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Leaving Oklahoma, Chapter 1This story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Roby Thomas | |
| Thursday, 19 June 2008 | |
For the lost of Darrell Abbott Also known as Dimebag Darrell 1966-2004
Farewell....
After having things fail in front of me on the day of 17 October 2002, when my car died in a parking lot, I decided my life is completely full of ****. I was in therapy, but it seemed to fail me that I wished to never go back again. They were treating me like a child and wanted me to take medicine that interferes with my jobs at the time. Now, no car, no job and nothing going on but a dead-end loser world. I decided on one thing: Military. Four days after, I went into the office and singed up. My recruiter was one of the best and had my 2-mile run from 21 minutes to 16 minutes. Grand, I was basically meeting the standard in that department. Thanks to my recruiter.
I shipped out into the Military on the day of 28 Jan 2003 and went to basic training at Fort Sill; my official day of Basic Training was 4 Feb 2003. A nice and pleasant shark attack (that is when you enter basic training when the Drill Sergeants (or DS's) scream and yell at you. Fun, isn't it?) All and all was well, I graduated basic training (almost died during it) on April Fools Day 2003. At that time, I felt like a man with big balls the size of grapefruits. But sadly, during AIT, an injury that I sustained in week 2 of Basic Training was knocking at my door, then basically broke it and put a stop to a lot of things. In Week 2, during the group run. I was attempting to catch up to the line of runners so to say, once I did, I tripped over a large pothole and fell. From week 2-6, I could not walk normal or run. At week 6, the deranged walking went away and I tried running, but sadly, it didn't work so well. Since I was in OSUT (9 week basic / 6 week AIT for the 13MOS series) training, the last PT test was in week 13, the one that counted. After stumbling to **** in AIT, I had to go to PTRP. If you are in the Army basic training or AIT now, you know what that is. It's a place where the severely injured but willing types go to when they suffer a bad injury during Basic or AIT. After 5 months of feeling pain and watching bullshit erupt, with a Return To Training attempt that went downhill, it was concluded that my leg would not allow me to have my stay in the Army. I went from being into PTRP to what the Army calls a Meb Board on the day of 29 October 2003. I stayed at Fort Sill to get all my clearance status done as I worked at the troop medical center until I left Fort Sill on 12 Dec 2003.
It was a failure so to say....
It starts with, when I was in therapy but I backed off of it. I felt at the time that my therapy was blocking my potentials of all including not finding any full-time employment whatsoever. I was working only on the weekend mornings at my Aunt's restaurant. It was an okay resort for the first few weeks, but as more time came thru, I was getting very agitated. Working around my family members was starting to get highly annoying and horrible. Along with complaining customers and often 'Holier Than Thou' senses from crabby high-income types with oldies music playing, I don't like oldies except for The Doobie Brothers. (I was happy when Tom Leykis, a talk-show radio host going along the lines of Howard Stern, once said, "If you listen to oldies on radio, you are pathetic." He later went on intimating an oldies DJ, which I thought was highly amusing.) It was 2002 and during that time, it was post 9/11, when the economy was a drunk driver about to hit the brick wall at an 80mph speed. (It's had been since George W Bush was president.) With all that and not having a vehicle I could drive or to call my own (My Uncle and Mother had vehicles, but they would very rarely ever drive there's.), things were not right. I was only making $80 a week and had to give $50 of that to my mother for rent. It also seemed to me that everything I said or did or I am was wrong to everyone around me. For one thing, I had family members indulging in drug dealing (no major drugs, just basically pills and marijuana) and I was angry that they happen to make more money than I did. Here am I, doing the right thing and struggling, and people who tell me not to do the wrong thing are doing the wrong things themselves and worse, there making more money than I am. I was (and still am) suffering of the alienating mental disability entitled 'Emotionally Impaired,' or (MI). I find the name rather degrading, I just say, "I'm ****** up, you like that?" My childhood was, at times, troubling and difficult, no one else to balme, but my own. I wasn't physically abused but rather more of which 'not wanted.' I was in the side of the family that indulged in drugs and it sure wasn't a picnic, it was rough, especially for one who suffers from a mental disability. This lead up to where my Mother finally put it together and had me live with my Aunt and Uncle in the rural part of Lake Orion. Having them as my legal guardians in 1988. It was myself, my Aunt, my Uncle and my Cousin who is my Aunt's daughter but called my Uncle 'step-father.' We lived on a farm were at times, my Uncle would work on the gardens during the afternoon as he was working in construction of buildings. My Aunt later purchased an existing restaurant and became owner of that restaurant in 1990. Living in Lake Orion wasn't so happy at times, and for suffering from MI, it was quite confusing. My Aunt and Uncle were strict on discipline, and since this was around the time were it was the last days were you can beat the **** (rather called, getting a 'spanking' but I don't use that word) out of your child and not worry about the law coming in and throwing you in prison for 5 years, they would be quite intimidating, especially using a belt, a shoe or worse, the horsewhip (we did have a horse at one time). Regardless of my 'disability', if I did the slightest thing wrong, 'ya get ya ass kicked with the belt.' ****, my cousin and me were once called into my 'parents' room to answer that moved my uncle's hunting rifle. I never did and my cousin said she never did. I guessed maybe he moved it and forgot about it. But, it was not how he thought of it; he then hit both of us with the belt. Not to say my aunt and uncle are bad people, but in the olden days, that is what usually happened, when kids acted up, some if them get the **** kicked out of them with a belt. Nowadays, it's now illegal....
Being told not to do right from wrong, it was rather bewildering when a few of my family members were indulging in drugs. Each weekend working at the restaurant, I was wishing I were dead or just in some other place. Like in Ireland with an Irish wife and a well-respected job, but it didn't look like that was happening. And with this problem popping up, I was getting basically upset with being told right from wrong, and people doing wrong. I finally had a vehicle in August 2002 given to me from my Aunt and Uncle (thank you) so I can get a better job; the car was a 1985 Chevy Caprice. It was running fine for the first two weeks. But after a while, the car was further dying and dropping. Until it finally died in 17 Oct 2002, about 10 miles away from my house on Groesbeck Highway. I also had a another job at the time which I was working full-time, but due to being blamed for another employees errors by a snobby 20-something female manager (who didn't like working in a industrial building and thought all of the people working there were "trash", likely had everything given to her in a gold-dish but likely did something she wasn't suppose to be doing and ended up there), I lost that after working three weeks there. With that in mind, I thought to myself, "I'm ******* sick of it all...." I thought to myself, join the military or else you'll be here for life! And I sure as hell did not want that. Finding work in my area was hard to begin with, most places of work in the Mt. Clemens/Macomb Township were quite cutthroat. It was mainly a slow economy and how new tax incentives were when hiring the mentally retarded and women. So white adult males were basically told no, and since I'm not mentally retarded, I wasn't in the category of the company getting their tax break when hiring me. On the 21st of October, around the time were they caught the 'Belt-way sniper' I walked into the US Army recruiting office and said I'm willing to join. The person there who later became my recruiter was very happy to see another person wish to volunteer. There office was located in a rich part of town and people rarely stopped-by to say, "Sign my ass up." After all the first-hand paperwork, before I left the office, my recruiter gave me a couple of books and literature about the Army and what it offers. While walking out of the office, I asked my recruiter, "Do you get a lot of people around here wanting to volunteer for the military?" He said, "Not many good Americans like you." That thought will be a good one for a long while.
As for my military past, I was in the United States Army for 11 months, 3 days. Reason why the shortage of not serving my term is my knee injury I sustained in Basic Training. In week 2 of basic training, I tripped over a pothole while running, trying to catch up to the front of the line. Since then, I limped like a ************ from week 2-7, and again at AIT week 1-2, which added physical therapy. At week 2 of AIT, my limping got the best of me and I was 'somewhat' pulled out of training and sent to what they call PTRP. I had to stay with my battery for a month before heading to PTRP, I also saw everyone (but myself and another person) graduate, it made me very angry and I wanted to kill, crush, destroy, and hurt those who gave me bullshit due to the injury. I'm not saying it's the Drill Sergeant's fault that I got my knee fucked-up. For instance, since I got injured at week 2 of Basic Training, I was quite angry about this, I really wanted to pass BCT, and most of the drill sergeants seen that. I would guess they thought, "He may be ate the **** up, but at least he has potential." My mental disability had a difference to others, and it seemed to be a big wrong to certain people. I had this dickhead 'battle buddy' by the name of, well, let's call him, Scott. Scott did not like me at all; basically, I was 'Satan' to Scott. Scott for instance would attempt to 'degrade' me at any cost. One time, he was kissing the ass of a SSgt. when the SSgt. was shooting random insults. Yep, that guy did not like me at all. I suppose he was trying to take advantage or some ****. Also, during BCT, at week 3 of basic, I converted to Christian from Agnostic, later during my time in the Army, I left Christianity. I'll get to that later in this 'wonderful story!' I guess I felt more close to my family and decided to stay in the same belief system. Doing this, I tried my best to 'forgive my debtors.' Most times I did, once in a while I did not. For instance, during AIT week 1, this SSgt. got really shitty with me. One time, the prick kicked my desk, screamed at me a lot and one time, almost hit me with a giant government-maded or involved metal protractor called a 'RDP.' After doing this, the guy yelled at me, paused for a moment, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. Then he told me to leave the room. After this was up, another NCO, well a SDNCO threatened to put a 'boot to my face.' Following this madness, I thought to myself (as a Christian) to attempt to forgive these people for doing this. I though of becoming back to agnostic because it seemed to me that people were really out to get me or extremely irate as in my presence seem to offend them. I though to myself that the SSgt. who went apeshit and the SDNCO who threatened me, really had some problem with me. As if I did something to offend them or anger them in some sort of way. Week 2 of AIT proved that wrong (somewhat), since the new chapter was easier to my standards, it had a lot to do with math. Numbers are not really a thinking process for myself, so it was a lot easier. The SSgt. started getting irate with another guy in there. Hell, the DS's said "Don't go to that guy (referring to me) for help, because, he'll start explaining the square root of numbers in the millions." I took that as a complement and I thought I didn't have to worry about losing it in AIT. Sadly, another thing I had to worry about followed. On that Saturday, we had some practice runs to do. During this, I had the leadoff and when the DS told us to sprint, sprinting it was, I sprinted for some time less than a minute, the something in my leg seem to become "loose." Following that, the limping that went away (or supposedly went away) at the end of week 7 of BCT, came back to haunt me. To make a long story short, I was told to go to sick call. I had to wear a brace, and I was told that I would not be graduating on the day I was supposing to. The following weeks after in AIT, the people around me minus the DS's seem to give me the "Holier than thou" sense. People would call me 'brokedick' and 'future FTB.' For those who are confused with FTB, (which 95% people who would read this) FTB is where you go when you can not reach PT standards at the end of BCT, in parts of AIT or if you just got into reception and can't pass the minimum standards. The 'brokedick' insults. I remember one person calling me a heartless bastard sometime in week 1 of BCT. Now, that same person insults me for my injury. I remember this guy who would say "hop, hop, hop" as in an insult to my injury, I couldn't help limping. And here's another thing, I guarantee if I were to insult any of these people if they were injured, these people would get there pals together and start WWIII placating me as the enemy. It is my experience that all of these people would not fight me one-on-one. They had to have somebody there to protect them from being hurt... Next up is PTRP. A place where severely injured people who were pulled from basic or AIT go when they cannot train due to injury. My first two months there were so-so, at the last week of September, 5 people got their hands on a can of cleaning spray. So they started huffing from the can. At the time, I saw only 2 people huffing, and 2 other I suspected of huffing. But, for my own intentions, I'm keeping the huffing story out of the way. Let's just say, someone around there was doing something they were not suppose to be doing. A few days later, I got into trouble with my 'Black Book' which was the working title for it, I was working on sketches of a poetry book, it had some pretty horrifying pictures I drew on black pieces of paper and glowing pens. Although incomplete, it did scare the **** out of some people who read into it. This dickhead went to the DS with it. My guess the DS read it and thought, "we have a ******* loony here." It made the BC concerned and had me forwarded to CMHS for the day. CMHS is for those who need mental help on the base, or for those trainees preaching suicide or those who sign up for the Army and can't handle it mentally, so they say they have seen a therapist before. I was there because of my non-finished gothic project 'The Black Book.' The therapist name was Dr. Dick. Funny, isn't it? After waiting 6 long hours to see this guy, him and me had a talk about why am I here and why does 'The Black Book' reside. Later Dr. Dick cleared me for Training... On 20 Oct 2003, exactly 364 days before I went into the recruiting office and said, "Yes, my retarded ass will sign-up." My injury was determined that bad that it will not heal for 12-18 months. The person seeing me told me to think about reenlistment. I was relieved to get that paper that said my ass would be going home soon. I felt like I got done ******* a nice European model. Limping like a ************ with it happening again was basically why I was losing interest in the US Army. On 29 Oct 2003, I was transferred or 'Reassigned' to F 1/19. I spent a month and a half there. It was like a restricted Permanent Party status deal since I was a Meb-board. I finally got to wear civilian clothes on the weekends. How great! We were also allowed to go to Lawton, which was also grand! Those passes were nice, until this one puttz ****** it up. I think the guy was selling chew and candy bars to some of the chapter people. I was very unhappy when this puttz ruined the passes for us. My only good connection to the free world, ruined. Thanks a bunch your crack addict.... 8 Dec 2003, I got the good news that I was going home in 72 hours from that day. I was so happy to leave, I got my **** cleared and it was to be, I'm leaving Oklahoma and vowed never to return.... Copyright 2008 Roby Thomas |
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