In my opinion, the military medical system leaves much to be desired, especially in the area of psychiatric care.
My story: I was a 4.0 sailor, a petty officer right out of “A” School, and was on the fast track to a great career — until I lost my marbles. It happened while I was in Nuke School: the stress levels, lack of sleep, and physical environment of Rickover City triggered in me a full-on case of clinical depression, complete with physical symptoms (shingles, among others), psychotic episodes, the works. I was bad off, doing all kinds of crazy stuff — and no one noticed. Instead, they waited until my grades dropped below the requisite levels, then flunked me out and sent me to the Fleet.
Aboard ship, I started off doing well — but soon enough the Fog began creeping in again. As any carrier sailor knows, the danger of having someone with a severe untreated psychiatric condition aboard ship is extreme — although I wasn’t capable of deliberate violence against others, my inability to focus on (or often even understand) what was going on around me, combined with periodic out-of-my-freaking-mind episodes, could have gotten me (and many others) killed out there. I thank God that my guardian angel was on the job! Toward the end I was doing some truly strange things — a licensed psychiatrist would have diagnosed me correctly in about ten seconds. I was, frankly, nuts.
Finally my LPO sent me to sickbay for an evaluation. I was no longer capable of standing watches; instead I would hide in the #4 shaft alley for hours on end. The Navy M.D. aboard ship classified me as a malingerer with an attitude problem and a bad fungus infection and gave me light duty. By then I was barely rational and totally out of control. At the advice of my shipmates in the division (who were more than understanding, God bless them). I filed a lengthy request for a medical discharge. Denied, of course!
This went on for months, ending not long after our combat deployment to the Gulf of Sidra in April of 1986. Not long after that, I lost it completely, and did some truly crazy stuff as a result of my untreated depression (the details are unimportant; no one but me was endangered or hurt) that ended in my arrest. They court-martialed me, made me do a month in the brig (in solitary — oh, that helped!), busted me four grades, sent me home, and gave me an OTH.
There’s a happy ending. Years later, I finally received the psychiatric care I needed, and I’ve had a successful career and a happy family since then.
But how different might my life have been, and how much more use might the Navy have gotten out of me, if I had been properly diagnosed by a licensed doctor of psychiatry during my time in the service!
I am glad you are doing well. Keep up the good work.
So you washed out. Not uncommon nor unusual. It is a select few that can work on ships and submarines. You didn't pass the test. I'm happy the Service has given you the full backing of the United States Military.