A decision
During my time in the Army, there were many instances when I didn’t have answers. There were even more instances when I needed answers. I’m the type of person who can be driven insane when I have a nagging question and the answer eludes me. So… I went look for answers. My first stop was typically my first-line supervisor; he was an intelligent individual and someone I respected. He and I were roughly the same age, which was common during my time in the Army. Because I joined pretty late, and I came in at a very low rank, everyone who was close to me in age, outranked me. Everyone who was my rank was approximately ten years younger than me. Put a pin in that.
Prior to joining the military, I had some interesting life experiences. I had already graduated high school, gone to and dropped out of college, and worked a few jobs. I had lived on my own for a bit, as well. After arriving at my first station, I found out I had a roommate—and he was eight years younger than I was. He and I would eventually become very close friends (he and I still talk frequently and visit each other) but I did not anticipate having a roommate. I thought I left those days behind me after completing training.
It didn’t take long before I had a nagging question, with no answers of my own. I asked my first-line supervisor if I could rent an apartment off base. He said no. Interesting. I asked why not. He replied, “the Army won’t pay for it.” I told him I would use my own funds to pay for the apartment, and he insisted that I could not do that. Permission. The Army wouldn’t let me. Permission. I scoured the internet and explored every Army regulation I could get my hands on. I couldn’t find anything that said I couldn’t rent an apartment with my own money. I went back to my NCO and the answer was still no. Permission. Before I continue any further, I want to make one thing clear. There are times when you seek answers to a question or you must get authorization to do something in the military, and there isn’t any precedence. Because there isn’t any true precedence, the decision to do or not do something is at the behest of a supervisor or direct superior. More often than not, that individual will certainly choose to do things the way they’ve always been done because “that’s the way it has been done.”
I had a very intense debate with my NCO. Evidently, if I were a married soldier, regardless of my rank, the Army would not only allow me to live off base, but they would also pay for my housing expenses—this infuriated me. After this stark revelation, I felt the rose-tinted glasses I had worn until that point, shatter. I realized that there were so many sham marriages, and that was commonplace. I just wanted to live off base. I just wanted my own space. I wanted seclusion and separation from the Army. I wanted a place to call my own, that I could retreat to, to unwind, recharge and recuperate. I’m an introvert by nature, and the constant, daily overstimulation that stemmed from life as a soldier was starting to take its toll. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Permission. I didn’t have the authorization to do that. Permission. I wasn’t grown enough to live on my own because I was just a private. Permission.
What did I do? Well, what would be the most logical thing to do? Yeah, I didn’t do that at all. I did the next most logical thing. I was being treated unfairly—as I believed—so I decided to act out. I made some foolish decisions, but the worst decision was to stop caring as much or trying as hard as I had been until that point. Anger started to grow, and it eventually mutated into rage. I sought counselling from a therapist, as I believed that I was going to have an uncontrolled outburst very soon.
This isn’t supposed to be a “woe is me” piece. This is intended to serve—not only as a cautionary tale—as a shortened recapitulation of my journey here. My journey to the man that I am today. I am not the only person who has experienced disappointment and dissatisfaction in the Army, or any career field. I will not be the last person to face unpleasant situations like the ones I am documenting. I want you—the reader—to see where I went wrong. Maybe “wrong” isn’t the right word. I want you to see how I handled my own personal situation with the hope that you make better informed decisions. Although I am saddened by some of the things I did, I don’t regret anything I did. Everything happened the way it was supposed to happen. I wouldn’t change anything. I made the best possible decisions at that time, with the knowledge and information that I had… at that time.
More to follow.
