*Trigger Warning: This article contains realistic fictional stories that resemble post-traumatic stress disorder, or more commonly known as trauma. As such, the article may contain details that can be triggering to some individuals. Please feel free to click away from this article if you think that this may be a trigger for you.
My Combat Story
My name is Staff Sergeant Muhammad Kamil bin Abdullah. I served my country during the undeclared war of the Borneo Confrontation from 1963 to 1966. I returned home to my wife and children hoping to continue living a "normal" life, but that's not what happened. I was starting to lose my temper over the littlest things and I would constantly have weekly nightmares of me on the battlefield, facing the same life-threatening situation over and over again. Before I left to serve, I used to love sports, particularly football. When I came home, I had no interest in playing anymore. As a soldier, I enjoyed my training in the army and the first few weeks of serving, that is until my fellow Sergeant was shot in the head right in front of me. At that point, all I cared about was getting home alive, even if it meant killing others, civilians or not. I turned into a cold-hearted soldier. Where was the fun and cheery Kamil? Call it survivors’ guilt, or call it PTSD, but I made the choice to finally walk into the Veterans Affairs office for help; help that I desperately needed. From then on, I started my sessions of treatment and now I am spending the hours of my retired days reading and attaining some peace and quiet, instead of listening to deafening gunshot sounds time and time again. Have I healed completely? No. But then again, how do we define "completely"?
It Hurts. Period.
"Failure, worthless, garbage, no good, a mistake", are among the very few of what I've been called by my father since I was a little kid. He spared me the physical cage, but best believe he got me locked up behind his fence of words. Where was my mother you ask? Oh, she knew better than to stand up for me if it meant sparing herself a beating for the night. Occasionally my father used to spend the night in my room. I hope I don't have to go into details with what went down in there. Once I turned 18, I left. I got a job and a place to stay. Next up, marriage. He was amazing! Perfect, actually. That lasted for about a month. Then he started hitting me, just like dear old dad to mom. It was as if I was looking at my childhood being replayed right in front of me, only now, I was the main actor. I tried to leave him too, but his enchanting words and forgiveness never failed to make me stay. Until I left for good one day, bringing my broken bones with me. Have you ever heard of the adverse childhood experience? Me neither. Until my therapist explained to me what it was. Children who suffered any form of traumatic event, including abuse and neglect. In summary, me. The adult title of it would be PTSD. I don't think I can explain to you why my luck was as such that I married the spitting image of my father. Maybe it was the only dynamic I ever knew in what to look out for in a partner. But it does not have to be that way. A cycle can be broken and it starts with you and me.
Did I Make It Out Alive?
"You were involved in a car accident, don't try to speak or move your head, your face might feel like it's on fire", that's the last thing I remember hearing from a paramedic before I lost consciousness. It's been 3 years, my Volkswagen has been sitting in my garage untouched, being plagued by dust ever since. I've tried to sit in the driver's seat again but the feel of the steering wheel, the sound of the engine, and the sight of my scarred face in the rear-view mirror are all subtle but anxiety-inducing reminders of the crash. I've been labelled lucky more times than I've been labelled a girl. But under no circumstances do I even feel the slightest bit lucky. It was my fault after all right? We see over 100 ads on the dangers of texting and driving, but I guess I would rather choose to ignore all of them to have placed myself in that situation in the first place. There were no other "lucky" individuals involved in the crash. It was just me, and the unlucky traffic pole that was bent in half. So how do I move on now? Even being in the passenger seat sends flashbacks through my mind. Remember me being called lucky? Well people had another thought when they heard about my PTSD. "Oh, it wasn't even that serious, just go through lessons again, you'll be back on the road in no time". If only it was as simple as that huh? This was my first ever accident after 10 years of experience on the road. This was hard for me to accept, my guilt eats me up each day, but this trauma changed my life for the better. Better because I've learned a hard lesson and I'm more careful than ever. And I mean EVER. Right now, I am still working on my goal of being able to drive again. So Dear Mr Fear, if you're reading this, please get into the back seat and let me take over the wheel will ya?
I Witnessed A Murder
I was 24 when it
happened. That was 6 years ago. I still carry the guilt until today. Why?
Because my best friend was the murderer. And my other best friend was the
victim. I have never forgotten that day, and I don't think I ever will. It
continuously replays in my mind like a constant loop. The arguing, the pushing,
the shattering of glass, and then the piercing sound of a knife slash. Why did
it happen? Because he wanted an intimate relationship and she did not. Why was
I there? I forgot my keys at her place. He served his time in prison and yes, I
had to testify. Did I enjoy that process? No, absolutely not. I loved them
both, but in order for one to attain justice, the other had to be held
accountable right? I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep
since that day. The array of nightmares are more than enough to keep me awake
accompanied by a pounding heart. The sounds of glass and knives immediately
signal a stream of flashbacks to occur. You can't find a single glass or knife
in my house anymore. My age is catching up, I'm getting exhausted day by day. I
refuse to take sleeping pills for a fear of him attacking me in my sleep. He is
capable after all. I was diagnosed with PTSD a few years ago, and therapy has
been helping a little. The nightmares have decreased, and I only stay awake a
couple of nights now. I still have a long road ahead in recovery, but I would
rather go through that journey than to have my life cut short.
Written by: Kiranjeet Kaur (MPS Psychological Services Intern)
DISCLAIMER: These stories are a collection of realistic fictional narratives, however elements such as symptoms and context in which the stories take place are based on true factual information.
If you would like to know more about PTSD such as the signs and symptoms, causes, treatment options, and how you can help individuals who experience trauma, click on the link below:
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml
