I went home and went inside to face my parents.  I did as little talking as I could too, they weren't asking any questions about my story and I wasn't going to volunteer anything.  I'm sure that they knew what was going on but they just couldn't deal with it either.  Slowly people realized I was back and most were sure that I was now really out.  I did nothing to disabuse this idea.

Part of the reason so little was asked about it all was the fact that I went back to the psychologist I had been seeing the next day.   I dodged being hospitalized by the virtue of my ability to bullshit I think.  He started me back on the strong anti-psychotics too.  A lot of things happened in those three months but, they are both painful and irrelevant to this story.

I was a lot better by early Spring and I set out once again to go back and finish the thing.  I took a bus to N.A.S. Glenview and walked up to the gate guard and explained the situation to him.  He called the duty officer and I was taken to another transit barracks, this one devoid of anyone besides myself.  They put me on a plane to N.A.S. Norfolk and in a day or so I was back with my recently returned squadron working as a janitor and living in limbo.

Payday came and there was no check for me, I assumed it was part of the deal for being U.A. but that turned out not to be the case.  My record was lost, service jacket, pay jacket, and leave jacket.   There was no "official" paper for me at all.  This meant that I was to be issued something they called "subsistence rations" it worked out to one hundred and twenty dollars a month or, about fifty two dollars per check after taxes.

It could have been worse, they could have locked me up or restricted me but I was just functionally broke all of the time.  It was a good thing that smokes were still two ninety eight a carton on base.  I ate in the chow hall and stayed on base most of the time anyway.  

I was doing okay for a while and they seemed to be trying to process me out but weren't quite sure how to do it.  I was almost a year beyond my end of service date.  I was officially diagnosed as having a borderline personality disorder so I was not able to be held accountable for my actions.  I think that there were tow camps involved in my case by then, medical who wanted me discharged on what most people know as a "section eight" which would have followed me almost as well as a dishonorabledischarge. The other was my squadron's C.O., he wanted me to spend as much time as he could squeeze out of me on active duty but his goal was to get me out with an honorable discharge.

 I spent over a year in limbo.  I didn't go home or get leave or even a real paycheck.  I existed as a non person.  After a while I guess I just gave up on it all.  The ship was in dry dock for over a year for refitting and we were only sent out as small detachments to serves as op. forces for other squadrons work ups.  I was excluded from all of these, all I did was mop and sweep and stand watches.  I became one hell of a hand with Brasso.

Finally, I was scheduled for a non judicial punishment, Captains Mast.   The worst they could do to me there was but me down to E-1 and fine me five hundred buck along with thirty days of restriction or brig time.  I freaked out a little but I knew that when this was over I was done with the fucking Navy.  It took me five years to finish a three year hitch, sure I was gone for eight months of it but still.

Usually Captain's Mast is a fairly formal thing with certain officers present and the stiff language of military legalese in play.  My own was more like an exit interview at a job that I just wasn't compatible with.  I was basically alone with my C.O. for twenty minutes or so.  At the end of it all he reduced me to E-4, and fined me two hundred dollars and gave me thirty days of base restriction.  He went so far as to say that this was the best he could do and still get me out with an honorable instead of under honorable conditions.  The difference is, he told me that under honorable would still get me V.A. care but honorable would not tar me for having a mental breakdown.  We saluted and as I left, he called out to me "When your restriction is done you are out, good luck."