Warrior: A Marine’s Journey

I was 17 years old, sitting in a school cafeteria in Georgia when I grabbed a USMC flyer from the table. A recruiter in Dress Blues was coming later that week. I had just watched 9/11 unfold live — and after being told by Qais I wouldn’t follow through, I did. April, the woman I lived with, said I could stay under her roof only if I finished college. I wasn’t interested in four more years of that. School was miserable. Home even worse. Abuse wasn’t an exception — it was expected.

I brought that flyer home and told April I was ready. She didn’t argue. She got off work around 8 and drove me straight to the recruiter’s office. By 9 PM I was signing delayed entry paperwork. By midnight, I had signed my name to the United States Marine Corps. A year in the Delayed Entry Program and a year later came MEPS in Atlanta. Then came the Yellow Footprints. Parris Island.

Iron Forged in Fire

Boot camp wasn’t easy. That’s why I loved it. Discipline, knowledge, pain, pride — all bundled into a crucible that still echoes in my bones. There were suicides. There were fights. There were sleepless nights and moments of pure spiritual clarity. We studied war, walked in history, and became something ancient and brutal and protective. We weren’t just joining a military — we were being grafted into something older than this country.

From Gamer Dreams to Real-World Orders

I told the recruiter I wanted to be a drone operator. Blame video games and September 11th. He told me that’s not how it worked. You get a field — not a job. After Marine Combat Training, I got 2161 — machinist. School was in Aberdeen, Maryland. Small class. First in the stack. Some drama, no injuries. I had good leadership. And then came the orders to Okinawa.

Okinawa was unlike anything else. Futuristic and ancient. Peaceful and buzzing. I eventually earned a driver’s license and a gold card. I drank too much, Sang too much karaoke. Loved a beautiful woman who we proposed to young and I too immature. After 3 years in Okinawa, I was offered a chance to select my next unit. I was pulled into a special unit with a name I can’t really say here — what eventually became 3rd Marine Raider Battalion. I was support, a Machinist without machines. I met some amazing people, I didn't do anything cool, but met a lot of cool people. 2004-2007 @ MCAS Futenma | 2007-2012 @ Camp Lejeune

I was having a great time in the military, learning, exploring, enjoying, getting punished, field-days, inspections, goals, recommendations, guidelines, expectations, disappointments, failures, success, training, educations... the military is a great place filled with oppurtunity in peace and war. After the murder of my father in 2010, everything cracked. The people closest to him — the ones who should have brought truth and healing — instead brought deception, blame, and a performance so rehearsed it felt scripted. I sat alone on a worn couch, Colt Mark IV Officer’s Model in hand, feeling like I was the final piece of a game long played against me and a dark force in the room with me after drinking liquor. April and Henry Saine — orchestrated years of theft, control, manipulation of careers and pesonal life, and psychological abuse disguised as parenting. Not that it is an excuse, but a recognition. In that moment, with the weight of betrayal and grief bearing down, I considered ending it all. Not out of weakness, but out of exhaustion. The fact that I’m here writing this today is proof that the war didn’t take me — and neither did they.

Where It Turned Dark

I became friends with a Sergeant who later pulled me into something I didn’t understand by just having conversations, specifically about alarms.. I was part of the facilities team. That was a Conspiracy Charge.. ALL Day in the UCMJ and I wrote a letter about it. There were a few other people who stole things, handed them over to NCIS and Leadership and they went on to get out of the military with their ranks, and they didn't get into any trouble. I never sold anything or stole. They searched my places. But it felt targetted at the Special Forces unit from the Fleet Marine Forces truthfully and They were selling gear — posting to Craigslist and eBay. NCIS filmed and recorded it all. I wrote a letter about what I thought was wrong and my part in effort to clear my involvement in what they pressured me as a hub & spoke conspiracy. That letter became the basis used against me in an investigation I didn’t know I was in, described as a hub and spoke conspiracy. I was blindsided. My attorney made deals without me. That court-martial? Still hard and guarded to talk about some what, but after all that amazing service for it to basically end over a conversation in a restaraunt with someone I thought was being bullied and needed a friend, was rough, and double punishment after the Judge had given me an oppurtunity to re-enlist as a private to start over, but the unit forced me out as the double punishment even though the Judge could of, but the unit had made it's decision to run another set up paperwork to the flag officer, resulting in me not only receiving the punishment from the Military Judge's decision of punishment for the crimes but then the unit added on what the Judge decided not to but had authority to. It could of been a lotttt worse though truthfully.. so at least I went to Kennesaw State University and my funding from the Military ran out before I could finish a 4 year degree in Business Management so I am hovering around 3 years college credits and lifetimes of experience and willingness to learn.

Firearm Safety Rules

I was accused of many things, like making suppressors, but the sole conspiracy charge was what was levied. But I still ended up in two different brigs. I learned a lot inside. About the Marine Corps. About how the system breaks people. About how rank doesn’t mean honor or integrity or best intentions in some cases but authority. I was demoted from Sergeant to Private. Stripped of what I earned via pride and paperwork. Seven-time marksman. Two good conduct medals, plethora of awards. And an Other Than Honorable separation that came fast and unfair.

Despite the darkness that followed, I earned more than just a uniform — I earned distinction. Two Good Conduct Medals. Seven-time Rifle Expert. Pistol Sharpshooter. The infamous Boot Camp Pizza Box award. I qualified WSQ in the pool and carried a green belt in MCMAP. I ran thousands of miles around Camp Lejeune — some with cadence, many alone, and more than a few while lost in thought. At MARSOC, I was trusted with leadership and access few get to see, assigned to years in an armory on A Street. I had moments at Fort Bragg, long days in the field, longer nights in the barracks, and lonelier ones off base. I hold an OSHA 10 and Lean Six Sigma Green Belt — the latter shifted how I view systems, numerous experiences that you can only receive in the military, efficiency, and accountability. I received certificates, commendations, and the kind of firsthand education that you can’t find in a classroom. Some of what I experienced I can’t recall — and some I choose not to. But I earned it all the same.

Regrets, Lessons, & Legacy

I regret drinking alcohol so much to cope and entertainment. Eating out so much, not enjoying the woman who invited herself into my bed. Not taking more leadership. But I don’t regret the journey. Not the pain. Not the pride. Not the title. I met legends. Fighters. Quiet saints. Silent Professionals. People I still admire even when they don't ask to be.

This story isn't clean. But it’s true. And that’s what matters. I earned my title. I lost some pride.