Connecticut: Part Five

For the entire story, click the Connecticut topic at the end of this post, in the sidebar to your right, or just click here.

“So, you're a Mormon?” my shrink, Dr. Byers asked me right away.  He was fascinated by the religion listed in my records and on my dog tags.  "More than any other religion," he claimed, "Mormons needed psychiatric help."

“But you're a psychologist.”

“It's just a term,” he replied. This is the way our sessions went.  Dr. Byers wasn't very precise with his terminology and wasn't serious at all about his profession. He was leaving the Air Force in a year after sixteen years as an officer in order to go to Houston and become an investment advisor. I asked him if it wouldn't be smarter to hang in there for another four years and get the lifelong retirement check, but he said his heart just wasn't in it anymore.  I hope he gave others great investment advice in his second career. 

He tried various counseling methods with me.  I went to one group session where I lost respect for seven other blathering, whining, crying Airmen.  He decided it wasn't necessary for me to attend more sessions after I got bored and started making fun of the nurse who confessed to licking needles and pricking his skin with them in order to develop a physical bond with patients.  He tried getting me to open up about my childhood, but I guess that didn't work because he didn't let me type the sessions into a computer diary for everyone in the world to read.  He just wanted me to talk while he wrote things in a notebook.  He tried to say things about my religion, my parents, and me that would make me angry enough to explode in a rage.  I didn't because it was obvious he was just trying some mindtrick he'd read in Psychology for Dummies. 

I was required to see him for six months, it's in the regs.  After he played around for a month we regressed into weekly meetings where I'd answer his questions about crazy Mormons I'd known and he'd tell me about great investment strategies.  He even gave me a couple of books on stocks that I never read.

Then one day Lynda called me.

She and Connecticut had reconciled long enough for them to have a couple of dates, but then he'd gotten drunk and had hit her a few times.  She was really upset, but hadn't called the cops or even reported him to the military officials.  Today I would insist that she do those two things, back then I decided that Connecticut needed to be stopped and I was the one to do it.  But since I couldn't do it alone, I recruited Pete. 

We went to the gym where we found a couple of guys who lived in Connecticut's new barracks.  We explained the whole story over a couple games of racquetball and by the end they were happy and willing participants.

Here's what happened the next night:

We sneaked into his barracks and into his room.  We looped three large ratchet straps over his bunk – they were the kind used on the flight line to tie bombs to weapon's trailers during ground transport.  We covered his head with a pillowcase and tightened the ratchet straps all at the same time and he woke up screaming.  Then we left his room and let Lynda in . . . we'd signed her onto the base earlier and had her wait outside while we prepped Connecticut. 

Lynda, armed with a bar of soap in a sock got the revenge every woman who has been hit by an abusive asshole deserves.  She didn't hit him too many times, just when he started screaming instead of listening to her tell him why it was wrong to hit girls.  When she was finished she left the room crying, but relieved.  Two of the guys who lived in that barracks went into the room after she left and wrote “I'm a Coward.  I Hit Girls” on his forehead in permanent marker. 

After that, we took Lynda over to the Commander's Office and left her outside so she could meet the First Sergeant as he came into work.  Leaving Pete and I out of it, she told him the story, including how abusive his pet intern had been. 

Miraculously, no one specifically tied me, or Pete to the incident in Connecticut's new barracks. 

He was transferred out to an overseas assignment before I was done with therapy. 

Dr. Byers gave me a clean bill of mental health at the end of six months.  In his report, he recommended that the Article 15 violation be removed from my record. The Commander and First Sergeant agreed with him and even though they didn't apologize to me or ever call me in to hear my side of the story, they returned my monetary fine and completely removed the charges from my record and replaced them with 5-level performance evaluations for that period, which is the highest one can get.

When I was transferred a year later, I had to get my medical records from the hospital and take them to the Command HQ.  This was in the days before any of those records were computerized and the hospitals didn't keep copies – everything was in those two manila folders.  On the way over to Command, I stopped at the library and removed every sheet having to do with my time in psychological counseling.  I kept everything Dr. Byer had signed and put it into my own notebook.  I don't know if it did any good; whether those sheets would've negatively impacted my subsequent training and assignments, but they gave me something fascinating to read on the flight from California to Japan. 

By the way, Dr. Byer mentioned the word, “Mormon” on every single page.  The man had his obsessions.   

 

Comments

[mark]

sometimes, sometimes a-holes get what they deserve...

[Cynthia Bagley]

Removing the medical records was wise. My friend had to have counseling to go overseas (some marriage problems)... it would have impacted her husband's job because of his wife... Can you believe it?

And yes, those sheets somehow disappeared.

Cyn

[a rose is a rose]

so DO you know where connecticut is now? what he's doing? what about lynda?

cynthia is right. removing those records WAS a good thing. even though they're supposed to be private, they can have a way to come back and haunt you.

[Tim Mulcahy]

You know what Kurt would have said ... "And so it goes."

[SML]

Great continuation of the story. I think what you did for Lynda was huge. HUGE.

That psychologist sounds interesting. Hmmmmm.

[Cherise]

How very FULL METAL JACKET of you all, nice! :)

[Success Warrior]

I know a few people that would be helped with a good blanket party.

[Cherise]

SW -- lol! What this blanket party was missing was a taser!!

[Sideon]

Delicious. I'm glad you helped Lynda, too!

Whatever happened to Connecticut overseas? Did he try that potentially fatal sushi?

[CV Rick]

Rose, I don't know where Connecticut is now. I never heard from him after his transfer. I'm sure he's living in his mom's basement now.

Tim, it did go. It went well.

Cynthia, I was amazed that they gave me so much "alone time" with my own records. I made the best of it.

S.W., Blanket parties are underrated.

Sideon, I just know he went to push papers in some bomber squadron in Germany. I don't even know what base. Chances are, he messed with the wrong Greta and Hans beat him senseless.

[CV Rick]

Cherise, tasers are also underrated.

[The Angry Young Man]

"More than any other religion," he claimed, "Mormons needed psychiatric help."

Bwa haw haw! Ya think?! Christ almighty, what a thing to say!