Gaslighted: My True Story of Mst

By Cecelia Collett

In her book, she divulges the truth about the ongoing conspiracy and cover-up of entrapment of molestation in the armed forces, how these predators compromise national security and break down core values, how the United States military echelon secretly and tirelessly sweeps the issue under the rug for decades, and the reasons behind it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984549266

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Cecelia Collett.

Library of Congress Control Number:              2018910236

ISBN:                  Hardcover                     978-1-9845-4928-0

                            Softcover                       978-1-9845-4927-3

                            eBook                            978-1-9845-4926-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/11/2019

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CONTENTS

Gaslighted Opening The Flood Gates

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Glossery

About The Author

My Military Heritage

GASLIGHTED OPENING THE FLOOD GATES

My Name Is Cecelia Collett and I Am A Veteran. I Am A Female Veteran And I Have Been Hiding A Secret For Too Long. Overwhelmed By The Sudden Memories I Cannot Speak. I Can No Longer Master My Emotions. Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Anger And Nightmares Of My Sexual Assaults And Physical Abuse, Betrayal And Injustice Have Suddenly Taken Over My Mind.

This Keyboard Cannot Pass Judgement On Me And It Can Repel My Tears So I Can Continue Typing Through Them. Reader Don’t Judge Me Until You Have Read The Last Page Of What I Have Written.

Read What I Have To Say And You Will Help Me Heal. Please Listen To Your Words Read My Words.

The Movement Is Now

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

TO VICTIMS OF MILITARY

SEXUAL TRAUMA. MAY IT

GIVE YOU STRENGTH TO

STEP FORWARD AND

TAKE A STAND.

YOU ARE NOT CRAZY AND NEITHER WAS I.

JUST

BE

CAREFUL.

PRELUDE

To report his sexual misconduct was to suffer more harassment from his angry posse. To stay silent meant more sexual assaults from him but also meant avoiding the loss of my military career.

Because I reported his crimes against me, I endured repeated verbal and physical attacks by my comrades in arms, who were once my friends.

I received no trauma enforced care and minimal support during the trial.

My commander told me to soldier up. He ordered me to be evaluated by the military mental health team. I had no history of mental illness. The army has a saying army sluts or army nuts.

I was a high achiever in my military endeovers before the sexual assaults began. My primary MOS was a 91Charlie (Licensed Practical Nurse), my secondary MOS was a 91Bravo(Combat Medic). I attended evening college classes while in Garrison towards my bachelor’s degree. I earned my Emergency Medical Technician certification and Combat Medic certification. I achieved Physical Fitness Excellence scoring 300 out of 300 points on every PT test and was a Master Physical Fitness Trainer. I skipped a rank from Private First Class to Sergeant because of excellent technical and tactical performance. I was a squad leader and conducted CPR, ACLS and EKG interpretation classes to medical personnel. I maintained sharpshooter qualifications with my M16A1 Rifle. I was on the MWR team (Morale, Welfare and Recreation) and participated in the unit’s competitive volley ball and track team.

My accomplishments were acknowledged and rewarded before I reported his assaults, and denounced after I reported his assaults. My integrity was suddenly attacked by my chain of command. I was far from a sub-standard soldier. They attempted to disparage my character in order to help my assailant go unpunished with a not guilty verdict, so the unit’s reputation remained a shiny one.

I was given a gag order, a mandatory psychiatric evaluation, seperated from my platoon, relieved from my leadership position and silenced. They said it never happened and treated me like a criminal.

Gaslighted…To manipulate a person into second-guessing their own sanity

I

was

Gaslighted

Dear Reader,

I will take you with me through my psychotherapy, to the sudden onset of nightmares that started in 2011 coupled with resurfaced memories of my military sexual abuse and rapes. Together we will go back and unlock the hidden memories of my trauma. The rapes were traumatic enough, but the pressure to keep silent and the subsequent dismissal about incident increased the effects of the trauma and my present ability to function on a daily level. Before I sought therapy and after the onset of the nightmares, I began a hypervigilant lifestyle which included setting traps for potential intruders and feeling the need to strategically place mirrors around my home to maintain a line of sight from all angles. I struggled with fears about leaving my dwelling and consequencially suffered isolation. My military sexual trauma occurred when I was a young private in 1985. Over thirty years of repressed memory that nearly destroyed me back then, and almost destroyed me in 2011, and continues to destroy soldier’s careers and lives even today.

DOD Annual Report, May 2018

Ann M. Burkhardt, director of the Defense Department’s Sexual Assault Prevention and Response Office

Every sexual assault in the military is a failure to protect the men and women who have entrusted us with their lives. We will not rest until we eliminate this crime from our ranks.

CHAPTER ONE

The last time I wore my uniform was in 2011. I was a sergeant and medic stationed at Camp Jorden, Minnesota. That was about the time that I started re-experiencing my symptoms. My memories. My trauma, afraid to leave my house, living with walls around me. I was a victim of military sexual abuse when I was a young soldier and am now a survivor of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder caused by that military sexual trauma. It didn’t happen just once.

Over two decades ago I was repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped by a high ranking non-commissioned officer, my section leader. After I reported his misconduct and assaults, I was considered guilty until proven innocent by my chain of command and my comrades in arms. The company commander took matters into his own hands as was the initial protocol and there was a lengthy formal investigation within my unit, which lasted several months. During that time I was mistreated, isolated, removed from my nurse duties, removed as squad leader, labeled an incompetant soldier, given extra duty and ordered a psychiatric evaluation. I was gaslighted into thinking it was my fault, and I felt ashamed.

The formal investigation found my assailant guilty of not only sexually assaulting me, but several other young female soldiers under his command. I was also repeatedly physically assaulted and unjustly vilified by his loyal followers who believed he was innocent. If and when I reported further mal-treatment to my chain of command during the investigation, I was hushed and told to soldier up, because they insisted that one formal investigation at a time was enough. This was their strategy to avoid tarnishing the unit’s impeccable reputation for delivering highly trained and high speed combat medics. All of this continued for close to twelve months. The abuse and sexual assaults, then the formal investigation followed with a trial and his court martial.

Camp Jorden, 2011

Camp Jorden is in northern Minnesota. I was active duty under a Tri-One contract in 2007 and worked full time for one year in headquarters. It was administrative duty supporting the troop medical clinic on post. It was a desk job. I enjoyed it very much and had a good chain of command. Then in 2008 I re-enlisted in the national guard for three years to work as a 68 Whiskey, at the same troop medical clinic. That too was an excellent assignment and I enjoyed it very much. Life was normal. I was normal. My family consisted of myself, my oldest daughter who was in 12th grade, my son who was in 7th grade and my youngest daughter who was five years old. I was a single mom and worked part time as a licensed practical nurse in a nearby nursing home. I was also a full time student attending night classes towards my graduate degree. I was a health and wellness coach and worked part time in a gym as a personal trainer and aerobics instructor. My three children and I lived a happy and active lifestyle. I took my little girl to dance class, never missed one of my son’s hockey games and helped my oldest daughter to decide what college to apply for after her upcoming graduation from high school. I devoted every ounce of my being and time to my family and maintained my many irons in the fire routine as a high achiever. I mastered my emotions and my life was happy and full.

That is until one very hot and humid night in 2011 while I was attending annual training at Camp Jorden. I had a strange and very frightening, vivid nightmare. My life changed from that point forward. I would no longer be me. He came back with his boot firmly planted on my neck.

Annual training at Camp Jorden was 2 weeks long and consisted of 14 to 16 hour days. It was 2100 hours (9pm). My platoon was just relieved from duty. The night was hot and the training was rigorous. The barracks assigned to the female soldiers were clean and in good condition, and there was always hot water for showers. I was assigned bay number two which was for non-commissioned officers. Females were on second floor and the males were on the first floor. Usually the lights were out at 2200 hours (10 pm) which gave us just enough time to hit the showers and crawl into our bunks. I brought a small area rug, a small fan and my favorite comforter to cozy up my common area. Ear plugs are a must when sleeping with fifteen or so other females in an open bay. Someone inevitably will be on the phone talking to their kids or a late night chat with their husband or boyfriend after lights out. I was ready to sleep and did so as soon as my head hit the pillow.

That was the night that he came back. He came back to seek revenge for what I did…for being a snitch. That was the night that he found a portal.

My nightmare took me back to 1985 when I was a young private stationed at Fort Conners, California. It was in the summer and my assignment was working the evening shift at Stillwell Army Hospital. I was young, fit, energetic and motivated on being the best army nurse I could be. A white starched uniform with shiny brass sergeant stripes on my collar took the place of my Battle Dress Unform and my highly polished black jump boots were replaced with polished black loafers. A black baret was the cover and I wore it per regulation and with precision. The binding was to be 1 inch above the eyebrows and straight across the forehead. The unit insignia had to be centered above the left eye and the right side of the beret was to be pulled over and down to cover half of the right ear. A Plain black sweater was the cover. I was very proud of my uniform and always had it just right, whether it was to be hospital whites, my battle dress uniform or my class A dress uniform. I paid attention to detail. Female soldiers didn’t wear flowers in their hair and the uniforms were not meant to be flattering. I was totally okay with that.

The first nightmare, a dream within a dream

Camp Jorden, MN (2011)

My dream takes me back to my years as an young army nurse and my assignment was a three month rotation in the cardiac intensive care unit. I was a private and I was ninteen years old. My home base was the 9th Evacuation Field Hospital and every quarter, medics and nurses were rotated through Stillwell Army Hospital to get clinical experience. The