I “failed” Army basic on purpose and I don’t regret it

Joined the Army in 2019 with hope, but basic training felt like a mix of gaslighting and bad leadership. After weeks of mind games and humiliation, I escaped and don’t regret leaving. True story

I joined the Army back in 2019. I was hoping that it was going to be the start of a new chapter in my life. I expected structure, maturity, and a space for me to “grow up.” Instead, I ended up getting discharged from basic combat training under Chapter 11 with an entry-level separation. There were a few positive moments, but the overwhelming majority of my time in basic was miserable, and I have zero regrets about putting up resistance to get separated. Looking back, the whole experience feels like I was transported to another world, and enough time has passed that I finally feel ready to get it off my chest.

During my time at the airport, little things started to bother me. No one warned us that as soon as we formed up, they were going to confiscate the card we used for food. A sergeant gave the classic “Look to your left, look to your right; only one of you will still be here” speech, and I was a bit suspicious because I was pretty sure attrition rates weren’t actually that high, so it sounded like a scare tactic. Another sergeant talked about how your name was the most important thing you have; the way it was framed didn’t make much logical sense to me. I knew they were probably trying to spark some motivation, but to me it just landed as empty rhetoric.

Reception itself was miserable. There were two moments that made me feel like I didn’t belong. I overheard two guys calling someone a dumbass for admitting to having suicidal thoughts, and I complained to another trainee about being forced to pull an all-nighter, only for him to respond, “I don’t care as long as I get to eat.” Even with those red flags, I kept telling myself that once I got to the actual training company, things would improve.

When I finally arrived at the training company, there were aspects I could tolerate. I could handle being yelled at, and I did not mind waking up early for PT. The drill sergeants for the most part, made reasonable demands. Then, out of nowhere one night, an MP came in the bay looking for me and then took me outside for questioning with drill sergeants from another company present. Nothing concrete happened after the questioning, but the next morning my senior drill sergeant was visibly agitated and ordered me to go to behavioral health. I went and came back with a no-weapons profile. I was still allowed to train, but that was the moment I started seriously asking myself whether I truly belonged there. I will not go into detail about the MPs or what I discussed at behavioral health because that is very personal, but that was when the seed of rebellion was planted.

After more counseling and another trip to behavioral health, I returned again with a no-weapons profile. At that point, they began separating me from my platoon during formations and placing me with people who have stated they were on their way out. That was how I ended up being labeled a non-trainee. During that time, some drill sergeants tried to get information out of me, probably fishing for anything they could use as leverage to convince me to stay. I had no idea what would actually happen if I “failed” basic or got kicked out, and that uncertainty was terrifying. When I asked other trainees what happens if you fail, most of them either admitted they had no idea or seemed to enjoy fantasizing about worst-case scenarios, like being stuck in basic for a year. I did not bother asking the drill sergeants I knew, because they were extremely biased, and even when they were angry with me, it felt like they were forcing themselves not to say anything that might be interpreted as encouragement to quit. I was left in a strange limbo: no clear information, constant pressure, and a growing sense of suspicion.

Throughout basic, I was desperate to gather any information that might be useful, only to find a well of shallow statements. The more I listened, the weaker the arguments for staying sounded. An officer talked about two quitters who left and said that our generation was too soft, but if that were really true, would the majority of people in our age range not be quitting as well? A sergeant gave me a slippery-slope lecture that if I quit the Army, I would quit everything else in life, as if one decision, under these specific conditions, would define my entire future. A trainee told me to “just try,” and I responded that there was no such thing as a trial here: once you are in, you are trapped until they decide to let you go.

What truly broke my trust was a slideshow presentation the company had to sit through. The battalion commander and a drill sergeant both repeated the line, “Graduation is the fastest way out of here.” By that point, I had personally seen several trainees removed from the company, and no one would say where they went. I did not know for sure whether they were discharged or recycled, but I had a hard time believing that every single one of them was just getting recycled, especially the girl who had been caught lying about not having asthma. “Recycled” in the context of basic training refers to making a trainee repeat a certain section of training. Hearing them insist that graduation was the “fastest way out” while I knew people who had already disappeared from the company flipped a switch in my head. My mindset shifted from wondering whether quitting was the right thing to do to simply taking every bit of information I hear with skepticism.

After my second counseling, my senior drill sergeant told me directly that he would send a letter of recommendation to the company commander to have me separated. For a while, I had hope that I would finally be released. A few days later, in front of the entire platoon, he announced that I and a few others who quit would be recycled instead. A spontaneous wave of comments erupted with confusion. I heard one girl say, “That should be illegal,” and I saw my senior drill sergeant try to hold back laughter. From that point on, my days turned into a blur of s****y details. I stopped keeping track of the date. I dealt with condescending comments from some trainees and some drill sergeants. The experience of accepting discrimination was chipping away at my sense of worth.

There was one drill sergeant who actually gave me a point I could respect. He told me that instead of viewing the Army purely as a trap, I could also think of it as a form of job security, and he encouraged me to go to college someday. I still did not want to stay, but I appreciated that he was not relying on fear or shame to make his case. He was one of the rare exceptions to the mentality I saw around me. When people asked me directly why I quit, I never gave a straight answer. The real reason was simple: I no longer trusted the Army at all. After listening to everyone’s opinions and seeing how information was controlled and twisted, being trapped in basic felt like being stuck inside one big conspiracy.

At one point, I was temporarily moved to another company because the rest of the battalion was out training. There I met a guy who made a lot of bold statements. He claimed he had left the Army but had to come back because no civilian employer would hire him after his discharge. He told me I should be grateful to be in the Army because some people cannot get in, that my chain of command was lying to me, that people reenlist because they do not really have a choice, and that I would be treated like a criminal for failing basic. There was more that I cannot fully remember, but at the time his words sparked a lot of panic in me. Even so, it was not enough to make me surrender. Even if everything he said was true, finishing an enlistment purely out of fear did not sound like a life worth living. What bothered me most was that he called what he was doing “therapy.” Later, when he heard they were planning to recycle me, he told me, “Congratulations.” I just said, “Ok.” His demeanor changed immediately, and he started insisting that I “have to be a soldier.” When he got fed up with my lack of enthusiasm, he snatched my name tag and put it back on upside down.

By that point, I was not only fed up with the people around me; I was angry at myself for joining out of ignorance. I sometimes fantasized that someone with real authority would offer me a deal: if I complied with training, they would sit down and explain the contents of my contract and grant me access to basic training policy. There were moments when I felt like I was going to lose my mind from being stuck there, and other moments when I felt strangely empowered by the idea that I was resisting their efforts to make me yield.

Looking back, I can see signs that they were desperate not to let me go. One of my platoon drill sergeants, whom I consider deceptive, told me not to get into any trouble or the ongoing paperwork involving me would take longer, as if my behavior could somehow delay or speed up a process they already controlled. A drill sergeant and a first sergeant openly said they wanted to get rid of the non-trainees, yet somehow I was still not being properly processed out. A second lieutenant yelled at me until I joined some trainees at the pull-up bars, despite my status as a non-trainee. During the final APFT, a drill sergeant who knew I was a non-trainee did not give me a scorecard. Later, my senior drill sergeant aggressively questioned me for not having a scorecard and then told me, “You just can’t use a gun,” before giving me a scorecard.

Even though I yearned to escape, I still wanted to leave with at least a shred of dignity. I witnessed two trainees who quit after me leave sooner than me, essentially by crying their way out. I had been a non-trainee since the end of Red Phase, but I still chose to participate in the final APFT, even though I had barely been doing PT. My scores improved significantly compared to my first APFT. It was satisfying to see one of my platoon drill sergeants and a second lieutenant look surprised. Part of me wanted to tell them that maybe they should make more people go through the non-trainee experience if they wanted to see improvement.

The event that completely erased any remaining doubt I had about leaving was a detail assigned by two sergeants. They mocked me and a few others for being quitters and ordered us into a vehicle. We ended up in the middle of the woods at night. They made us gather sticks and ordered us to fish trash out of porta-potties. It was disgusting and humiliating, but at that point I felt that acting out would be too risky. What pushed me over the edge was what one of the sergeants said after we finished: “You guys didn’t have to do it.” That comment infuriated me more than the entire task. They had ordered us to do it, mocked us while we did it, and then pretended afterward that we had a choice. From that point forward, I wanted to leave the Army purely out of spite.

Eventually, the day of judgment came. They needed one more signature from me before they could officially recycle me. My senior drill sergeant gave me an “encouraging” speech that felt mandatory, but I still found it interesting that he chose to talk about how he was scared that the trainees in the platoon would become the next generation of soldiers. Then they handed me the document to sign. In that moment, I made what might have been the best decision of my life up to that point: in the comments section, I wrote about my no-weapons profile. A visible wave of disbelief passed over their faces. It suddenly clicked for me that they had probably been trying to hide the existence of my profile from whatever company they planned to send me to. By putting it in writing, I forced them to acknowledge evidence that I was unfit for service. I had turned their own paperwork against them and left them scrambling to put in work related to administrative discharge. Some people in my platoon said their goodbyes, and then I was sent to the reception holding unit.

I spent about ten days in the reception holding unit. That place had its own pros and cons. On the positive side, there was almost no discriminatory treatment compared to the training company. There was easier access to contraband items, more consistent access to food, and a sense of relief that the burden was on them to arrange a plane ticket home. On the negative side, personal conflicts were more frequent, the environment was extremely monotone and boring, and there was still that lingering feeling of being stuck in limbo.

Once I got a taste of real freedom, I began to dig into what had happened to me on paper. I went to the Reserve unit I would have been assigned to and asked questions about my paperwork. The woman there checked the system and told me it showed that I had graduated basic. That was jarring, but it also motivated me to look deeper. I eventually found the Enlisted Initial Entry Training Policies and Administration document, and reading it confirmed that they were not just bending rules�"they were breaking them. For Reserve Component trainees like me, a local RC liaison is supposed to counsel the trainee before any separation actions begin. That never happened. Trainees being considered for recycle are not supposed to be pulled from training and used as “detail trainees” while a decision is pending, yet I was constantly taken out of training and used for details. Units are supposed to update the appropriate discharge code in ATRRS within 48 hours of a trainee being discharged. Yet days after my separation, the system still indicated that I had graduated.

Seeing those regulations in writing confirmed for me that I was not just being dramatic or overly sensitive. They really were going against their own policies in multiple ways. Basic training left an unforgettable impression on me. In a strange way, I am almost glad they treated me as badly as they did, because those memories eliminate any potential guilt or regret I might have had about leaving. Basic felt like a mixture of gaslighting, bad leadership, and rule-breaking, all wrapped inside a system that demanded obedience while hiding or twisting information. I am not writing this to get sympathy. I just had these memories stuck in my head for years, and I am finally putting them into words so that I can organize my thoughts and maybe give other people a clearer picture of what it is like to quit basic training. I do not regret leaving. If anything, what I truly regret is joining out of ignorance.

Author's Note

I am open to comments that offer constructive criticism and I may add more details as long as they don't require revealing information that could easily compromise my identity