Through a Corporals Eyes.
This is how they are treating our Veterans.
The following words are from a family member.......
Through a Corporals Eyes.
So where am I going with this letter? Maybe it will reach someone trying to get help and I hope it does. It’s helping me right now and that’s all that matters. Read on if you would like. If you’re one of the ones debating over whether it’s a bitch fest or it’s just another E4 that does not rate because he did one deployment then stop reading because it’s not doing you or me any good.
Someone close to my heart told me the other day that “all that matters, above everything else is complete happiness everyday all day. You need to reach for that and, if you don’t have it, you need to let go of your current situation and find it.” Perhaps those words of encouragement sank in a bit more than the ones I have been told in the past, being that they were coming from a friend that I had previously hurt.
As directed, I decided to reach out and, with little effort, came to the realization with what I was so pissed off at the world for. “Break them down and build them back up.” Those words were a standard procedure in training. Like always and abiding by the contract, I allowed the military (Marine Corps to be exact) to do just that: break me down, build me up, break me down, and you know the drill. However, the last piece to that puzzle was supposed to be to build you back up. Where the hell did that go? Was my build up the welcome home party we had after returning home? Or the liberty granted after? Or perhaps it could have been the forms I filled out about sleep or depression. The thoughts of death. The hours after leaving a bar at 3 in the morning, almost dying 5 times on the way home with 5 of the guys you almost died with a few months earlier, then waking up at 0600 being depressed and feeling like shit, and not being able to run. No, for me this all felt normal so I answered accordingly on the mental health forms. Was that their way of the great build up?
Back in Garrison, I remember feeling like I had to do something different because I could not get the troops, or myself, motivated. I just lost 4 brothers and watched others get mangled and blown up. Route clearance, the Iraq people, Terrorists, or whatever you want to call them would hide bombs on the road, in the road, beside the road, above the road, or wherever their blood thirsty, angry hearts desired and our job was to go find it. I would throw the people water, candy and soccer balls along the way of getting myself or my brothers blown up. This was my way of reaching for a smile in a fucked up situation; much the same as I am doing now.
To give a little more detail I was not EOD or infantry, I was a mechanic for amphibious assault battalion in a desert. We drove and repaired the aavp7. The floating, flat bottom, aluminum tracked vehicle that looked and has the nickname of the “rolling coffin”. What high ranking, over intelligent officer came up with that idea? I can easily relate that to the breaking down again because that’s what it did to us every mission-- it broke us. What a form of mental torture chamber that was. I remember every time I went to get water in the back of that rolling coffin to give to the driver or turret I would think, “Well, this could be the last water those thirsty fucks get from me.” I hated the back of that track. We all hated the back of the tracks. I resented our situation for more reasons than I am willing to sit here and type out.
I digress. I was searching for something different, something to build me back up, so I requested to get help for drinking from our Gunny. Looking back that took a lot of courage. Our Gunny’s answer to my problem was to send me to SARP (Substance Abuse Rehabilitation Program) to which I attended with an open mind-- only to realize after the first day that it was also a form of punishment for the marines that got a DWI, or a nurse who was caught stealing pills, or the ones who were drunk on post. Things that I did not relate to. I would fight a best friend or drive drunk myself before I let someone get behind the wheel. I trusted my hand in gambling. So after completing my course I proudly took my certificate and posted it on the wall of my favorite bar. Friends can attest because it’s still there I am sure. So there was my middle finger to you building me up Uncle Sam.
I was to be discharged from active duty shortly after this after getting a few NJPs and Non Recommendations for Sgt. Before doing this, I claimed to the VA I had drinking problems and problems sleeping. The claim was filed as a “shift work type disorder” to which I was given 0% disability. Upon getting out, I stayed drunk a while and worked for my father- the most supportive giving person I had along with the rest of my family. I did that trying to locate the “big build up” I was promised but nothing ever came. It was not from lack of support because it was there. I could tell my family “I am going to go farm desert plants in Alaska” and they would do everything they could to help me get there.
If I had to guess, the sense of being “just another number” was starting to take its course. So, I left Jacksonville, NC where I was stationed, and where my family had moved to be close, to return home to the small town of Lake Placid, New York. The big Olympic Village of the Adirondack’s. This was God’s country with mountains, fresh water lakes, and family. Maybe my big build up was there? Wrong. It was just another setback. I did my best though. I got to live with my Nana and enjoy her company and that of family and friends I had not known for years. All went well, for the most part, but many noticed my struggle.
From the time I got to Lake Placid until the time I left, the police left me no room to journey without being harassed. I remember having to do community service for a drunk night. As if my 4 years of service and deployment was not service enough. Here’s an idea: how about we should channel what the military has taught our veterans instead of treating them like criminals. Maybe, instead, the police chief should have thought to ask me to teach his overweight, lazy cops how to run, jump, sweat, and find drugs because I was skilled in all aspects. I can’t hardly spell or write reports but I am damn good with the street smart aspects.
I hate trying to explain to people I just meet that I am a veteran and, if you can’t tell, don’t try to form an opinion on who I am. I can walk through the mall and notice every veteran there without having to ask. Yeah, I may be off sometimes but 90% of the time I am pretty close. I have no college degree. I tried that too after leaving New York. I came back to NC and I was blessed with my best friend and love of my life. I started building up again with her and my family and friends. It had gone on long enough and I was ready to find my build up and my peace. I had decided to no longer be pissed off and angry. I wanted to live and laugh.
So I reached out to the VA again. I got my Post 9.11 set up and started attending culinary arts. I grew up in a kitchen and I can make chicken salad out of chicken shit. That was my job before I was a Marine. I was doing well with the classes, however, I was getting no money to live off of like I was promised. I waited and waited to get a payment that I never received. I picked up a side job doing painting to fill the empty stomach and tank. I borrowed from mom and dad when they did not have it to give. I did what I could to wait for my “build up”.
Towards the end up my rope with school we got news that my uncle was sick in Texas so I left with my mom to go and be there for him. His parting gift to me was showing me what drinking can do to you. He lived an awesome life and was a great man who was loved cherished by everyone. I miss him the same way I miss my brothers killed in action or my brother, Jonny, who lost his life to the hand of the Chicago Police. Jonny was reaching for the big build up too, but PTSD got the upper hand. He pulled a fake gun out held a man hostage and was killed. So back to the degree I am not doctor, nor am I a college grad with a degree, but I do know how to identify. I can take the time to sit down outside and dig down and write. It’s not correct grammar but I can make a point.
Oh yea, and the money I did end up getting from the VA, I’m now being forced to pay back all $7500 of it. This means that my disability for my knees and back that I was granted is now garnished for the next 3 years or so. However long it takes to give the government their money back. This does not make me happy and I feel like shit because of it. I have no money already, and you just take more from me. This disability check paid for the only thing I have to my name: my beat up old truck that I have ran hard and put up wet. The only souvenir I have of all that deployment money I made. Over $2000 and they are now trying to repo that. You see, I knew nothing of the garnishment until the bank notified me. I had no funds to pay my payment and I still have no funds to pay my payment. Then I got the letter addressed to an address that I had changed. No phone call. No certified letter-- just plain jane stamp and mail. So no, I did not respond in time or build a case and I had no ambition to.
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