PTSD: The Forgotten Factor

Before I even go into any topic, I must say that my heart breaks for the victims in yesterday's Boston Marathon bombing.  I don't know what religion any of my readers believe in, or if any of you are atheist or agnostic.  But if you pray, please pray for everyone affected by this tragedy.  If you don't, please send some good, comforting vibes their way.  We know they will need all the help that we can offer.

There's always this giant pink elephant in the room when a major tragedy like this occurs.  After the September 11 attacks in 2001, the news channels bombarded us with 24 hour coverage, showing every little detail, every single violent burst of flame, every piece of mangled steel which followed the collapse of both Twin Towers, which was also shown over and over again.

I had no idea about PTSD at the time, but now that I do, I can say with fairly great certainty that the people who had PTSD from the Oklahoma City bombing faced a triggering event on 9/11/2001.  The repetitive images were similar enough to bring back the terrifying and haunting memories of what they went through in 1995.  Fast forward to the London and Madrid subway suicide bombings.  What crippling effects did those attacks have on the people living with PTSD from the 9/11 attacks?

It's the same with these school shootings.  Even those who survive the shootings and/or were in parts of the school the killer(s) didn't get to will often have PTSD.  The first responders often have PTSD.  So when these people endure the 24 hour coverage of the next school shooting and then the next one, and so forth, they're triggered time and time again.

I'm not suggesting that CNN take a lighter touch with covering breaking news (which is good, because I'm a total news whore).  What I wish for all of us with PTSD is that the media acknowledge that this is actually an issue.  Why do I have to post on Facebook after every tragedy, "Please don't forget those who will be triggered because of their PTSD"?  Why can't the media do a 2 minute spot a couple of times a day during a severe crisis to explain PTSD and how this crisis may affect those of us with it?  Why does this always remain unacknowledged?

Yesterday, 3 people were killed and almost 200 were injured, and that is a huge tragedy and I never would demean that horror.  But I know there are many, many more victims out there right now: people with PTSD who have been triggered by yesterday's tragedy.

Those of us with PTSD always seem to be the forgotten factor in every tragedy.

The Blame Game

Sometimes I feel guilty for having PTSD because I know a lot of people would have gone through an assault like mine unfazed.  So why has it affected every aspect of my life for the last 11 years so much?  What's wrong with me?

What's wrong with me is that I see too much wrong with me.  I can forgive others for almost anything, but I can never forgive myself.

When I was seven years old, my mom was robbed and beaten in front of a convenience store while I sat in the car.  My parents and I pulled up to the store and agreed that she would run inside to get what we needed while my dad and I sat in the car outside.  There were two men standing at a pay phone by the entrance, and I watched them and felt in my gut that they were suspicious.  But I didn't say anything, and on her way out of the store, the two men attacked my mom on the passenger side of the car, beat and kicked her, and stole her wallet.  It happened so fast, my dad couldn't even get around the car to my mom before they were running off.  Granted, it was the 1980's and our car was as big as a Cold War Russian tank, but that's neither here nor there.

I've thought about this incident a lot over the years and every time I revisit it, I punish myself a little more for not saying anything.  I know that if I had simply said, "Daddy, those guys look a little suspicious," then he would have gotten out of the car and escorted my mom out.  Maybe they still would have attacked her, and hurt BOTH of my parents instead (or maybe worse).  But I hate myself for doing nothing.

I forgave the two men long ago.  It was the right thing to do.  (My mother forgave them too.)  What I have never been able to do is forgive myself.  But at the same time, how can I have compassion for the criminals but hold myself as unforgivable when I was only a 7 year old child?  Why do I have such a high standard for myself from which I can't free myself?  I don't know, I haven't resolved this yet.

I'm still very much that little girl now, 25 years later.  I rarely think about the man who assaulted me 11 years ago-- why waste the brain cells and energy on him?  Unfortunately, I do dwell on what I consider to be MY fault: I didn't report it, I didn't seek help, I haven't been strong enough to overcome the initial terrible therapy experience to get proper counseling, I can't control my reactions to triggering events, and so forth.

At times it feels like swimming in water against the current.  You can see the destination ahead, and you know that there's a a path to swim there without fighting the current, but you can't bring yourself to do the healthier, safer option.  Logically, I know I'm not at fault for my mom being robbed or for me being assaulted.  Those truths are the destination that I can clearly see ahead of me, but I just can't bring myself to get out of that strong, opposing current to get there.

My Own Personal Joshua Tree

I see seven towers

But I only see one way out

You gotta:

Cry without weeping

Talk without speaking

Scream without raising your voice

-- U2, "Running to Stand Still"
From the groundbreaking 1986 album, The Joshua Tree

PTSD can be a painful juxtaposition in one's life.  Sometimes all you need is to cry, but no tears will come forth.  Sometimes you need to talk or scream, but the sound of your voice never makes it farther than the back of your throat-- you know, the back of your throat that's now so seized and constricted that you can't even breathe?

In the middle of the 19th century, Mormon settlers moving west in America came across these unique trees in the desert.  The shape reminded them of the story of Joshua in the Bible, when he reached his hands up to the sky to pray to God, so they named them Joshua Trees.

Sometimes we have to resort to other means of seeking comfort.  If I can't cry or speak or scream, maybe I can at least raise my hands to the sky and speak to God directly from my heart.  As a Christian, I don't believe I'd need words or tears-- God would know what I need Him to know.

But this is a solution for me.  I urge you to find the solution that works best for you, and to have patience while doing so.  I hope and pray that you find it.

Opening Pandora's Box Was Never Going to be Easy

I am incredibly passionate about the upcoming anthology, "Help Me Get Off This Island: Experiences With PTSD," so much so that I've been working more than my health can actually tolerate.  I said in my last post that I finally reached a point where I'm personally no longer ashamed about my assault.  At the same time, though, my PTSD is still a daily struggle.  When I began this project a couple of months ago, I didn't have the foresight to see that this process would include routine triggering events.

Pandora's box has been opened.

None of this makes me any less enthusiastic about the book, nor any less willing to put my whole being into it.  I just have to figure out what works for me.  I have The PTSD Workbook and The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook, and I need to spend time for myself working through them.

But never fear-- this book will be amazing and I believe it will help so many people in the long run.  I'm willing to wander through the remains of chaos that Pandora stored in her box in order to make this book the best it can be.

Therapy: Make You or Break You

Probably within 6-9 months of my assault, I realized something was terribly wrong.  I didn't know much about PTSD, of course-- not many of us do.  But once night would fall, I had to wander the house and check each door and window to make sure they were locked.  That's not so bad, right?  The problem was, I had to do it every 15 minutes, even when 99% of the time there was no logical reason why those locks would have changed.  But it didn't matter.  That's how I spent my nights back then.

Since I knew it was a problem, I made an appointment with a counselor.  I didn't tell her about the assault for a couple of sessions and by then, she had developed the opinion that a lot of my depression was due to the fact that I didn't have much of a social life.  I finally gathered up the courage one day to tell her about the assault because I was desperate for help.  She listened and then... she changed the subject to ask if I'd made it to any night time activities with friends.  She totally ignored the assault and completely shut me down.  I was devastated.  I felt like I had no right to suffer the way I did.

Unfortunately, her actions have caused long-term damage.  To this day I cannot tell anyone the exact details of what happened the day of the assault.  I've had a couple of wonderful counselors since then; they told me I could tell them when I was ready, but I never could do it.  That fear of rejection and invalidation from the original counselor still boils inside of me.

We think that when we go to a counselor we'll get better, but unfortunately in my case, this one particular woman made me worse.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell anyone the full account of my assault because of that, and that's a shame.

Who am I? Why am I here?

My name is Candace L. Cooper and I'm the author/ editor of the upcoming book "Help Me Get Off This Island: Experiences With PTSD".  It's a collection of many people's stories of their life with post-traumatic stress disorder, and I welcome those of you with PTSD to submit your stories to be potentially included in the anthology.

I was sexually assaulted about 11 years ago, and not only did I develop PTSD, but I also spent almost all of these years blaming myself for what happened and feeling too ashamed to talk about it.  This past Fall, after a particularly bad triggering event, I re-evaluated my situation.  When I stepped back, I told myself, "You can't blame yourself anymore.  The assault wasn't your fault, and it's nothing for you to be ashamed of."  This did not vastly improve my PTSD-- I still get triggered by regular events.  But I feel stronger and more ready to face this demon face-on.

Out of this event came my inspiration to put together this anthology.  I want more people to understand PTSD and recognize its importance and severity.  I want people to see that it is not only soldiers who suffer from it.  I want people with PTSD to have hope for their future and I want them to know they are not alone. If I help only 1 person through this, it will still be worth it.