PTSD does not equal weak

Last night, on Facebook of course, because all the good fights happen there, a family member of ours said some very hurtful and untrue things. This family member chose to equate someone who lives with PTSD to someone who is unable or unwilling to deal with the world and they then went on to say that life happens and "just don't focus on the negative". Now. I'm sure that those of you who have PTSD or live with someone who has PTSD has heard this drivel before. I'm here to say, it's pure unadulterated bullshit. It's not just bullshit, it's bullshit with a capital B-.

My husband, who is the center of my world, has PTSD and not just PTSD, but combat-related PTSD. He has flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety, depression and many other psychological issues. However, he is also physically disabled, as well. I could list all of his physical manifestations, but I think the psychological gives you a pretty good idea of what he deals with just on that end, on a daily basis. I look at that list and I think about all he has to deal with just to wake up in the morning and face the day and I think to myself, how the hell does he do it? Well, folks, inner strength is how he does it. He has an insane will to live and an insane will to overcome this beast of burden that shadows over our everyday lives. He doesn't always win the fight, though. There are some days when all he can do is sit on the couch and stare at the tv and that's okay. The universal truth is that no one wins everyday. We can only do our best.

His best is 100 times harder to meet than an average person's best. His PTSD also presents memory issues and an inability to decipher what is real and what is not. I'm sure you can see how this can lead to a whole hell of a lot of frustration. But, you know what? He does all he can do to keep that frustration from turning on us, his family. He fights every day to do things that normally people think very little about. A trip to the grocery store is fraught with all kinds of challenges. If the store is crowded, then his anxiety is amplified, because crowds and PTSD do not mix. If the store does not have exactly what we need at the time, then his frustration is amplified and not just because of the inconvenience, but because small annoyances are amplified with PTSD. If the kids are misbehaving while we shop, then his tension level is higher, because what seems like normal misbehaving kid behavior becomes an even bigger issue with PTSD.

So, no, having PTSD does not mean that a person is unable or unwilling to face the world. It means that the person who has PTSD has to fight that much harder to be a part of a world that doesn't make sense to them. PTSD alienates and it makes the person who has it have to adjust to fit in. PTSD does not equal weak. Living with PTSD means strength.

PTSD Stigma

stig·ma/ˈstigmə/

Noun:

A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person: "the stigma of mental disorder".

Stigma. It's an interesting word, really, when you think about it. I find it interesting that the definition of stigma uses mental disorder to clarify the meaning. I've talked a bit about our experiences with family members and their reactions to my husband's PTSD, but I haven't really given clear examples of certain behaviors. I talk in a lot of angry, vague statements, which, leaves a lot of the truth out of the equation. So, here's my example of the stigma that we've experienced.


It was oh, two and half years or so ago now, my husband had just started treatment for PTSD and we had both just started to recognize the uphill battle we were in for. This, right here, was the turning point in our marriage, really. Up until this point, we had only spoken about PTSD as an abstract or a maybe. I mean, we both knew that my husband had PTSD, but we weren't actually acknowledging it or really knew anything about it. So, he had gone to a psychologist and was prescribed anti-depressants and he decided to take him. That, right there, was a HUGE step for him and I was so proud of him for taking that step.


So, he tells his parents about the anti-depressants and about his diagnosis and how hard he was struggling. The response? It was overwhelming condescension that he even dare think about taking anti-depressants, let alone really take them. I'm sure you can imagine how this made him feel, right? BUT, he took them anyway and he kept plugging away,trying to fight his demons. I can remember, at one point, his dad coming up to me to talk to me about his diagnosis and he made some vague reference to those pills, like it was something dirty, something perverted. I can remember his mother and her look of disgust every time he tried to bring up how hard he was struggling and how the psychologists felt that some of his issues were related to his childhood. Which, fuck, don't ever bring that up to them! His childhood was roses and kittens according to them and they "were the best parents they could be". Pfffttt. But, I digress.


Those anti-depressants eventually sent my sweet, struggling husband to the ER with one of those "rare, but serious side effects". The ones that are never supposed to happen? It did. I called the ambulance to come and take him to the hospital, the paramedics were in my house working on him and my kids were scared to death. I called his family to tell them and you what the response was? Well, it's just a panic attack, but the way that it was spoken, well, all I can do is shake my head with confusion and sadness. I'll never forget that night. It was one of the hardest nights of this whole experience.


After my husband came home and talked to his parents, they chose, instead of making sure he was alright and making sure that he would continue to be alright, they chose to harp on him about the medication. They chose to berate him and to tell him "I told you so", instead of loving him and assuring themselves and him, that he would be okay.


He internalized that, of course, who wouldn't? He felt like he had done something wrong in trying to help himself feel better. What kind of fucked up way to treat your son is that? BUT, it also showed, to me, at least, how widespread this stigma is.


My husband suffers from a mental disorder. It will never go away. It cannot be cured. I keep saying and I will continue to say; we face a new reality, every day. His PTSD is similar to any other long-term illness, it has changed the way that we live, forever. IT IS NOT HIS FAULT. He did not ask for this, he does not enjoy it, and really, it's not easy for any of us. We face it, though. He faces it.


He's currently in treatment and on new meds and is working towards making his life better. WITH MEDS. With the dirty, perverted pills.


I am trying to be as upfront as possible about the going ons in our lives and about the experiences we go through. I am trying to break this stigma by not treating it as a dirty secret, because it's not. People will loudly proclaim that they have cancer, or that they have some other illness and then proudly announce that they are fighters and they are survivors. And they are, make no mistake, but  my husband isn't less of a survivor or less of a fighter. He shouldn't have to hide his head in shame because he's suffering from a mental disorder.

Suicide and PTSD

Tonight, on a support page for veteran's and spouses dealing with PTSD, I witnessed a member being pushed to the edge. I saw a deliberate and thoughtless attack on an individual who was vulnerable and very clearly struggling. The person was repeatedly told that their actions were triggering to the member and that the member was not in a place where they could handle the attacker's actions. They did not care. They kept pushing. The member attempted suicide. He was life lighted to the hospital and his condition is unknown at this time. I am sad and I am angry and I am thoughtful. I am perplexed. I do not understand how a person can have so little regard for a fellow human being. I do not understand how someone could be so cold-hearted. 

This experience brings out an ugly truth; PTSD often causes people to act in ways that they wouldn't normally do. For some people, suicide becomes an option. We have faced this in our lives and it is one of my biggest fears. My husband is so brave and so strong and PTSD takes a toll. Life takes it's toll. My husband is everything to me and losing him is my greatest fear. Losing him to PTSD or losing him to his other disabilities are real possibilities. 

It's been a struggle in our lives to identify and to stay aware of PTSD triggers. One of the biggest ones, that we've found, is religion. More to the point, other people pushing their religious propaganda on us. In our family, I have seen events similar to what happened to that veteran tonight. I have seen people push their own agendas and their own ideas without regard for how it would affect my husband or my family. The best thing that we have ever done is to shut those people out of our lives and I will never regret it. My husband's health and my family's interests outweigh any other selfish agenda. 

I wish there was a way that I could wrap all of the veterans with PTSD in a protective shell and keep the evils of the world away. I wish there was a way that I could reach into their brains and fix the connections that are broken, but I can't. I want to reach out and let them know that they are not alone and they don't have to deal with their darkness alone. I walk through the darkness with my vet, at his side, where I belong and that's where I will always stay.

If you or anyone you love is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please reach out:

The National Suicide Prevention Hotline:

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

The Veteran's Crisis Line:

1-800-273-8255

Anger

Anger.
n.

A strong feeling of displeasure or hostility.

It's a word that carries a lot of weight. It's a word that brings a lot of images to mind. It's a strong emotion, sometimes overbearing. When dealing with PTSD, anger is a constant. There's anger at eachother, for small slights, for big slights, for imaginary slights. There is anger at the kids, for the same types of actions. Then, there's irrational anger. Anger directed at the disorder, anger just directed anywhere, to whomever or whatever is in your way at the time.

For me, I'm a fixer. I like to make things right and I like to help other people. My anger, a lot of the times, is directed at the disorder, in general. I feel like it's a seperate entity in our lives. I've referred to it as a monkey on our shoulders. One that hangs just in that area in between your shoulder blades, where you have a hard time seeing it. It pops it's head up every now and again and commits some sort of unexplainable act that just makes you shake your head and weep with frustration. The problem with PTSD is I can't fix it. I can't be in control. I can't reach that fucking monkey and tear it off. I want to, believe me I want to. I want to reach into my husband's brain and fix the connections that are broken. I can't. It leaves me helpless. There's nothing I hate more than feeling helpless.

That is one of the hardest parts of this journey, for me, anyway. Not being able to just make it better. Treatment of PTSD takes time, it never goes away. Ever. It just becomes more manageable. Triggers are identified and the Veteran or other suffering from the PTSD learns to avoid them or learns coping mechanisms for handling triggering situations. But, it never goes away. There is no magical cure.

I'm learning more and more to let go and to see the situation for what it is at that moment. An upset over how the toilet paper goes on the roll can be so much more than just that toilet paper at just that moment. It can be a flashback to boot camp and the instruction on just how to put that toilet paper the right way. It can be feelings of discomfort and not feeling like things are the way they should be. It can be a loss of control over self and over emotions. The one with PTSD is a victim of that monkey and it's poor behavior and the one with PTSD is the one who has lost all control, at that moment, over their minds, their words, their actions.

Fuck that monkey and it's mind bending ways.

Isolation

One of the hardest parts of PTSD, in our experience, is how isolating it is. Some of the symptoms of the condition, according to the VA's website are:

1. Feeling numb:

You may find it hard to express your feelings. This is another way to avoid memories.

• You may not have positive or loving feelings toward other people and may stay away from relationships.
• You may not be interested in activities you used to enjoy.
• You may not be able to remember parts of the traumatic event or not be able to talk about them.

And some of the problems are:

*Drinking or drug problems.

* Feelings of hopelessness, shame, or despair.

*Employment problems.


*Relationships problems including divorce and violence.


*Physical symptoms.


http://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/pages/what-is-ptsd.asp


In my husband's case, his PTSD never manifested itself in drinking or drugs, but the other problems (excluding violence) yeah, you bet. It was.... confusing. I had no idea why he was acting the way that he did and I had no one I could talk to about it. And I'll tell you why. It's very, very easy to demonize the person suffering from PTSD, because of the outburts, because of the anger, because of the withdrawal and because of the deep seated issues that they deal with that aren't visible. What's hard to do is to understand them. Family members and by that I mean extended family who are not around on a daily basis, often fail to understand or even try to understand the situation.


For us, this means that well.... we don't talk to my husband's family that often, if at all. As for my family, they try. They mean well, but they don't get it. They don't see what we live with and they don't see the struggles that we fight. The struggles that my husband fights and he fights hard. The emotional detachment makes it seem like he doesn't care about what is said about him or how people treat him, but it's not the case, at all. This lack of understanding, this lack of caring makes it so hard to connect to someone, to share your lives with them. There is only so hard you can push for understanding. There is a limit and with my husband's family, that limit has been reached. Over and over again and now it's just too much.


As for friendships, and as I write this, I'm scoffing to myself, they just don't happen. There is a shame and a stigma associated with PTSD. With all depressive/mental disorders, really. In a friendship, with a person who hasn't experienced PTSD, there are just things that you can't talk about. Those things are well, your life. It's hard to have a friendship with someone who just doesn't get it. In the brief friendships that I have had, there has been a lot of miscommunication and a lot of misconceptions. It just doesn't work. The best support that I have found is in people who have lived through similar experiences. Well, and internet friends. I lurve my internet friends.


I guess my point in all of this is isolation is one of those rare but serious side effects that people don't disclose to you with you or your partner's diagnosis. Educating my family or friends on PTSD is tiring and at the end of the day, I have energy for my husband, my kids and occasionally me.

PTSD and Safety

While perusing facebook today, I came across a post on a support page for Veterans and their families with PTSD. A woman was asking for advice about what to do with a violent husband. For me, the answer was simple; leave. Get out, get safe and THEN confront the problems. For other posters, the solution ran the gamut from leaving just while her spouse was violent and then return to work on the issues to "remember your marriage vows and DON'T leave", to "well, if you're not going to be supportive of your husband, just get a divorce". I find issue with all three of these ideas. As a wife to a veteran who suffers from PTSD, the very first thing that should come is safety and security. I have three kids with my Veteran. Three small, vulnerable kids. It is my responsibility, as a mother, to make sure those kids are safe physically and mentally. Living in fear for themselves or their mother is not safe.


On the flipside of this decision is my husband. Who suffers from a horrible, horrible disorder. It's not his fault, but his actions are also his own. He is not violent or I would obviously not be here. However, if he ever was, I'd have to make a horrible, horrible decision to end our almost ten years together. It wouldn't be an easy decision and I wouldn't make it lightly. I know that the second the kids and I walked out that door, his world would come falling down around him. I know this. I know that the very likely and horrible outcome would be suicide. We've discussed this. It's always there. Always. However, at that point, my responsibility for his mental health would end. It is a horrible thing to say and a horrible thing to feel, but it's the reality of the situation.


I see this advice given to spouses/partners of PTSD Veterans all the time. I think it's damaging and I think it's dangerous. For everyone involved. When my husband falls into a down, he hates the way he acts. He hates the way he feels. If he hit me, he would hate himself more. Thus, fueling his down further and putting the whole family in a cycle of destruction. In these situations, there is just not an easy answer or a magic solution. Unfortunately.


In the case of PTSD vs. an abuser who does not suffer from PTSD, there is a reason for the abuse. NOT an excuse, never an excuse. There is a cause, though and the cause needs to be contained before the violence. I see so many stories of abuse or even of murder/suicide in the combat PTSD community. It breaks my heart. The system is broken. Clearly broken. The care being provided to our warriors is lacking and it's lacking in essential, fundamental areas. It is failing the people who sacrificed the most. Including the families.

A not so brief introduction

Well, where to start? Our lives are well.... complicated. And simple. All at once. Let me explain.....


My husband and I met a long time ago (well, long to us) when we were both in high school. We had a brief friendship. It wasn't anything significant, really at the time. He graduated in 2000 and we lost touch, unfortunately and I never really thought of him again until 2002. It was my senior year and I was set on going into the Marine Corps. We had weekly meetings with the recruiter and on one of these meetings, I saw a familiar face in the parking lot. He had just gotten out of bootcamp and there was an instant connection between us. We started dating and very, very quickly, we became engaged. We were married in April and I graduated in June. I decided not to join the Marine Corps and cancelled my contract.


Things in the beginning were great, just as every marriage starts. We were young, we were in love and we didn't care. We decided to start a family right away and I quickly became pregnant with our daughter. My husband was so excited to have a daughter first. He would sit and talk to my belly and poke at her to see her move. Our life was idyllic.


During this time, he had to be away for short periods of time here and there for training exercises. Which sucked, of course, and in the back of my mind I always knew what the training was leading up to. He was a warrior. He signed up to fight. I knew that. I just didn't acknowledge it.


We knew that the Iraqi war was iminent. We knew that there was a strong chance that he would be sent. We knew. We just didn't plan.


When I was seven months pregnant, my husband was sent to combat. The night before he left, we laid in bed together, just holding each other and we cried. The possibilities of what he would face was in both of our minds. The danger that was waiting hung over our heads. His best friend drove him and I up the hill to his batallion the next morning and we said goodbye. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I didn't have anything left to cry. We got into the car and we drove away. We came home to a safe apartment and my husband was sent to hell.


He was gone four months. Four very long months. Our daughter was born on March 20. The day that the Marines crossed into Iraq. I lay in the hospital bed, struggling to bring her into the world, watching the news between contractions hoping to hear any news, hoping maybe, just maybe the cameras would flash on his face. It was a difficult delivery and she was born with the cord around her neck. She wasn't very responsive and the dr's had to give her oxygen and rub her, but she came around and that first cry should have brought me joy, but all I felt was sorrow. There in that hospital room, I began our family. Alone.


She was a fussy baby from the start and all I could think about was how much she must have missed her daddy's voice. On her second day of life, she developed a high fever. It turned out that she was severely dehydrated. My milk was late in coming in and she wasn't latching correctly. They took her down to the special care nursery and I locked myself in the bathroom in the waiting room and I sobbed. We were going to lose her and she hadn't even met her daddy. She was on IV fluids and antibiotics and she recovered. She was six days old when we left the hospital.


My husband came home two months later. He looked different. He smelled different. He was different. It wasn't as noticeable at first. His reactions were odd. He had trouble sleeping. But, nothing significant right away. As time went on, I noticed more and more that he wasn't the same. He didn't want to hold our daughter. He was afraid of hurting her. His temper was shorter. If I brushed up against him while he slept, he jumped. Sometimes, he jumped straight out of bed. He stopped bringing me flowers. Which was something that he had done every day before he left.


He wasn't diagnosed with PTSD until 2010. It took seven years to get that diagnosis. We had known for a long time that we were dealing with PTSD, but to hear a dr. confirm it, well, it validated our thoughts and it brought to light the lifelong struggle that is ahead of us.


So, there's the beginning of our lives, in a nutshell, minus two other kids, many moves and a flock of chickens.