What Honor Means To Me

I was ecstatic to finally feel the covers of my bed draped over my body and to hear the drill instructor to call for lights out. This night was made more special than the rest as it was two weeks into boot camp. It was the first night we got mail. I hid under my covers and with one hand I held a flashlight and with my other I eagerly tore open an envelope with my girlfriend at the time's return address on the top left corner. I didn't even get a paragraph into her letter before my tears started dropping on the paper. This isn't what I wanted. To be across the country, completely shut off from the rest of the world. MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) San Diego is where I found myself and as I was trying to get into the groove of things I noticed that the place seemed like the setting of a Stephen King novel. Almost as if it was it's own dimension. While me and the kids in my platoon were having their worlds turned upside down we could see the tops of cars going by on the interstate surrounding the compound. Just regular people living regular lives and all the Marine Corps recruits wishing they could just hop in the car and be on their way out. Another thing was the very active San Diego International Airport that was right next door to MCRD. Our drill instructors used departing plans as tools to wreck our nerves by making us yell at the planes full of people going on vacation or even just going back home...where we wanted to be.

I did what I must to get through boot camp. Field week came along and this is where I felt my foot break. Nervous not to tell anyone because I didn't want to get set back in training and have to stay there any longer than I had to, I did my best to toughen through it. Not because I was brave, or resilient...but because I wanted to go home. I spent all, if not most, of my Marine Corps career wanting to be somewhere else. After boot camp I moved on to the Infantry Training Battalion. ITB went a lot like boot camp. I was always counting the days until I could leave. I broke the same foot in ITB once more. This time it broke on the 15 kilometer hike as I was going up a slope aptly named the "Microwave". The name was bestowed on it because whenever the sun hit the mountain just right the slope's temperature would climb upward to 110 degrees Fahrenheit (or 43 degrees Celsius for all my European readers). Again, I told no one. I wanted to get out of ITB because I thought my time in the Marine Corps would get better once I left.

It wasn't until after Infantry Training and I had moved on to Security Forces School did I realize the cold, bitter truth. No matter where I found myself in the Corps, the bullshit would follow. Once I faced the truth I was plunged into a deep well of depression. I didn't want to live this live anymore...I didn't want to live. Many times while on the firing range in Security Forces School I thought to myself...what if?...what if I were to just turn my Beretta on myself and squeeze the trigger. 5 pounds...that's the trigger weight of a 9mm Beretta that's already cocked. That's all I would need. Was my finger to apply 5 pounds of pressure and it would be all over. This nightmare that I gotten myself into and saw no other way out. Luckily I never did it. I continued like everything was okay. I let the color drain out of my life. These impulses I felt to take my own life scared me senseless. I didn't want to die so I sought out help. I went to my unit's Chaplin and told him of these suicidal thoughts I had. Before I knew I was shipped off to a naval hospital to get psychologically evaluated. After a few days there and some subtle revelations they recommended me to get discharged. I wasn't sure how to feel about it at first. Ever since the first day of boot camp we had the same three words hammered into our psyche. Honor. Courage. Commitment. I didn't feel like I was upholding any of those values by going out like this. In my mind, given my state, I wasn't going to make it through my contract. Not while struggling with this crippling depression. In my mind I only saw two ways out and both of those exits were cowardly. I just chose the one that held the most hope.

Honor is strange word. It's strong in meaning, but fragile in how easy it can be broken. If you're reading this you know a lot more about me than anyone back home does. Everyone I know back home thinks I got discharged due to breaking my foot on multiple occasions. I was going to tell them the truth. As I walked up to my dad at the airport upon getting back home I thought I had mustered up the courage to tell him. But then my mind recklessly flashed back to the pride emanating from his smile when he saw me in my uniform for the first time. It was one of the few times he said he was proud of me. I didn't want to destroy his false perception of how my time in the Marine Corps transpired. I didn't want to destroy his image of me. I didn't want to destroy his sense of honor that he thought I placed on my family name. Honor is a word I struggle with everyday. Every so often I let myself fall into depression because of it. Other days I plan out ways I can restore it. If you're a member of the military or a veteran I hope I haven't filled you with rage as you finish reading this. I know I failed you. I failed all of you...and I struggle with that fact everyday as I try to claw my way to redemption, because it all comes down to this...Honor is something that is self defined. It holds a slightly different meaning within all of us. Honor is how you hold yourself in the face of failure...and the glory of success. While my failure in the Marine Corps looms behind me I know there's no where to go but forward. The only way I remove all chance of restoring my honor is if I decide to succumb to these feelings of depression and despair and I absolutely refuse to do so.