I enlisted into the Army Reserves in late 2008 and went through Kapooka (Army Basic Training) during the winter university break of 2009. There was nothing at Kapooka that I found particularly physically or mentally challenging, although the experience tested my metal in a way that was life changing nonetheless.

As the reader will note, there was about an eight month period between my enlistment date and Kapooka, this gave me ample time within my unit to learn the ins and outs of the Army lifestyle and receive prep for the various lessons basic training would entail.

This prep, it could be argued, ultimately lead to my downfall though, as I was familiar with all the drills and most importantly was used to a comradery between the Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs) and myself. I was used to training alongside the NCOs, exchanging banter and calling them by their names.

When the end of the University semester came round, myself along with a ready and eager handful from our reservist platoon flew down to Sydney then caught the bus to Kapooka. People join the Reserves for all sorts of different reasons, some join for the right reasons such as serving their country or desire for a different part-time job from the 9-5, others the wrong such as seeing it as a stepping stone for a political or acting careers. My motivations although I never expressed it to anyone except to recruiting was to join the Special Forces (SF) community.

So while a lot of my platoon were hoping to get by under the radar, I was there to do the best I could while having some fun. I think the motto of any conventional military in all capacities (including SF) is to be the Grey Man. That is the man that does his job and no one remembers or cares about, he is neither black nor white. For some this is easy, for myself, who prior to enlistment had dreadlocks, this was simply a card I had never learnt to utilise.

As we approached Kapooka our military escort gave us a quick but stern prep speech as to what to expect and what to do once we got off the bus. We got off the bus and did what was ordered of us, assembling in rank and file. We were then taken to the quartermaster’s and provided with our personal training kit which we were expected to wear. I was taken out and used as a model with the NCOs showing everyone how to PT uniform correctly. It was a simple thing but I remember having to fight back a smile while in front of everyone. While it didn’t emerge in this instance, thank fuck! The appearance of this smile would occur at several times throughout our training and cause me a lot of grief.

We were then marched to the mess, separate from the main hall as our unit was being isolated due to a SARS scare at the time, and afterwards to our barracks where our NCOs introduced themselves and each unit was split up. It was all very polite and orderly, warm and fuzzy even. We were then encouraged to go outside and to call our loved ones. 

After this we were shown night routine and the onslaught began. Each section was given orders and us Recruits were screamed at constantly told to hurry up until it was time for lights out and bed.

That night I woke up to go to the toilet, I noted one of the NCOs, a giant of a man about 6’6”, was observing the unit. I walked past him barefoot and into the toilets, there was water on the floor from the showers and I quickly realised we were given orders to use thongs when in the unit at all times. I walked back to my bed to retrieve the foot ware, but the NCO was nowhere to be seen. The next morning we were reminded to use thongs. My guess is that, that night was my first of many insubordinate acts that were written against my name.

Within our platoon we had a female Sargent from Dental Corp, a Corporal who was a Medic assigned to the SF, a Transport Corp Corporal who I previously mentioned as a giant, a Cavalry Corporal and my secco who was an overweight Bombardier.

Over the next few days we were introduced to all the different aspects of our kit and how to put it together and pull it apart. We were always being rushed, but I saw each new piece of instruction as an opportunity to race, and I was rarely not first. This accompanied with the name Austin (we often lined up alphabetically) put me at the first of the platoon nearly every time.

There is a saying within the military “don’t trip on your own dick”, unfortunately for myself come the 3rd or 4th night this is something I definitely did. By this time we were well acquainted although not friendly with our NCOs, and one of the rules was to not eat while moving in the mess. I thought it would be funny to pretend that I was going to take a bite out of an apple while walking past the Sargent and to pull out at the last second. “Buzz the tower so to say”, the action and the consequence in itself was relatively minor, just a small berating, although I believe this set the tone for the rest of my stay at the establishment.

I became the “heat seeker” of the platoon, if there was ever something wrong, there was a good chance that I was to blame, and I would continuously and constantly be called out and berated. Part of my problem was that I took it all in good jest, I had a seemingly unbreakable confidence and rarely took any of their insults to heart, infuriating the NCOs even more. My other biggest issue was that I would constantly call the NCOs by their names, disrespecting their rank. This was accidental, of course, but was a result of spending such a long time in the Reserve Unit back home.

Having said that, I did have good fun with the NCOs, they would constantly play games with me or on me, in order to slow me down or waste my time, which I only saw as a bigger challenge to push myself even harder. I also had a solid core group of mates from my Reserve Unit in the platoon, which from my perspective made the mateship even tighter and worthwhile. However, I was starting to get chinks in my armour, I remember at one point, about a week in, I did not know how to properly present a weapon when handing it in to the quartermaster. I was taught how and sent to the back of the line. The Reserve Officer Recruit at the back of the line, who had little direct contact with me at that point, asked what had happened and how to do it correctly, she didn’t believe me. It was the first time I had ever experienced a reputation that was so bad my peers didn’t believe or trust me.

A memorable moment for me in the Platoon was having the Medical Corporal show me his medals “Gongs”, he told me what each one was for and when he got them. It was a great privilege as I knew this man had definitely been there and done that as far as military operations were concerned. It also leads into what was probably the most painful form of discipline I have ever received. This Corporal approached me in friendly manner one time when we were in the barracks. I was in gogo mode, and simply responded with a “What?”, I meant no offence by it and didn’t give it a second thought, but the Corporal was offended at the insubordination, he stopped in his tracks, took a moment to control his rage and walked away. The Sergeant came out and told me to stand on a line that I was accustomed to and stare at the wall. I stood there for about a minute, after which a voice I did not know started dressing me down and asking questions from outside my field of vision. I did not know him nor his rank, so couldn’t respond in an appropriate manner. I stayed silent. Overtime, I came to know this was an Infantry Sergeant from our sister platoon. After his dressing down the Corporal came up to me and asked me “Do you commonly say what at home amongst your family?” To which my response was “Corporal, yes, Corporal”. He nodded slowly then started the verbal onslaught.

There was an emotional pain there, as I felt I had genuinely wronged a man I had a deep respect for. But there was also a physical pain as he was screaming at the top of his lungs millimeters from my ear. I felt real pain in my ear and heart as I had to stand there staring at the wall. After the beasting the platoon lost further privileges ostracising me even more from my fellow recruits.

While at Kapooka I found solace in two things: Ironing my uniform during life in the barracks; and, cleaning/oiling my rifle while in the forward operating base (FOB)/field. I was pretty good at shooting and it was a skill I worked on and got progressively better at. However, while at the FOB our kit was becoming larger, and the rest of the platoon was starting to speed up. This culminated at one point where I ignored the secco’s orders of just jamming our packs and getting out of there, by trying to put everything in its place (something I often did to slow myself down). I quickly went from first to last in our platoon in these hurry up and wait exercises and ended up having other recruits helping me pack my bag away.

I caught a minor cold around this time, and morale was down. I remembered getting questioned by the Sergeant of the other platoon, and I had a slight roll of my eyes, which did not go unnoticed. Our platoon was getting punished with silent orders where we weren’t allowed to speak to each other, amongst other menial tasks. These I could handle with no problem and maybe I even enjoyed the solace.

Prior to the bush phase of the training I got hit with the biggest blow. I was ordered to go see the Lieutenant by myself, there in a dark tent I was read out a letter which outlined my insubordination, selfish acts and lack of dedication to my fellow personnel. I was ordered to sign it. At this point I did not know what to do as I strongly objected to the contents of the letter, but didn’t want to be directly insubordinate to my LT. I signed the letter, torn on the inside left the tent and walked straight ahead to the tent I thought was my sections. It turned out I walked straight into the female tent as they were getting instructions from our Sargent. Realising my mistake, I quickly exited the tent and headed for the correct one which was next door, before making it though the Sergeant came out and gave me a public beratement.

Bush phase went well, at dusk, which is a time when we are meant to stand too, our secco was with us and was speaking with up putting us at ease. We continued talking amongst ourselves. All of a sudden the secco changed on us, saying something along the lines of how stupid do you think I am talking through stand too, with me by your side. Thus, that night we got extra picket duty.

This didn’t slow me down too much though, I was young and the bush phase was short, the next morning we had our final exercise which was a competition for the best section. And is a culmination of everything we have learned so far. After this was completed, and we were sitting around cleaning our rifles, I called out jokingly to a mate in another section. At that point I was taken aside by his Corporal (the SF medic previously mentioned), and was berated for addressing a member of his section.

At this point I was pissed off and was unconsciously eyeballing him directly as he berated me for something that I thought was completely unreasonable. It was about 2/3rds of the way through my dressing down that I realised what I was doing and quickly diverted my eyes and stood at attention.

Following this I had a dressing down from the LT that stated I had broken my contract that I signed with him a couple of nights ago, and he asked me what he should do with me. I was looking down and acting meek, and I figured the letter was written so strongly that I guess he had no other choice but to discharge me.

At this I was left alone, it was about a day before march out.

I returned to my home reserve unit one small peg up the ladder, I still had to do my initial employment training (IET), before I would be a full fledged Private in a rifleman platoon. When I got home I dived straight back into my studies as there were some exams I missed due to basic training.

I looked forward to doing my IETs once the university semester was over. However, as the semester came to a close, I realised that the Vancouver Winter Olympics would be on that semester break. As this was pretty much my mother’s hometown, I couldn’t miss this once in a lifetime opportunity and I moved to Whistler to become a lifty for the games. I stayed on into the summer, and busted my ACL in the bike park, doing a rock roller that was well above my skill level or that of my bikes abilities. I came back to Australia and returned to my reserve unit, under a two year CHIT which excluded me from basically any physical activity. I continued my studies and eventually graduated university. I started working for a firm with a great culture, that was competing in a Brisbane Corporate 10’s Rugby Competition. My two years on the bench in the reserves was over and I was scheduled to do my IETs after the rugby comp.

Unfortunately for myself, I tore my ACL in one of my first tackles of the game. I walked myself of the field but did not return to the action. I had to pull out of the IETs course, and soon had my first hospitalisation, after which I quietly quit the Army Reserves.

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I look fondly back at my time in the military and I lament not joining full time when I was younger, although at the time I could never commit 4 years of my young life. What I shared in large part was a Kapooka warie, something our home unit’s Corporals would not let us share in the Reserve Unit as they are completely insignificant to the very real waries that exist within the military. So it is with great reserve that I share mine. But if you were to ask the question did the military affect me, I would answer it is definitely a story along the journey. 

Doctor’s say when you are going manic it is like you are high on cocaine. And it is. But when you mix that with grandiose delusions, you have a sense of purpose and duty that can’t be found in any drug. It is incomparable and it is one of the most fulfilling times of your life.

The basic training made me more subordinate and disciplined, while taking away some of my larger than life confidence (all arguably good things, and it is what I joined up for). Do I blame it for my mental health deterioration? No more than I blame that rock roller in Whistler. When I am feeling most frustrated and down on not being able to serve anymore, I look back at my service and liken it to some of the soldiers that were killed before they even hit the beach. It is over cut short through bad luck, but there will be others to take my place and fight the good fight. The major difference is I get to live out my life.

Today though we have an even greater problem with many of our returned servicemen committing suicide through PTSD. I haven’t been diagnosed with PTSD and if I have it I would blame my treatment in the hospitals far more than I would the military. But I am fighting my own demons. I said before about manic episodes providing a purpose that is hard to find in everyday life. This sense of purpose I am sure could be found however by being in combat and fighting for your life, implementing all your years of training in a do or die situation that has been carefully and deliberately planned for while being part of a brotherhood of warriors all willing to die for each other.

So I write this blog, mainly to raise mental health awareness, that is its purpose. My battle is mine alone, but I am sharing it to hopefully provide an insight to others. When there is a lack of meaning or direction in ones life, it can become very difficult, especially when someone has been a part of something on a grand scale. This is why I believe so many celebrities die young and why so many returned service men and women are ending their lives so soon. How do we fix this is up to the individual within their own battle. But we can talk, we can share, and through this hopefully provide some R&R from the black dog.