On PTSD

by Irene Daniel

Surrounded by so much violence lately -- Paris, Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs, and now San Bernadino -- I've been doing a lot of thinking about PTSD. There sure is an overabundance of it lately. And I wonder if we are becoming so used to watching mass slaughters on television that we don't have the time or emotional energy to ponder what it really means.

PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is as old as the hills; even though it's been called different things at different times. Shell shock. Battle fatigue. These terms were used during the World Wars to describe its effects on those traumatized in combat. However, such veterans were still often seen as weak or too frail. This changed somewhat in the post-Vietnam era; and now we seem to have a better handle on this condition than ever before. That's a good thing because we seem to be experiencing it more and more. And it proliferates now, not just in theaters of war, but in "soft targets" that have left us more shocked than ever.

I am privileged to have a neighbor who is not merely a WWII vet, but one of the few survivors left of the USS Indianapolis, the greatest naval disaster in American history. He's an old man now, although he is in great physical shape. He takes much better care of himself than I do and is quite agile. He knows all about PTSD, with all the depression and anxiety that it brings. It's one of the many things we have in common. We have survived trauma. And it has never completely gone away.

Even after decades have passed, children and grandchildren have been born and we have moved to different locations, it's still there. Not all the time, but lurking in our memories and occasionally in our dreams. It's still there.

And I thought about Gabby Giffords, who was nearly murdered outside of a shopping mall a few years ago as she was serving her congressional constituency. She survived too; and lives with the knowledge that a lot of people didn't. I wonder what goes through her head every time another one of these mass shootings takes place. It can't be easy. And yet, she lets her voice -- her survivor's voice -- be heard every single time. And there have been a lot of those times since then, all too many.

But PTSD doesn't just affect those of us who directly experience the trauma. It affects our families and friends, our unborn children and our co-workers. It is invisible and sneaks up on us when we least expect it, as well as when we revisit it by watching other traumatic events; not to mention anniversary dates that loom large every year. We know how it feels.

Tonight in Southern California, there are 14 families grieving; 14 families whose Holiday Season will never, ever be the same. They may recover and have future Happy Thanksgivings and Merry Christmases, or Kwanzas or whatever Holiday they celebrate in December, but they will never be the same. Ever.

And for those who survived the trauma, their new reality is just beginning. Some may have permanent physical injuries and scars that will eventually heal to the extent possible. Some may be permanently disfigured -- a constant, and usually physically painful, reminder of what happened. For some, the survivor's guilt may be so great that they may wish they hadn't survived. Undoubtedly, they will need extensive medical and mental health care for a long time, if not for the rest of their lives.

My neighbor has sparked my curiosity about the Indianapolis, and I've been doing a lot of reading about this historic event. I have learned that other survivors (there are only 29 left now) have also suffered greatly. Some of them, especially the officers, were so overwhelmed with grief and guilt that they committed suicide; often years later.

The trauma we experience in our lives never leaves us completely. It messes with us and often prevents us from being at our best, mostly in subliminal ways that we don't even notice until later, if ever. And we lament the lost part of our souls as we find ourselves unable to give our all to our families and to our work. Many of us escape into drugs, alcohol or some other distraction that disables us from being the parents, husbands, wives and friends that we wish we could be.

Trauma is a demon that never dies. It lives on in the PTSD of its victims, as well as in all the lives we survivors touch.

So why are we so anxious to create more of it?

                                                 
                                                               Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.