USMC Bootcamp PTSD #metoo

I saw a story today about a drill instructor who hazed his recruits, called them names, and destroyed them in some cases so badly that they killed themselves. I’ve been suffering from post-USMC bootcamp PTSD for more than twenty years. I remember being put in the dryer at MCT in California, I remember being brutally … Continue reading “USMC Bootcamp PTSD #metoo”

I saw a story today about a drill instructor who hazed his recruits, called them names, and destroyed them in some cases so badly that they killed themselves. I’ve been suffering from post-USMC bootcamp PTSD for more than twenty years. I remember being put in the dryer at MCT in California, I remember being brutally beaten, I remember having our platoons lined up after hand to hand combat training and being told that only the best of the best could be sent to Iraq and to get ready to kill or be killed by the recruits in the other platoons. We believed it, it was the eve of the first Gulf War, we were told that we were heading to our deaths every day. We had a recruit break on the firing line during M-16 qualifications and turn the gun on the rest of us – no one was hit. We had low crawl excercises with (we were told and I believe it to be true) live weapon fire over us as we crawled through concertina wire. We were beaten, called every name you can imagine and instilled with a disgusting and racist hatred of Arabs, Muslims, and Russians. We had boxing ‘smokers’ where little guys like me got the shit kicked out of us over and over again by big hulking monsters. The drill instructors were like demons. I asked for help dealing with the nightmares and the constant panic attacks after I got out – I’d developed a severe self-medicating and debilitating alcohol dependence during my four years in the service – I had multiple alcohol related incidents – I was sent to rehab and then put back in the hard drinking barracks environment – I sought help for that too when I got out and for that and the panic, and the ptsd, and the night terrors – I was assigned to a VA psychologist who didn’t ask me anything but used our sessions to reminisce about killing Vietnamese and fucking prostitutes. Now, at forty-five, I feel like I finally have things under control – but those twenty five years of severe PTSD and ill advised self medicating with drugs and alcohol – it’s no wonder I don’t own a home, haven’t built a career, and haven’t managed to save anything for retirement – thanks a lot USMC. Happy Birthday. Uh-rah.