents, having breakfast together. It was what we all wanted, and needed, after the chaos of 2015.

  But after I left for the day, my ex took it upon herself to call O and let her know where I had spent the night. Even though she hadn’t contested the divorce, she blamed the other woman for our marriage breaking up, and she had a moment of vindictiveness. In all honesty, neither of us was innocent in the demise of our relationship. But that morning, it must have hit her harder for some reason, and she made the call to be spiteful.

  O broke up with me that night.

  I knew I shouldn’t have lied, but because I wanted that time with my kids on Christmas morning, I did it anyway. Part of me regretted it, but I’m not sure I would have done it differently.

  For the next few weeks, I called O almost every day, asking her to give me another chance. But she wouldn’t even pick up.

  Then one day, out of the blue, my cell phone rang. I was doing bailiff work, and because I was in court and didn’t recognize the number, I sent it to voice mail. When I listened to the message, I was blown away. It was O, asking how I was doing.

  By some miracle, she was willing to give our relationship another go.

  Slowly, we made an effort to get back on track. I told her I would give her as much time as she needed to learn to trust me again. I wanted to make us work, because I loved her.

  Mother’s Day of 2016 she had to go to Vegas for work, and she invited me to go with her. We stayed at the Paris casino, and that night over dinner, I proposed.

  On September 3, 2016, we got married in a small western-themed ceremony in our backyard. She wore a white lace dress and cowboy boots, while I wore jeans and a starched white shirt. And I made the love of my life my wife.

  8

  I was raised in the Lutheran church, but going to services wasn’t something we did regularly.

  When I married M, she talked me into going to Trinity Fellowship with her, where Jimmy Evans was and still is the pastor. He and his wife, Karen, started MarriageToday, which now reaches 680 million households across 200 countries through their television program.

  The first time I went, everything about the way they wors
hiped, compared to what I was used to at the Lutheran church, scared me. I’d never been to a church where they raised their hands as they sang or prayed. I told M I didn’t want to go back. Respectfully, she didn’t force the issue. But a few months later, I had this urge to give it another chance and decided to return. That Sunday, Pastor Evans’s sermon was titled, “Why People Raise Their Hands During Worship,” and it all just clicked for me.

  After that, I got more and more into the church, but when we started having problems within our marriage, I found myself drifting further and further away from God.

  O was raised Catholic, though she hadn’t ever really embraced religion. But after a little while of going to Trinity Fellowship with me, she loved it. After we were married, we even started attending the Blended Family group. We enjoyed it so much that we began taking over the Blended Family group, ministering to other families with children from previous relationships.

  When I was offered a job in Memphis, Texas, as a sergeant, O didn’t hesitate to move, even though it was a three-hour round trip to work for her. We bought a house in Memphis that we wanted to renovate together, a project we hoped would bring us even closer.

  But we didn’t anticipate how much time we would spend at work or on the house. I was so busy; there were days I was lucky to get an hour of sleep before I had to go back to the station. And with O traveling so much, it felt like we never saw each other.

  Our relationship had seemed perfect, but cracks were starting to form. At first, I didn’t really pay attention to them, but the larger they became, the harder they were to ignore. And then suddenly, the biggest stressor in our relationship was glaring right back at me in the form of my stepson.

 

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