Body Parts (8 page)

Once Rodney learned more about his brother’s head injury from 1980, he attributed these incidents, along with Wayne’s increasingly aggressive behavior and hair-trigger temper, to that. Before the accident, Rodney said, Wayne had gone four-wheeling and rode his motorcycle, but always within safe, reasonable limits.

CHAPTER 5

“D
ANGER TO
H
IMSELF
, O
THERS AND
G
OVERNMENT
P
ROPERTY
”

Wayne’s military records provide a revealing look at his state of mind, as well as his view on life up to that point.

At 7:30
P.M.
on April 8, 1983, several months after the separation, Wayne was admitted to the naval hospital’s psychiatric ward in Long Beach, where he’d been sent from the marine base in El Toro after complaining of depression and problems adjusting to work. He blamed the difficulties on his split with Kelly.

On his patient questionnaire, Wayne gave a few short but succinct answers about his mental condition: “No hope, constant failure, lost will to live.”

Asked what he knew about his mental problems, he wrote, “I know the answers, but I can’t put them to use.”

He said he’d had no significant health issues other than being hospitalized in November 1980, when “I was run over on the freeway.”

Under allergies he listed, “penasillin (you spell it),” yogurt and pot, adding that he vomited when he smoked marijuana.

He described his alcohol intake as “couple of beers weekly,” and stated that he smoked 1½ packs of cigarettes a day.

Under vision/hearing/speech, he wrote, “When I was young, everyone had trouble hearing me. People said that I mumble and talked to [
sic
] soft. It has come back.”

He checked every box available for emotional difficulties: anxiety/nervousness, tension, restless, depression, irritability, and other.

During his intake interview, Wayne told the nurse that he was seeking treatment for depression and low self-esteem.

“If you send me back to duty, I’ll just find another way out,” Wayne said.

Wayne told the nurse that he’d been pretty happy until he was seven and his parents got divorced.

“I lived with my mother until she could not control me and then I moved in with my father,” he said. “I got involved in sports and started lifting weights to carry a macho image, but my parents never went and watched me, they just bought the necessary equipment. I did well in school until I was thirteen years old. When I got a little older, I got involved with the Hells Angels and got into trouble. I joined the Marine Corps . . . [and] also got involved in weight lifting and kickboxing. . . . After I graduated, I used to kick ass every day. I got into NBC (Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Warfare) preparedness school and became an instructor in that. I did well in that—I received meritorious advancement to corporal. I was really happy there. I also got instructor of the month for thirteen weeks. . . . I worked alone and did not like that I was expected to do everything, and slowly I started to make mistakes. I would put on a false front by smiling, and feeling bad about myself inside. I got no gratification from it. . . . I would get an occasional pat on the back, but not at the unit. While this went downhill, my marriage started to go downhill. One time I was at an arcade and this one guy was giving me some shit, so I kicked his ass and put him in the hospital. This scared my wife. She was intelligent but had no common sense. She refused to pay bills, and at times I would hit and kick holes in the wall, and I think she was scared of me from then on. Finally I just gave up on her and now she is in the process of getting a divorce. Well, I think a lot of my problem is a lack of self-discipline with some laziness. Mainly, I just have no self-gratification. I live alone, sleep alone, and can’t stand being alone.”

A drug screen on April 9 showed that Wayne had no recreational or prescription drugs in his system, as was the case in subsequent hospitalizations.

On April 10, the same nurse noted that Wayne was being passive aggressive.

“If they send me back tomorrow, they might as well send me to the brig,” Wayne told him. “I don’t think talking with some jerk for an hour is going to change the way I feel. What I need is to talk to a psychologist about my problems. I know what is going on, but I still don’t know how to put the tools into action.”

During group therapy, Wayne said he knew he needed to be on the unit, but he also made inappropriate comments and laughed when other patients were speaking. When Wayne was told he couldn’t leave the ward, he threw kicks into the air next to a patient and had to be told twice to stop.

The doctor’s summary stated that Wayne had a “recent history of alcohol abuse. Past history of explosiveness. . . . Mental status exam revealed an angry Caucasian man in fatigues. . . . Patient stabilized quickly on ward without meds.”

The doctor recommended that Wayne be returned to full duty, but to follow up with outpatient group therapy.

“I don’t want to go back to duty,” Wayne said. “I’ll come back here.”

One nurse noted that Wayne’s motivation for continued treatment was poor, and so was his understanding of his own illness.

Wayne was released on the morning of April 11. There is no record that he pursued group therapy.

In May 1984, Wayne was seen by a psychiatrist as an outpatient at the El Toro base, where he was diagnosed with adjustment reaction with mixed features and a personality disorder with explosive and immature features. Nonetheless, he was returned to full duty once again.

“He is energetic, industrious and extremely able to complete tasks assigned,” Wayne’s supervising officer wrote in a July 1984 evaluation, adding that Wayne too often allowed “outside personal problems to [affect] his military professionalism.”

Wayne had quickly risen to the rank of sergeant, E-5, while teaching NBC, but after separating from Kelly, he was written up for a number of infractions and demoted to corporal, E-4.

Wayne’s demotion came after a dispute with his supervising officer, who had flunked Wayne’s unit during inspection. Wayne was also cited and disciplined for conduct unbecoming and failing to report to the Camp Pendleton firing range. After going AWOL for two days, he was disciplined for impersonating an officer over the phone as he tried to excuse his own absence.

Shortly thereafter, he was transferred to the base in Okinawa, where he was hoping to “get his stripe back.”

But he soon experienced more mental problems. On September 27, Wayne was found sitting in “a catatonic-like state” in his barracks. Even while he was being removed from the area, he refused to speak.

He was taken to the hospital on base, where, during a physical examination, he became violent and ran out. He had to be forcibly returned to the hospital, where he became so agitated that he had to be placed in four-point restraints in a locked room and given shots of Haldol, a psychotropic drug often used to treat schizophrenia. Among its side effects are involuntary muscle spasms and twitching, followed by muscle stiffness.

“I can’t remember what happened today,” Wayne told the nurse. “Last night . . . I was awakened to do field duty and I just went off. I was really pissed.”

On September 29, Wayne denied that he had tried to hurt himself or hospital staff the day before, but he did acknowledge that this was his second psychiatric admission.

“Will my admission affect my chances of being an attorney?” he asked. “I want to try to go to law school.”

Wayne said he didn’t understand why he was on suicide watch. “I never said I would hurt myself, and I know I’d never try.”

Later that night he told another nurse, “I’m a real likable person. I wouldn’t think of hurting myself and I wouldn’t hurt anyone else unless I was cornered. I was seeing a psychiatrist about a week before I came here, though, for a suicide attempt. My mother was a manic-depressive. She’s living in India now.”

“I can play like I’m having a catatonic break if I have to,” he said. “But mostly, I play like I’m normal.”

The next day, Wayne exhibited paranoia. “Do you put anything in the food here before we eat it?” he asked the nurse. Once he was reassured that his food had not been drugged, he ate all of his meals.

On October 2, Wayne was back with the rest of the patients and in a better mood, doing sit-ups and push-ups by the afternoon.

“I have a positive attitude about getting out of the Marine Corps—I know I will do well,” he said.

A nurse noted that his talk of becoming a lawyer seemed rather grandiose, given the situation. She wrote in his treatment plan that he should be encouraged to verbalize his feelings, “but toward a more realistic goal.”

Ninety minutes later, another nurse noted that he was exhibiting the potential to harm himself or others and had become abusive.

“I’ve been hearing gossip that I’m trying to seduce a sixteen-year-old girl,” Wayne said. “If anybody tries to accuse me of that, I’ll break their fucking head.”

Six and a half hours later, Wayne was cheerful, happy, and optimistic about his future again.

“I am being administratively discharged from the service. It’s just what I was hoping to hear,” he said.

On October 3, Wayne said he was feeling “some pain and hurt” for the teenage girl because he knew what she was going through.

The next day in group therapy, Wayne seemed upset and was having trouble controlling his anxiety. One of the nurses wrote that Wayne complained the staff was trying to “control his mind and that we (staff) were out to get him. Reassured patient that no one was here to hurt him. Received feedback from female patient who assured him that the staff wasn’t controlling anyone’s mind or out to hurt anyone.”

Wayne was restless during group therapy, cracking his knuckles, pulling threads off his clothes, and playing with the flame of a cigarette lighter until it was confiscated.

Later that night, he told a nurse, “There comes a time in every Christian’s life when he must make a sacrifice. From now until this is over, I won’t touch food or water, and no word to another human being shall pass my lips.”

He swore that he wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he grew agitated and increasingly angry.

“Go ahead, give me the shot—you can’t hurt me physically,” he said. “That’s what you’re doing now, hurting me physically.”

He was given some medication, but when he refused another dose, he was placed in seclusion, where he wouldn’t eat or speak and began singing, praying, and pacing. He was placed in four-point restraints and was given more Haldol.

After five days of being medicated and restrained, Wayne was no longer aggressive. Depressed and tearful, he complained about the Haldol’s side effects, saying his muscles were stiff and sore.

By October 7, he was acting more cooperative, so staff reduced his four restraints to two.

“I’m in control of myself,” he told the nurse. “I wouldn’t hurt myself or anyone else. I would like to get out of here, if possible.”

Wayne was released from locked seclusion the next afternoon. He seemed appreciative, his mood bright and alert.

On October 9, Wayne expressed anxiety about his future again. “Now I won’t be able to work where I want because of my hospitalization,” he said.

Ultimately, the doctor diagnosed Wayne with Borderline Personality Disorder, “severe and chronic,” noting that he’d recovered from the episode of “acute decompensation.”

Wayne called his uncle Jimmy in the middle of the night from Okinawa—4:00
A.M.
California time—saying he was coming home.

“[He] told me that he had messed up, that he went in and tore up the commanding officer’s headquarters—or the office—and they were going to kick him out. I think that’s what he was after at the time, but he wanted to come home and go to school . . . and try to become an attorney,” Jimmy recalled later.

“Well, that’s not a problem,” Jimmy told Wayne. “You can live here. How about finances?”

“Oh, I’ll have that all squared away,” Wayne said. “I just need a place to live.”

“Okay, that won’t be a problem.”

But when Wayne got back to California, Jimmy said, he didn’t “have a nickel to go to school on.”

After three and a half weeks in the Okinawa hospital, Wayne was flown by medical plane to Letterman Army Hospital at the Presidio in San Francisco. He was supposed to go to San Diego but ended up in the Bay Area “due to an apparent lack of inpatient beds” in southern California.

When he arrived at Letterman on October 21, his medical records had been lost in transit. The admitting doctor’s initial impressions: “No evidence of a psychotic disorder presently. The etiology of this problem is unclear . . . an underlying personality disorder is likely, though uncertain.”

But before Wayne was discharged, he received a very different diagnosis: “1. Borderline Personality Disorder, severe as manifested by intense and inappropriate anger and lack of control of anger, marked shift in mood from normal to depression, irritability and anxiety. Depression when alone and a chronic feeling of emptiness or boredom. 2. Atypical psychosis manifested by frequent psychotic breaks, unmarked by hallucinations or affixed delusional system, not caused by a mind altering drug. 3. Rule out schizophrenia. Rule out paranoid disorder.”