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I'm am being processed for administrative separation due to my diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder. They are recommending a General (under honorable conditions) discharge. They are using the specific basis of "condition other than disability".
This means several things.
It means that I will lose my G.I. Bill.
It means that I cannot receive full severance pay (I get, at most, half).
It means that I will have a discharge characterization that is the equivalent to people with personality disorders that cannot conform to a work environment.
It means that I am, currently, incompetent and a trouble maker.
It means that I made the wrong choice after all to go after my command in Portland and try to solve problems- or at least address problems- that I saw as critically endangering the mission accomplishment and troop welfare of the command (because now I have no friends to submit letters on my behalf to the board).
It means that for the two and a half years that I was in a direct command position of junior Marines, I did nothing to prove that I was capable of leading them.
It means that I appear as spineless, unconfident, and at best demure.
It means that after ten years of service, in which I received two good conduct medals, an SMCR medal (the reserve equivalent), certificates of commendation for excellence in performance, served on well over fifty funeral honor details, answered hundreds of phone calls and supported thousands of personnel actions requests, confronted everyone from Lance Corporals to Colonels, endured "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (DADT) without contradicting it, tolerated conduct and policy that effectively destroyed a five year relationship, was promoted four times (to the rank of Sergeant) including once meritorious, subjected to meritorious opportunities after this as well, and save one (debatable) incident I have never received any kind of counseling for any kind of behavior-
It means, after all these years, I have amounted to little more than a permanent inconvenience of a human being who does not have anything to offer the government, and needs to not only be removed, but ensured to be only with what I 'deserve', lest it disrespect those whose conduct would inherit umbrage that mine is equated to it.
I remember a lot of things over these years. I remember being only one of two who confronted a gunnery sergeant in the basic military job school about a senior Marine who was making untoward advances on one of our classmates. A seasoned lance corporal (definitely not a part of the class) was making very uncomfortable insinuations and conversation with a fresh-out-of-bootcamp private first class who was obviously not interested, and by the end of the day cajoled her to join him in a seven-ton truck to do menial labor- alone and unsupervised. She clearly didn't want to go. Sketchy would be a polite way to describe it, and a good fourteen of us were exposed to it. When she left, myself and one of the other few females said we needed to do something; no one else agreed. They said if she didn't want to go, she didn't exactly have to. That we were probably overreacting. That everyone was probably fine. As technically true as possible. After all, it was completely possible everything will turn out okay. That didn't sound good enough for me. We told the gunny. She was fine after all, but lance corporal was pretty restricted in terms of dealing with us after that, much to everyone's relief. I did that talking. I hunted that gunny down. I, meritorious PFC four months in, did that. She was very upset that we did. Thought it was embarrassing. How dare we meddle in what was a Lifetime movie example of pre-rape. I did not, still don't, believe it was a mistake. I'm sad to remember not everyone sharing that sentiment.
I remember hearing countless stories working in the customer service center. Travel claims not being paid. Drills not making it through the system. Travel claims not being paid. A DD214 not being delivered. Travel claims not being paid. I remember one guy calling, saying that he had no DD 214 for a period of service where he was on orders with a reserve unit. That one, unexpectedly, was not our fault, but listening to the guy, you could tell he had pissed off the command by doing his job correctly, and they refused him the DD 214. Regardless personal feelings, I could confirm they didn't make one for him. They didn't do a lot of things for him that they were required by law to do. I couldn't do anything for the guy. I couldn't make a DD 214 for him; the command didn't have the authority. So we took it to the IRR branch, and eventually they finagled a plan. The guy had called for months before that- I could see it in the logs. No one helped him. No one knew what to do, or wanted to do anything; standard operating procedure for the entire building was "Be as unproductive as possible". I was the first to listen to him, explain things to him, and make any effort to help him. That was all he wanted. I don't know if the situation was ever resolved. But I know I took care of him, just like I took care of every other poor soul who had to call us. I had endless praise from survey reviews; calls to the section head and our GS-11 department head. I knew I did right there.
I was told from the beginning that if I kept my work ethic up, I would get a Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal (NAM) by the time I left. Once I got to customer service center, though, the emphasis changed. I was Mr. Taylor's right hand man. When there were meetings with colonels, GS-13's, plans for tens of thousands of dollars to be spent on software, or battles where hundreds of thousands of dollars were being manipulated by the finance office disruptively, I not only had a voice but gave voice. For all those people being fucked over, and to our section to be taken seriously. I was a member of the team, and an important one. And the "NAM" talk went away. It became, "if we save this for your end of tour award, we can put you up for a Navy Commendation medal," (the NavyCom- corporals, which I was at the time, don't get that- you usually don't see anyone get it till they're Gy's- it was a big deal). But a few months before the command was shut down, and sections began to be merged as personnel were shipped to the new building in New Orleans, the Director said he wouldn't do a million end of tour awards. That only one person per section could be submitted. I was merged into the active duty branch, were there were several 'all-stars' that got consolidated together. Our chief warrant officer refused to allow only one of us to be awarded- we each had done too much for the command for that to be appropriate. He went to the colonel, said he'd fall on his sword. And he lost. The colonel decided instead that NO ONE would receive end of tour awards. The following week, the S-3 received their NAMs that just happened to be already approved. For the final months, no Marines received any awards. We had several ceremonies and formations for CIVILIAN employees, though. That drove that point home. Five years of my life was valued at a NavyCom level; but summed by someone best described (by all accounts) as an apathetic fucktard to be worth nothing. For the petty annoyance of sought fairness and justice, we were told "Fine, YOU ALL LOSE".
I remember being 'truly, madly, deeply' in love with a boy from across the street. Another non-commissioned officer peon in the barracks. After two and a half years, we had forged a relationship that was from the movies. You could call it a 'secret, persecuted' romance, but it really wasn't. It was idyllic. From every angle, I found it charged, sincere, wonderful. Easy. I had never been with someone that it was just so easy to be alive. Before the NAM/NavyCom drama met its end, I knew it was time for us both to rotate out of our respective commands. But he was going first, and I had the good graces of my CWO, who was friends with the monitor. I was a good, hard worker. If there was anywhere in the U.S. I wanted to go, and there was a spot available, *wink, wink* it was gonna' happen. I proposed to my fiancé. He got orders to Seattle. There was an open spot in Ft. Lewis. Half an hour away. It was divine providence. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. We would be able to retain our relationship in practically marital bliss even with DADT doing its best to ruin relationships like ours (and which was currently in the news as surveys were tossed at an insane rate around while President Obama worked towards having it removed all together). The week before the monitor showed up in person to hear out all the people who would be shipped out with the building shutting down, my fiancé got word that his orders were changed. Rumor had it, his monitor had a favor of his own to give, and someone else took Seattle out from under him. He had orders in hand, if I remember correctly. And they had no idea where they may send him. My CWO already knew I wanted to go to Ft. Lewis. I mentioned it. Now I had no idea where I wanted to go. Well, I knew where I wanted to go, but "with my fiancé" was still illegal to say. By the time I sat down with the monitors, the last I heard was that they 'might' send him to Salt Lake City. I asked the monitor, much to his annoyance (I suspect at the sudden and inexplicable change to plans), what was closest to Salt Lake City. He said Portland. I took it. My fiancé was sent to Albuquerque.
I remember Portland, and those three words alone are a travesty. It was a god damned incoherent nightmare. The first year summed up the entire experience for me, as I often describe with an allusion to Game of Thrones' Eddard Stark character. I showed up to die, something everyone knew from the start until me; I didn't know it until I realized my head was no longer on my shoulders. I was the undisputable good guy. That's not how this is supposed to work. Before that, though, that single 'debatable' incident happened. I was supposed to reconstruct a turn-over binder- actually, I was supposed to just update the turn over, but I was too dissatisfied with what I had to work with. So go big!, fix all the things. It took six months for my gunnery sergeant to pin me down and say he wanted it within a week or he'd take action against me. In between, it was arbitrarily brought up and dismissed as in the works because, you know, there was real shit that had to be done. He was gone, constantly, on TAD trips to the daughter companies of the battalion for inspections and reviews- along with the other gunny and the CWO. When one left, the other often took leave. They often took the other sergeants in the section, too. I was the non-commissioned-officer-in-charge (NCOIC) by right of seniority and established as such by the bosses when I first showed up. But since the bosses were often gone, it was as much a de facto thing as a title. And with that came things to do. I was already working two hours later than everyone else, trying to repair damage from predecessors who left- literally- years of work undone and hidden in drawers (we had 2nd Stage Audits never completed old enough that, technically, they no longer had to be retained; we could just 'burn them' and no one would ever know- and some Marines who had been promoted twice by now would never receive their first sets of earned money from the unit). I didn't consider the turn-over binder a priority until gunny said I had a few days or 'doom'. He chose the worst week to do so: the middle of annual training. We had reservists running around, and I was one of the ones depended upon to make things happen. Even if I worked 24 hours every day for the time he listed, it would not be humanly possible. I said it'd need to at least leave me to that purpose; he agreed but didn't deliver. I got a 6105 page 11 counseling complaining that I didn't do it. I submitted a rebuttal to it. Seriously, a 6105 over a turnover binder (which was functional as it was; just not up to my personal standards- granted, the previous one was fine, too, as it was).
I still have mixed feelings about the whole thing, but to be honest, I don't remember much of it. I don't remember much of it because it wasn't on my mind. I knew I had to do it, but I couldn't find the focus or time. And I realized that I was too busy actively avoiding thinking about the DADT repeal and supreme court arguments about gay marriage in California. Which kept bringing to mind my fiancé who was now 1,800 miles away. Yeah, when you're deployed it's further, much more precarious, and for upwards of a year. But he was going to be gone from me for three years at least, not for God and Country but for immaturity and bigotry, and- the real problem- it was illegal for me to seek counseling about it. I remember when DADT was finally repealed that the CWO and other GySgt both came to me to remind me their spouses were separated, too. I had the tact not to the point out that the CWO's husband was in FL by choice because that's where his job is and, of course, she has everyone to talk about it- I already knew because she- again- was already talking about it. I had the tact to not point out to the GySgt that his relationship was split because he married a sergeant- explicitly fraternization- while she was still living in Missouri- even if you were more cavalier in trying to be together, you still couldn't until either of you had completed more time on station and it's not like you were separated- you married while already apart. And, of course, by the way, you both receive $250 a month in family separations allowance. Never mind you have all the friendship, sympathy and counseling in the world- you get paid to be apart, and enough to buy tickets to visit each other monthly- certainly bi-monthly. I had nothing. I was constantly being reminded I had nothing. I actively had something: depression, stress, and questionable self-worth. The country was actively debating whether or not I deserved equal rights- whether or not I could be considered a moral person- whether or not I was even actually in a state of love. If I was human enough for that. I know that's pretty extreme and ridiculous, but people said (and earnestly believed) a lot of ridiculous things only a few short years ago. And had no qualms talking about it openly- had the right to talk about it openly. And I had no right to defend myself. Indeed, I had to pretend like none of this applied to me. If anything took up my time, it was playing that game.
Nevermind the corruption, the fraternization, the adultery, the actively hostile and manipulative machinations of my nemesis et al- Portland was fucked up for a lot of reasons. By the end, despite our best efforts, I broke up with the fiancé. I won't get into why; I won't put that on the 'Net, regardless how so much is being spoken to so few. I am now dating someone else, and am happily in love again. But that relationship, while I am over it itself, I can never forgive the military for destroying. The reasons, I am confident, were exacerbated by distance. The problems we encountered I don't think would ever have happened had we been in close proximity. The erosion of our trust and affection, the numbing of our safety nets and social networks, the offenses against our actual personhood. If we could just talk about it. I had to get a shrink just to talk about some of the scarier moments when drastic and reckless actions were potentially life-threatening. I was fine; but if my fiancé died, I knew I'd need to be prepared. And that's what the relationship had become. A force of nature I was enthralled in- not an active participant of. Because we became victims to a malevolent force; not lovers. Not fiancés. Arguably not even people anymore.
I won't get into what happened afterwards, when I came to this place. When I reenlisted, tried to be a recruiter, and was put through such emotional harassment and abuse that I was psychologically evaluated and discovered to have Asperger's Disorder (now melded into the Autistic Spectrum Disorder). And how I went to my new command explaining that there was a psychological deficiency that made me incapable of doing this duty to the parameters necessary to do justice to the Corps, my applicants, my team, or myself. The last part of this rant is when I learned that a package submitted to be removed from recruiting for 'Good of the Service' had an addendum to administratively separate me. For Convenience of the Government. For Condition other than a Disability.
The now.
And the now is when I received some very fair advice from some very wonderful people in my life, namely to respect myself despite the disrespect of others, and to look at this as the perfect opportunity to remember what actually matters in life.
This package argues that I am neither worthy nor capable of being a Marine. And that my discharge should reflect that.
The truth is, though, that I have too many memories of my own endurance, my own altruism, and my own leadership to really believe that. That I have too many people who were influenced by my efforts to change the institution- what little change a sergeant can effect in places so engrossed in their own fetid, auto-fellating love for narcissistic laziness and cannibalism- and for the better. I led Marines. I fell on my own sword for them. I loved them and my comrades- fell in love with one, for God's sake.
I won't take this lightly. I will fight it. It's a matter of personal dignity, after all (also, there are some legal discrepancies I plan to criticize- I am a Sergeant of administration after all, come on people). But I won't let the results get me down. I have seen too many times struggles like these where the victor is based on everything but justice. But that in itself is enough for me to accept that I should have stopped playing this game long ago. I am proud of myself for trying to stay in to protect those who I had been charged so many times with helping, and trying to get to a place where I could change the scope of the military as a whole into what it claims to be- family, honor, duty, so on.
But I am not incompetent. I am not an incapable leader. I am not unconfident. I am not spineless. I am not a mere inconvenience.
And I was, am, and forever will be worthy of the title I did in fact earn: That I am a Marine. Once, and always.
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