Turd.

In 2004, I was thrown into another world foreign to all I had ever known. It was called Basic Military Training. I referred to it afterwards as, "a break." The reason I referred to this 7-week time in my life as this period of relaxation, despite the physical and mental exertion, was because I no longer had to make any decisions. Is all I had to do was literally sit and listen. If it wasn't for my own internal desires to stay, "muscular" I would have been fine. It was the brief evenings where a few of us Airmen stayed up to do some extra push ups or setups, you, know, to stay healthy.

It was my first night at basic training, and the yelling and chaos to break our comfort ensued. Those who served know the anarchy that the BMT instructors bring about, and even at the time is nonsensical. It is absurd, brash, quick, and really gets you on your toes, for if the screaming didn't get you, the shuffle inside the cold showers, penetrating any comfort zones through the close proximity of another airman's privates will. Do not drop the soap, not for any physical reason, but because on the way back up, you can be eyes to eye.

It was on this evening, after the showers, after the shuffle to find a bed, after all things were strewn about, and an entire day of travel, getting checked in, assigned to squads, that we were all getting our fill of loud, derogatory voices. However, the words used weren't typical words of anger, but words that mimicked cuss words. Phrases like, "what the piss," and "You've got to be friggin me right now!" Other, better ones escape my mind, for at the time of use, grown men to grown men it was downright humorous in our context to hear child words being screamed with all sincerity.

"Meier? What are you, a turd?" Yells a TI-Training Instructor as he goes through the rows of "pukes."

Holding back laughter at this man whom was yelling up from eye view of my chest, my face goes stern. He continues.

"Meier, do you want to hit me?" He looks at me with curious eyes.

Immediately I become fearful of some scene from a movie taking place here. I had heard up until this point that the instructors can't actually touch us, but I was here now, and nothing else made sense, so anything was possible.

"No sir." Wrong answer.

"Sir!?" Screams the instructor.

"I am not a sir, I am staff sergeant...." For I cannot recall his name all these years later.

"Sorry." Wrong answer again.

"Yes, you are sorry!" Screams the TI, for he must have known he had me now.

(quiet)

"Do you have nothing to say turd?" Screams after a few seconds of silence, as my mind races for words to fill in the blank.

"No staff sergeant"

"Don't scream at me turd, I'm right here."

He walks away.

For it was this interaction I remembered the most. This was the most helpless I felt in a long time. Knowing that the mind can make things up and it is our memory that oftentimes fails us, I acknowledge details lost, however, I can tell you a place where I was standing, the green camo laundry bags thrown on the bed, some on the floor, and my towering above the other men around me.

My time at Basic Training was relaxing for I had no choices, did what I was told, and despite my own angst and fear of the dreaded, "recycled," a starting over that was a constant threat, I succeeded. Being yelled at, called, "turd," wasn't anything compared to my own fears. I was not waken up by the instructors in the morning, for my mind was awake for 30 minutes by then. I was not running around trying to brush teeth or shave, 1. because I barely needed to shave, and 2 because when I woke up early, I just did it then. I did not scramble to make my bed, for I never undid it. Much of the "hacks" at the time where figured out as a necessity, therefore the rest of my time was as casual as a Sunday morning.

As a turd however, I was meant to leave the pot, flushed back out into society, and left to fend on my own with the tools Basic Military Training for the Air force provided. Eventually, after a period at a technical school, I came back to my home town, prepared to go to school again in the fall. Back to all the decisions and consequences of those decisions, back to where what I thought I wanted at the time, was to be in charge.

I realized after a few months again with this freedom, that it is not the environment that makes us stressed, it is not the people, it is not the world's problems, but our own mind. Stress is our own doing and how we choose to see these things, and what we choose to do with with.

As a turd driven by my own angst inside, I eventually led my squad in exercise activities and other tests to become an honor graduate.

"Well, Airman Meier, if on that first night someone would have told me you would have gotten this award, I would have thrown up. Congrats."

I was now an Airman, no longer a turd.

Times in life can be stressful, but it is our ability to recognize this and deal with it appropriately. Seeing what factors you feel and what they feel like inside and where is important in management of stress. Castle-Broken: When appearances are everything, is available on Amazon. A book on male
body image disorders, which is why you see that even in basic I had to work out in the evenings. Obsession is a funny, yet horrible thing.

God Bless.