Posted on 09/19/2009 10:20:07 PM PDT by B-Chan
OK: here's why I got kicked out of the U.S. Navy, short version.
Autumn, 1984: I was a 4.0 (top-performing) sailor, a petty officer (NCO) right out of "A" School (Navy vocational training school), and was on the fast track to a great career as a naval nuclear power worker -- until I lost my marbles.
Summer, 1985: It happened while I was in Nuke School (Naval Nuclear Power School, then located in Orlando, Florida): the stress levels, lack of sleep, and physical environment of Rickover City triggered in me a full-on case of clinical depression, complete with physical symptoms (shingles, among others), psychotic episodes, the works. I called it "the Fog". I was bad off, doing all kinds of crazy stuff -- and no one noticed. Instead, they waited until my grades dropped below the requisite levels, then flunked me out and sent me to the Fleet.
Autumn, 1985: I reported for duty aboard the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise (CVN-65). Aboard ship, I started off doing well -- but soon enough the Fog began creeping in again. As any sailor knows, the danger of having someone with a severe untreated psychiatric condition aboard ship is extreme -- although I wasn't capable of deliberate violence against others, my inability to focus on (or often even understand) what was going on around me, combined with periodic out-of-my-freaking-mind episodes, could have gotten me and many others killed out there. I thank God that my guardian angel was on the job! Toward the end I was doing some truly strange things -- a licensed psychiatrist would have diagnosed me correctly in about ten seconds. I was, frankly, nuts.
Yet no one noticed.
January-February 1986: The ship departed the Golden Gate for her yearly western Pacific deployment, which soon became a round-the-world cruise due to a sudden flare-up of violence in the Mediterranean Sea. We made port at Pearl Harbor, then crossed the ocean to Subic Bay in the Philippines. My brief visit to Olangapo City, one of the world's most famous liberty ports, was an introduction to the sad (and sordid) realities of Real Life, but I left the P.I. with no harm done save to my moral state. We spent a few weeks dodging Russian recon planes in the South Pacific, then headed west towards the Straits of Malacca on our way to the Indian Ocean.
By the time we reached Singapore, however, the Fog had gotten too thick for me to see through; I was no longer capable of standing watches (working my normal hours) or dealing with the day-to-day routines of shipboard life. Instead, I would hide in the #4 shaft alley (ship's propeller shaft area) for hours on end out of fear. Finally, my LPO (job supervisor) sent me to sickbay (the ship's medical facility) for an evaluation. The Navy M.D. aboard ship classified me as a malingerer (a person who feigns illness in order to escape work) with an attitude problem. He also found a bad epidermal "fungal infection" (in reality, severe eczema) and assigned me to light duty in the ship's library. By then I was barely rational and totally out of control. On the advice of my shipmates in the library (who were more than understanding, God bless them), I filed a lengthy medical discharge request, which when read today is obviously the product of a deeply troubled person.
Denied, of course!
March-May 1985: The cruise continued; I carried on as best I could...
The link in #38 was posted earlier by a FReeper. Its very sad. Scary too. I hope they’ll be okay.
They are getting better at it. Esp the Military. The Marines have a whole new NCO program on this. Google around it was a good story
I’ve been there. There’s a line from Wall Street (movie) that’s very applicable.
To be honest, I didn’t get any hell from the guys in the MMR. It must have been obvious to them that I was deeply disturbed, and they’d take my watches and cover my ass while I was hiding down in the shaft alley. Overall, my shipmates in the Pit were sympathetic and concerned with my well-being. It was the division chief (who thought I was faking it), the LT (who didn’t care if I lived or died as long as I didn’t make him leave the division office) and the Old Man (may God bless his tiny soul) who gave me the most abuse.
And, of course, the Warrant Officer GP who called me a malingerer. He was such a special man. May God bless him, wherever he is.
Were you an MA?
Brief stint working CMAA, I was an nuke MM/ELT by trade. But you know how it is. Warm body with some rank (e-5) you end up doing what they need you to do.
Moving story. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for your post and insight.
I have a friend, a former Marine - Gulf war vet, who is going through a rough time.
He has cancer and his wife recently divorced him. He wants to reconcile but she doesn’t, then she does, then she doesn’t.
He lost his business so I helped him get a job but it doesn’t pay much and has no benefits.
He’s getting some treatment for his cancer through the VA, but it’s not nearly enough, somewhat managing his physical pain.
He says he doesn’t want to waste time and money on full treatment if his ex-wife won’t take him back and fully commit to making it work. He sometimes talks about suicide if he can’t get his family back together (which, IMO, is not very likely).
I know he is depressed (hell, I would be too, in that situation.) I give him as much support as I can, but I worry about him.
Please pray for him.
Thank you for sharing, and kudos for your courage in admitting all this.
I had such a break in OCS, in 1968. They told me that they were going to send me to VietNam as an 11Bravo. “What are they thinking?” I asked the psychiatrist they were having me see, “If I couldn’t stand the stress of Candidate School, how am I going to react in combat? I will be a danger to myself and the other members of my unit!”
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “You’ll do all right. In ‘Nam you can shoot back.”
And so it proved to be, oddly enough. It was not until I returned to civilian life that the strain began to tell. Of course, by then I had had many more stressful, life threatening incidents to deal with. With theapy and medication, I recovered, and felt almost normal for about 15 years. Then the bad stuff began to come back, triggered by other stresses in my life.
Now, well it is not always possible to make plans, because I never know whether I am going to actually get out of bed and do what I planned to do. I get by, but not without taking more pills than I want to have to take.
So keep on keeping on, brother. Never give up; never surrender.
VietVet
Most of that is a power trip. I always hated it. The main deal with all of it is culture shock. Of course you miss your mom, family, chick, etx. It gets down played as a strength. The Navy is supposed to be your new family. Well dammit I don’t need a new family.
The thing I took from it was to always look out for your guys. I was always slated to be a “leader” from about 10 years old(in scouting). I didn’t know what that was until I was in the Navy and had to look out for my guys.
Oh and to this day, I still say I’m going to make a Chief.
No prob. Glad you liked it.
Prayers sent. Your support of your friend does you great credit.
I will never surrender to this disease. I have a child and a wife who need me. What I have left isn’t much, but they deserve 100% of it — and I’ll deliver. We Texans have a tradition of fighting on until the end. Can I do less?
Besides, I’m Catholic — suffering is our business!
Thanks for sharing, and keep up the good fight.
Power-tripping by individuals was never a problem for me in the Navy (I was a nuke; with few exceptions, I was always treated with courtesy and respect by my superiors). What amazed me was the institutionalized degradation of enlisted men (PO3 and below) that existed -- the subtle and not-so-subtle psychological brutalization that was worked into the very fabric of the service. Obviously RHIP in any organization, but to my mind the Navy often went out of its way to remind enlisted men of their "place", much as blacks were institutionally denigrated (pardon the pun!) by whites during the days of Jim Crow.
Examples include the shameful and inadequate enlisted accommodations both afloat and ashore: enlisted base housing was shabby and dreadful, and you can't tell me that a ship as big as Enterprise didn't have enough space aboard for college-style "dorm rooms" for enlisted men instead of the Calcutta-like coops the men actually call home. The Engineering coop on the 'Prise was less a berthing area than a seagoing version of a Harlem tenement. The difference in food quality between enlisted, Chiefs', and officers' messes is another way of reminding the Squids that they're at the back of the bus (many of the meals I was served on the 'Prise were, frankly, inedible). And the insulting and unprofessional screaming and berating that some Khakis dish out to enlisted men below Petty Officer rank has to be experienced to be believed. Although I was personally never verbally assaulted by a superior, I saw many less-senior guys subjected to abusive behavior that would have resulted in a lawsuit (or an ass-whipping) in a civilian workplace.
In general, the whole Navy atmosphere of needless disrespect towards lower-ranking personnel simply baffles me. Other navies (and merchant fleets) get along just fine while treating their men with the respect that highly-trained craftsmen and technicians deserve, yet for some reason the U.S. Navy feels that we won't win wars unless we treat the ratings like cottonfield Negroes circa 1860.
I just don't get it.
My food and berthing was always decent. Except when we had to hot rack. Even then I just had to carry a backback with my needs for the next 36 hrs.
MORAL: Depression kills people and wrecks lives. Know depression's warning signs and take positive action if you recognize them in your life or the life of a loved one.
I went through Nuclear Power school in 1982. Can’t say I enjoyed it very much but I graduated no more crazy than when I went in.
I’m glad it was better for you. All in all, I was treated fairly well, too. However, I was a Petty Officer from the moment I left A-School, so I never had to experience the treatment I saw a lot of the other guys get.
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