Gillian,
 
I fucking hate it here. These feelings may be a one-eighty from my last letter, but 2 weeks ago, I didn’t have to deal with the likes of NCO training. You spend your entire life with people telling you there is no such thing as perfect, but as soon as you sit down in front of one of these, ‘my shit don’t stink, and neither should yours’, instructors, that is all you’re expected to be.
 
There is absolutely no middle ground here, just pass or fail miserably. You either know your shit or you don’t and if you forget one stupid, minor little detail, you’re ridiculed and humiliated past your breaking point. My frustrations come as no surprise, because just like this class, it’s all or nothing with me. Despite being in the top 2 percent of my graduating high-school class, just when I think I’ve ‘got it’, I’m berated with facts that prove otherwise.
 
To make matters worse, I am tired. I have not slept in the last two weeks and despite every single hour of study, I feel like I am lagging behind. Michael seems to be right at home here, and despite our lengthy talks about everything, it bugs me to no end that I am bested by him at every turn. If I am not constantly reminded of how much of an unreliable piece of shit I am from every DI during the course of the day, seeing Michael tends to reaffirm that fact; despite the feelings that I may have for him.
 
The most ironic part of this whole situation is that every single Instructor wants you to leave. They line us up in the morning after running us ragged through the obstacle course and 3 mile balls-to-the-wall runs, just to whisper in our ears how easy it would be to just walk away from the training. I can take the exaggerated dismantling mere inches from your nose type of abuse, but it’s the soft and comforting whispers in your ear, when every muscle in your body is screaming and all you want to do is collapse, that really gets to me.
 
“I know this is hard for you, Shannon. It’s really tough to make split second decisions that could endanger the lives of your men. Trust me, there is really no incentive in completing this course, it just gets more and more difficult from here. It’s really understandable if you want to quit and go back to being who you were.”
 
As much as you want to just start sobbing, pack your bags and leave, the side of your brain that doesn’t want to let your brothers and sisters down wins every single time. Their fucking mind games work perfectly. That I know that they are mind games just rubs salt in the wound.
 
I don’t know if I’m going to have to opportunity to write until class is over, as I’m already using my precious study time to write this letter. I am not going to run away again, Gillian, no matter how hard it gets. Count on that.
 
Be well,
 
Shannon