The Broken Soldier

No salvation, indeed. And if you resist said crazy world long enough, ‘normal people’ will tuck you away in a place slightly better than jail until you tell them what they want to hear. “Oh yes, I’m feeling much better.” “Okay, you’re free to go.” Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.

I’m referring, of course, to the wacky tank. I spent several days there, again. Group therapy in which grown men and women are praised for crying, coloring pictures, going outside to play, and otherwise acting like needy children. Needy children are no threat, you see. At least I got to sleep a bit, and watched a truly sideways chick play ten different sports, including basketball, with a rubber chicken.

“What set you off?” you may be wondering. What else? The Army and those who make it up (in both senses). My mental health case manager got pissed because I missed a few appointments. Two of which had already been explained away. The third was missed due to placement on quarters.

I was sleep deprived, in a lot of pain, and in no mood to be talked to like a child being scolded. I wrote to my PLT SGT saying as much, and telling him what had transpired, that is to say, getting bitched at by a civilian for doing nothing wrong, was more than I could take given that I am on the edge each and every day. A few hours later I was talking to the commander, who told me to go to an ER for a psych eval.

Can’t say I understand what happened. Doesn’t seem reasonable to me. Something of an overreaction by the other players. But this is what I’ve come to expect. Nothing gets a big reaction. My Incap Pay, Medical Reimbursement, word on when to expect completion of my MEB/PEB, etc., get little or no reaction. An approach to which I cannot adapt.