The US Military

almost everyone i know in the US Military hates the US Military.  discus...

The VA won't help you much even if you get them. The last time I talked to a VA social worker I told her: "You're a band-aid. You don't do anything to help, but your job exists so that people can point to you and say "Look, see, someone is helping, we care for veterans" but at the end of this interview you're going to kick me right back out into the streets. You aren't going to come visit my homeless camp to see if conditions are safe. You aren't going to treat my open boils and bleeding legs and feet unless I go over to medical and FORCE them to. You're leaving me in the care of someone you say isn't capable of caring for himself. You kill a horse when it goes lame, but I've got to live out here, even though everyone I love is dead, even though inside I'm dead, even though I'm so fucked up that you won't even let me come to group therapy sessions because I upset the other veterans too much. You tell me I might have tumors in my head, but then tell me you can't arrange for transportation to and from a VA hospital, and you know I don't have a car."
Eventually I finally exploded at them over the phone, and they called the police on me, even though when the police got there they admitted I'd done nothing wrong (apparently I have a "threatening demeanor". Well no shit).
Good luck with your claim, but don't expect much of any real help (outside of the money). If you ask them, "Who do I give the money to, so that I can get the help I need", they'll point you in the direction of civilian homeless services and close the door. If you don't leave the premesis when they tell you to, they call security and have you escorted off.
I always tell my psychs "If I snap, and bad things happen, the only thing I'm saying to the media is that I've been begging the VA to help me deal with my situation for year after year now, and they keep sending me out into society to try to adapt even though I admit that I can't".
And that'll be all I have to say about it. That's my every day reality. I went to the VA yesterday to make an appointment, the guy behind the counter laughed and said I was always welcome, I said "Yeah, that's because I haven't threatened to kill you yet." and he kept laughing. It wasn't a joke. I ain't laughing. I don't even smile much anymore. I start to smile when I see something funny, then I remember who and what I am, and that smile slides right off my face like it never existed.
2013 is the year I realized I'm probably going to have to take myself out at some point. How fucking great is that to look forward to.
I tell my doctors all this shit, and they give me some pills to calm me down. That's all they can do. Lock me up and sooner or later you'll have to let me go. I'm a problem without a solution. I'm self-aware enough to realize that. So why is it illegal for me to die?
They won't let me have that "Right To Die" crap unless the tumors in my head turn out to be real, or some other incurable disease hits me. Maybe they won't even let me have it then because of my psych past.
I don't want to look down the barrel of a shotgun and wonder if I'm about to fuck it all up, lay there in my blood for an hour, maybe be found, get locked up in some psych ward and have my diapers changed by a large, apathetic nurse for the rest of my life.
Let me just go, let me go cleanly and safely, or don't blame me when things go wrong, because I've done nothing but beg for help the entire time.