Not Anonymous

Arachne Jericho wrote a series of blog posts titled Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in Fiction (Broken into one, two, three and four parts).

It is a really good series. Trauma and the dealing with it can be a deal breaker for me when it comes to fiction.
I happen to have PTSD.
It's not something I talk about often because I'm in a good place in my life.
The latter part of 2006 and the majority of 2007 sucked, sucked, sucked. Most of 2008 was okay and improved as I realised what I needed to do in order to be able to function. I was in therapy from April 2007 'til January 2009.
That's a year and eight months.
I was never on any medication.
In 2006 and 2007 I had a few panic attacks, I've had one full blown flashback once in my entire life - I hope I never ever have one again, but really that's not up to me.

Briefly, for those who were not reading me during 2007 and/or 2008 and joined after Jan 2009, I participated in the Second Lebanon War in the summer of 2006, the war changed me - I think for the better - and also left a scratch in my brain.
I've been told that I shouldn't make myself out to be a victim, that other soldiers during the war, those who were on the front line and actually fought and didn't just watch the fighting on a big screen and count the rockets as they fell (which is what I did).

Perspective is great. It doesn't lessen my own pain. Making fun of myself and calling myself a whiny self-pitying ass does, though!
My therapist at some point said I use self-deprecation as a way to deflect.

Jericho gives an excellent over-view of what PTSD is and what it isn't and the way it is depicted in fiction - I think there's a unanimous agreement that The West Wing Christmas episode Noel is the best ever on television.

PTSD is a subtle disorder for many, including me. One friend nagged me gently to get help, because she could see that I wasn't "myself".
For a while I was unable to watch the News on teevee for fear that they would show aerial footage from a war plane - those images are still triggers for me and I can get very tense and, ha, stressed. Most war movies have become no-no's, but not good ole' Action films (I'm so glad I didn't lost James Bond).

It took me a while to want to get help, because damn it I'm not weak! Not to mention, in my mind you can't get PTSD by watching a television screen and seeing things blow up! I see that in movies all the time!
Except I was hearing the crackling voices of people telling me co-ordinates of rockets that were being fired from Lebanon.
Trees became targets.
A man who fired one those rockets died on July 26th 2006, it was a Wednesday, he was blown to smithereens.
I saw it happen.
People clapped for a job well done.
That night I broke down and the paradigm of my conciousness was altered - for the better and also with a few hiccups.

PTSD doesn't happen to people who sit in HQ. It also only happen to War Poets, to people who are really hurt.

I was told I take things too hard. That I'm too sensitive. That I need "to get over it". Well, I did... that's why I have PTSD and a good year, instead of... something else entirely.

Go read that series of posts and know that PTSD is hard to write, is often not named (I'm not sure it needs to be, every time or all the time) and I'll think about why I love the characters I love and identify with more than I did before the war.

Fuck.

Well, that's one way to start an entry about the War and the two years that followed it.

When I was called into to the HQ for war-time reserve I really didn't think I'd be stuck there for a month. I didn't think my life would ever include running on adrenaline, going to the bathroom twice in a twelve hour shift and seeing people blow up.

During that time I did my best to disassociate myself from what was going on (I wore a uniform so ripped and graffitied upon, I put on Pride buttons, I drew Venus symbols on the pants and at every opportunity I sat in half a uniform, just the pants and a tank-top - just so I wouldn't look like I was conforming, despite the fact that I was). I was competent and did my best to help the people I was with, but I never tried to improve my skill, I was there to support my fellow shift members - even doing four shifts in a row so that they could get a proper rest and not fall apart at the seams, somehow, I held myself together and didn't fall apart until six months later.

During the War itself I ignored this intuitive knowledge, just like everyone else. I remember saying things that annoyed the people around me because my belief in what I was doing was pretty non-existent, but I did it because I was told I was needed and I'm just that much of a sucker (though no, knowing what I know now I'd never agree to do this sort of thing again... being an agent of death once, was enough).

In the six months following the War I went through a lot of changes. Most of them can be read in this here LJ, if you're so inclined. Basically, the values I held in theory began to solidify and I really couldn't look back at that month of my life without feeling guilty and helpless - especially because at the time I knew that we had gone on the rampage for bravado and to scare The Enemy into submission and not to really go in and get the kidnapped soldiers (yes, the ones returned to us last week).

It was also during those months that my friends and family realised that something was Wrong. I felt Wrong, like I was outside myself, that I had no control over what was going on inside of me and outside of me. So after many attempts to just talk to my friends about the fact that I don't sleep, am constantly angry, am constantly crying and that I am in a constant state of hate, rage and profound distrust, I actually went and sought professional help.

It was also during this time that I drifted quite far away from the comfy Left-of-Centre politics I had lived the majority of my life - Feminist, racism is bad, the Settlements in the Occupied Territories are the root the Occupation and thus must be removed, etc. etc. etc. All this without any understanding of the machinations that created the circumstances in which carpet bombs were used without notifying anyone on the ground.

And so I drifted Left (I suppose I would be considered Loony or Radical, depending on your perspective) and I feel good being in this place of self-examination and activism, it is probably what has prevented me from stumbling into clinical depression.

Trauma never really goes away.
In Hebrew there is a slang word for someone being messed up over something and never being the same and that is שרוט/ה in English it is "scratched", like a vinyl on a record player, when it hits that scratch there is a warp in the sounds that the vinyl is supposed to emit, but it gets stuck on that warp and the cacophony can be deafening.
It can also carry long distances, two years in measured time.
Most likely for longer.

In the shadow of these events, Haggai Alon (חגי אלון), a political consultant and analyst gave an interview to Ha'aretz reporter Akiva Eldar (עקיבא אלדר) about the goings on behind closed doors in the early days of the War and in the latter days and how many, if not most or all of the terrible, ahem, oversights.
The interview in Hebrew - שבויים בקונספציה.
The interview in English - A painful return to fateful hours.

We are currently in what a year ago was a part of the Second Lebanon War.

Those of you who followed this blog since know it's been a rough year for me, probably the crappiest I've ever experienced, since you can't really count the roller coater hormone rides of teenage life truly crappy. At least mine weren't.
I envy people who had the worst time in their lives during their teens; that can be put behind and one can move past that.
( Here I talk about what I feel and things get a little graphic, so proceed with caution )

But tomorrow I'm going to Fantasy-Con where I'll see "Fraggle Rock" and buy Comic Books and all will be... a little bit better.

In addition, the genocide in Darfur must be stopped.

וכמו כן, צריך לעצור את רצח העם בדרפור.