June is Men's Health Month, an opportunity for men within the window film, paint protection film (PPF), and detailing space to break their silence on the silent battles they’ve fought behind the scenes.
For U.S. Army Veteran CW2(R) Matthew Jones, his toughest battle wasn’t on the frontlines. It was in his mind.
June 11, 2006 (Ghazni Province, Afghanistan)
On June 11, 2006, Matthew witnessed one of his subordinates lose his life after suffering a devastating combat injury.
“That’s something that I can see in my head whenever I have too much time to think,” he says. “He was sitting behind the driver in his unit’s Humvee when it hit a landmine. The blast forced him into the back of the driver’s seat. He was crushed.”
Matthew, who was supervising interrogators across the eastern region of Afghanistan, got a call and rushed to the combat support hospital. Medical teams performed every life-saving measure they could, but it wasn’t enough.
“Things felt a lot more real after that,” Matthew says. “I was not mentally prepared for that, even after five years of service and two combat deployments.”
The soldier who lost his life that day was Bernard Corpuz.
“I had brought a book to read because, at the time, I had no concept of how severely injured he was,” Matthew says. “I thought to myself, ‘They’ll fix him up, and I’ll read this book while he recovers.’ But I heard the helicopter take off, and he was still inside the facility. The doctors were shaking their heads. They couldn’t revive him.”
As the sound of the helicopter faded into the night, a part of Matthew faded, too.
“I blamed myself for a long time, even though it wasn’t my fault,” Matthew says. “His mom passed away not too long ago. She was devastated for the rest of her life.”
An Empty Hallway and a Dark Mind
Later that night, Matthew found himself sitting in an empty hallway in an interrogation facility.
“I was thinking about the concept of suicide,” shares Matthew, who was just 25 at the time. “The thought crossed my mind, but I never had the intent. But dark thoughts entered my head.”
After Bernard’s passing, the U.S Army flew in a mental health professional for support.
“I ended up knocking on her door at two o'clock in the morning,” Matthew says. “In my head, I was like, ‘If I sit here and think about it, these thoughts could get worse. They could take over.’ I didn’t think it would happen, but I didn’t want to find out. I knocked on her door, sobbing. We talked for several hours. I didn’t have too many other people to talk to.”
2018 (Ghazni Province, Afghanistan)
In the years that followed, Matthew continued to serve his country with several more tours. In 2018, he returned to Ghazni Province, Afghanistan, for his fourth tour.
“At this point, I’m 37 years old, and The Taliban are taking over the city that Bernard had died fighting for,” Matthew says. “I felt like I had wasted everything. I felt like his life was wasted, and I felt like 1,000s of lives were wasted, both civilian and military.”
Matthew’s mindset of his service shifted toward the end of his 21-year journey, but his commitment never wavered.
“The things I saw changed everything, but I still did everything I could at the end of my service,” Matthew says. “Everything I experienced put a lot of things in my life into perspective.”
Light in the Darkness
At the end of his military career, Matthew’s mind had been hardened by years of war. Scarred by loss and trauma, dark thoughts crept in throughout his tenure. But just before everything went pitch black, a light appeared. While serving in Kuwait, he met the woman who would become the light of his life. A reminder that even on the darkest paths, light can still find a way through.
Today, Matthew owns Harker Heights Ceramic Coatings in Nolanville, Texas, a rapidly growing business in the window film, PPF, and detailing industries.
“From a mental health perspective, if it wasn’t for my wife, Patricia, I don’t know if I would even have this business,” shares Matthew, who celebrates four years with his wife on Wednesday, June 4.
Managing mental wellness is an ongoing journey, but Matthew feels he’s in his brightest chapter yet.
“My wife and mom say they’ve never seen me this happy,” he shares.
In Memory of Bernard Paul Corpuz
