What is Secondary PTSD?

Secondary PTSD is when a family member or spouse living with a person with PTSD begins to mirror their symptoms.  It is characterized by similar issues with anger, insomnia, depression, and other common traits of PTSD.  Lately, it seems that the new diagnosis for military spouses is Secondary PTSD.

However there are major differences between Caregiver Fatigue (as it's called) and true Secondary PTSD.  Feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, exhausted and even crying constantly are common with fatigue but do not necessarily denote SPTSD.

One of the biggest differences is issues sleeping.  Spouses often begin having trouble sleeping and experiencing nightmares.  The nightmares are commonly described as being about a traumatic event that involves their service member, but that is not the only nightmare many describe having.

Some researches claim that as many of 40% of spouses have symptoms or signs of Secondary PTSD, but hardly any ever seek treatment.  Other studies suggest that it is being over diagnosed and that nearly half of those currently diagnosed are, in fact, suffering from Caregiver Fatigue instead.  With figures varying in such a large degree it's difficult to say how common or uncommon it is.  But one thing seems apparent to me:  We are seeing it more and there is more and more information available every day.

We are no longer in this fight alone.  The medical profession is beginning to see and understand that their can be tolls on the family that may need to be treated.  So, I still suggest that people be aware that it is out there.  Be aware that living in this situation can have long term damage and watch for it.

Just as we care for our service member, we must care for ourselves.  If you are experiencing Caregiver Fatigue or think you might have the signs of Secondary PTSD, I urge you to talk to someone.  Be sure that you are being supportive and are taking care of you.  We so easily get lost in the world that surrounds our service member, we often forget our own.

If you are having difficulty sleeping, nightmares, are exhausted, depressed, emotionally spent, and feeling like you can't hope and are overwhelmed.  Call someone.

Militaryonesource.com is available and offers free counseling.  Keep in mind that they do require some personal information.

Giveanhour.org offers free counseling to vets and their families.

Heartsofvalor.org if a group for spouses of wounded warriors and offers support groups as well as retreats.

One Day in a Million Days: Sept 11th, 12 years later

There isn't much to say about today that everyone else isn't already saying.

Not a day goes by when I am not reminded, when looking into my husbands eyes, that that one day changed so much more than I ever thought possible.

One day.

One day, in a million days.

One morning, in a million mornings.

Our life has been directly affected by that one day, that one morning, 12 years ago.

I pray for peace for those who are still seeking it.  I pray for healing for our nation, for those who suffered losses, for those still fighting in the war and for those who have lost everything.

I hope that some day, today will not be a painful reminder.  A tear soaked day that I can't help but wish were just another day.  Just another day, in a million days, that didn't have such a tearful pain linked to it.

Secondary PTSD

Secondary PTSD is todays latest buzz word.  Where a few years ago it was unheard of, today, it's becoming more and more common for spouses and children or other loved ones to develop.

A year ago, I hadn't even heard of it. The next thing I know, I've agreed to go on a radio show to talk about what it is like to live with someone with PTSD from a spouses perspective.  The person who was on the show first was discussing it in part.  I listened and understood.  It made sense to me.  We are fighting a different battle at home, but a battle none the less.

The stress of living in this environment is one I have trouble explaining.  I often feel I am fighting a losing battle.  I am in a no win situation.  I am on egg shells, I am tiptoeing around not sure what will set him off today.

This evening, my husband and I began to fight.  It's a fight we've been having off and on for a few weeks.  I talk and he doesn't even acknowledge I spoke, he walks away like I'm not there.  He is having memory issues, which is common with PTSD.  But he won't admit it.  He won't admit that he forgets in mid movement what he was doing to begin with.  So we fight.

We fight because he changes the rules right when I think I have them figured out.  Because he forgot he changed the rules and is mad I'm doing something different.  Or simply because he is angry today.  He bullies, he belittles, he tells me he understands what I'm saying while simultaneously glaring and showing me that he is mad I dared speak up.

When you live in a house filled with land mines, it's no wonder spouse and children are developing a form of PTSD related to living with a service member.

Many of the symptoms are the same as PTSD.  And I can't help but wonder if, after all these years living in this environment, if I don't have some of the symptoms.  I've been noticing little things.  But I can only guess.  And even if I did, what am I going to do?

Sadly, the environment will be like this for a lot longer still.  And me talking to someone has always been a source of my husbands wrath.  It seems hipocritical of me to tell you to watch for signs in yourself and your family, when I myself and not following through.

But I will say it anyway.  Watch your family.  Watch for signs that they (or you) might be being effected by your situation.  And seek help if you notice anything.  Anything at all.

Secondary PTSD is becoming more and more common.  Don't be surprised if you start seeing more and more groups talking about it, or even advocates urging you to get help.  And really, I'm not surprised considering what many of us are living with.

(I am in the process of writing another bit about Secondary PTSD and what to look for)

Flattered

I was recently contacted by a group wanting me to write a post for them and their site.  They told me they were drawn to me by the honesty in my writing about this crazy, messed up life I lead.

It's not the first time someone has requested to work with me for that reason and I am beyond flattered.

This blog is just a place for me to anonymously dump my word vomit.  It's a place for me to express my feelings without it causing a fight, or having to treat lightly.  It has turned into a sanctuary of sorts when things get really crazy and a place I hide from when I feel ashamed of what I'm feeling.  But I always come back and share those feelings anyway.

I don't want anyone, caregiver, spouse, significant other, parent, friend or other to ever feel they are on their journey alone.  I spent years wondering what was wrong with me to have such a messed up marriage.  Then I spent ages pretending I didn't see what was going on.  Then I allowed my husband to act like nothing was wrong for longer than I should have.  And I felt utterly alone every step of the way. I had no one to talk to, I had no one to understand and I am still not allowed to tell people.

I never want anyone to feel alone.  And if just one person reads this blog one time and says, "I feel that way too."  And can do so while feeling relived that someone else not only feels that way, but understands completely, then it will all be worth pouring my heart out here.

Sometimes I think I share too much.  Other times, not enough.  But over all, I pledged to be honest with myself when I started this blog.  And I'm flattered to see that that honestly is drawing people in and making them want to work with me.  And I truly hope that being SO honest might help someone out there who just needs someone to understand the secret life they are living with their significant other behind closed doors.

Would We Still be Married if He Didn't Have PTSD?

I truly believe that we all have times in our life where we wonder if things were different, if our marriages would still be standing.  I know that it’s not popular to discuss troubled marriages, or even the times when we look at our partner and think, “What the heck? How did we end up here?”  Living with someone who has PTSD means that you probably ask yourself that question more than most. It’s the nature of what we cope with. 

It’s a constant state of wondering.  If things were different would we still be married? There is never an easy answer.  And sometimes, the easy answer is more painful to admit than the reality.

Yes, if my husband had never come home with PTSD, we would still be married.  We’d be laughing and happy and content.  But he didn’t come home like that and what I have instead is a man who sometimes makes me question why I stay.  Everyone has different reasons.  We all have little things that make us wake up everyday and live this life.  And sometimes the reasons we stay are just as shameful as the reasons we want to, or in some cases have to leave.

I stay because my heart has to believe we can get through this.  Through the silent tears and the calm control over every fight I have to take with myself, I have to believe that we will come out the other side.  Maybe not whole, maybe not the same, but we can do it.

Others stay because they feel honor bound to.  I’ll admit that I do too.  I feel a sense of duty to my husband.  It’s not shameful in my opinion.  Wanting to honor your marriage vows and honor a man who gave up everything for an honorable reason is never shameful.  But it often feels like is it.  It feels like my dirty little secret that I feel like I owe it to him.  But he deserves a woman who will be here day in and day out.  Even when things are the way they are currently.

I have thought about leaving. I have stayed in hotels. I have even met with a divorce lawyer.  But I stay.

Through the months of yelling and months of silence I stay.  After so many years, I am beginning to feel defeated.  I’m exhausted and just worn down.  But I stay.  But when I’m so tired from holding our world together alone, those little thoughts trickle in.  Would we still be together?  What will be our breaking point?  Who would we be?  Who are we now? When does it end? 

He Was Broken by War, There is No Shame in That

Somewhere along the line, the collective psyche of the US decided that our men must be able to be warriors on the battlefield, full of heroics and loyalty to the nation and nothing else, but normal everyday people when they touch back onto US soil.  The transition is supposed to be seamless with nothing from either life bleeding through to the other.

Coming home and being unable to switch back to a tender husband and loving father after the horrors of war is unimaginable.  And shameful.

But why?

We as a nation, as a group, as a whole, have set an unlivable standard.

How is it right to expect our military to leave the normal human morals behind and then be shocked that they are unable to reconnect with their more "human" side when they return?  Can you say that you have been through hell, any kind of hell, and come out the other side untouched and unchanged?  I can't.

Just living with the aftermath of multiple deployments and years as a nation at war has changed me.  So why does it seem to be thought of as shameful to admit that war changes you?

It is not to say that everyone comes home with PTSD.  People do not have to lose their humanity.  But to expect the masses to fight a 12 year war and remain unchanged is an extreme form of naivete that I can't understand.

I don't know what my husband saw.  I don't know what he did.  And I don't need to know to know that fighting a war but retaining your sense of self is not always easy.  He was trained to be a Marine.  A fighting machine.  He has said that those who join the Marines join to fight.  They wait for war, they often welcome it.  Maybe that's true.  But if it is, if they truly are trained to be the best fighter of any war, then to expect them to transition back to a life in a civilian world and not see threats everywhere makes no sense.  They are trained to do exactly that, see the threat, neutralize it and move on.

My husband has admitted that in times of great stress, when we are fighting and he shut downs, he sees me not as a wife, but as a threat to be neutralized.  And why shouldn't he?  That is what he was trained to do.

We are living in a world of unlivable expectations.  It is unreasonable to say that our service members must be capable of taking a life, an act that is thought of to be immoral and inhuman to do, but then expect them to retain both extremes in harmony.  To say one must be a war fighting machine, but also a gentle and loving father, husband, neighbor and co-worker, is to say that the dueling conflict within must be resolved without guidance.

It is not shameful to come home struggling to leave the war behind.  It is what we asked of them.  Fight a war.  My husband did just that.  And now that war lives with him everyday.  "Broken by battle."  The dueling conflicts of who he is supposed to be cannot simply resolve because he stepped off a plane and was home again.  Some make the transition easier than others, but there is nothing wrong with the struggle.  It is we, those who have placed that expectation on them that should be considering our actions.

Instead of understand, we surround them with stereotypes and expectations that are impossible to meet. My husband did what he was trained to do and it was inevitable that, at some point, the switch would not flicker on and off so easily.

Overwhelming Sound

Things become so overwhelming that I find myself sitting alone in the house when my husband is gone and just relishing the silence. There is always so much noise.  The TV is always on, the click of his keyboard always there in the background.  The sounds of kids outside enjoying their summer.  A constant onslaught of noise and my life feels noisy enough as it is.

It's not that there is constant shouting.  We are in another patch of him ignoring me that is going on three weeks right now.  It's that my life FEELS noisy.  It's like the constant control I have to maintain, the constant inner dialog that helps me keep my sanity or simply make it through my day makes life feel like there is never ending sound coming at me in a constant barrage.  Me against the world.

So, when he is gone and I am alone, I sit in the quiet.  I allow myself to enjoy the momentary silence that will inevitably be replaced as soon as he is home.  The sound of his boots on the ground, stomping up the stairs.  The sound of his keyboard as he chooses to interact with his friends online instead of speaking directly to me and the sound of my own thoughts reminding me to steady my voice, tread lightly, speak softly, maintain control... My constant mantras to allow me to successfully navigate our day without a fight, or at least, without a massive blowout.

I find that I can even hear the grinding of my teeth through it all.  I can hear my muscles tense each day that comes closer to his return from duty, or hour from his return from work.  I can hear him coming even when he is no where around.  And the sound can overwhelm my senses.

Lessons Learned by an Unwavering Caregiver

A pretty amazing story was sent to me.  And while I understand that this is a PTSD blog and this story centers around cancer, I want you to read it.  Caregiver is a term that many of us have grown used to using and seeing in relation to someone with PTSD, but there are so many others out there who have earned the title of caregiver.  And much of what we do is the same.
Please welcome my guest poster and read this wonderful post about what being a caregiver to his wife, taught this amazing man.
---
The events on November 21, 2005 changed the lives of my wife, Heather, and I forever. On that day, she was diagnosed with malignant pleural mesothelioma, a form of aggressive cancer. During the course of events on that very same day, I came to realize that I had become a caregiver for a loved one diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. With little experience in caring for others, I felt a strong sense of helplessness. A diagnosis of cancer was the last thing we had expected after celebrating the birth of life a few months earlier with the arrival of our first and only daughter Lily. Although we had looked forward to finally spending a holiday as a family at our Lily’s first Christmas, our plans rapidly changed as we faced one crisis after another.
As our physician described the affects of mesothelioma in his office on that day, it was clear that my role as caregiver had already begun. The doctor had recommended three options for Heather’s treatment that included the local university hospital, a premier regional hospital that did not have a current treatment protocol for mesothelioma, and a physician who specialized in treating this disease in Boston. As always, I looked to my wife for her input on the decision to be made, however; her face remained fixed in a fear and shock that would not permit her to speak. I grabbed her hand in mine and quickly made the decision that Boston was the best option.

The next two months were overwhelming with continuous doctor appointments, trips to Boston and medical procedures. Heather could no longer work her full time job, and I could only work part time because I had to take time to care of her and our baby. The process of paying medical bills, carrying for my family and working when I could arrange care for my baby quickly took a toll on my state of mental health. Although I always expressed a strong resolve for Heather’s recovery, at times I secretly feared that I would lose my precious wife, become bankrupt and be left alone to care for an infant child. Overwhelmed by the prospect of grief and loss, I faced the anxiety, emotional pain and exhaustion in silence.
My wife and I will never forget the compassionate care from friends, family and people we did not even know. Friends and family took the time to help care for Lily, stay with Heather at home while I worked and strangers even offered financial assistance. How can you thank those who help you in such a time of need? The most important lesson to learn about being a caregiver is to know you need help and allow people to assist you. No matter how big or small an offer of help may seem, always accept a helping hand to lessen a list of seemingly endless tasks.  During the worst times, I was so thankful to have someone to talk to, work out my fears and realize that people really do care about me and my family.

For those who provide loving care for their family member struggling with a diagnosis of cancer, it may be the most challenging time of your life. A life-threatening disease produces fear of the loss of a loved one; anxiety about providing enough money and the endless hours of performing tasks that never seem to have an end in sight. During this time, ensure you have someone to talk to about your fears and allow yourself to resolve your hope for the future.

Heather and I were one of the lucky families. After she endured surgery, radiation treatments and chemotherapy, Heather beat mesothelioma and went into remission. In addition, she remains cancer free and healthy to this day, over seven years later. I have learned from our fight with cancer that our time is precious and anything is possible with perseverance and devotion. With my renewed faith in hope and endurance, I returned to school fulltime to pursue a degree in information management.

The challenges of being a caregiver for my wife and daughter had given me the experience to juggle commitments, endure pressure and handle stress. Returning to college two years after her cancer diagnosis was an endeavor that I embraced as fully as caring for my family. I not only graduated with honors but I was chosen to give the graduation speech for my class. The irony of my speech was that I would have never thought that five years ago I would be standing behind the podium with a college degree and a beautiful family. Even our most difficult experiences can strengthen our resolve and restore our dreams. My family taught me the value of commitment, love and determination.
Cameron Von St. James
Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance
http://www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/cameron/

PTSD Is A Selfish Disease

I understand the dislike of those that ever speak of PTSD in a negative view.  This day in age, with all of the misinformation and misunderstandings surrounding PTSD, everyone wants to be clear.  It means that it's painted in a very sympathetic light.

I'm not here to say that it's wrong.  I believe that people with PTSD need more understanding.  But one thing that I never hear people talk about is that PTSD is a selfish disorder.

Today my husband and I had another blowout.  It's common.  He's volatile and I'm in constant pain.  My heart is in a constant state of broken.  But our fights never go anywhere.  They can't.  My husband is unable to focus on anything I am saying.  Instead, he is angry that I have feelings, that they are hurt or that I have an opinion about anything.  I am not allowed.

The problem with moving forward is that PTSD is self centered.  In my husbands mind and world, no one is allowed to have pain but him.  And anything I might be feeling is wrong and probably the cause of his own pain.  He is the only one with problems and our whole world and my whole life is expected to revolve around him.

He can spin anything to be my fault and has a knack for turning my feelings into something he can mock and belittle. I can't tell him anything. I never do.  I am often so alone because there is no one I can talk to.

Right now, I will be honest and say we are at a stand still that might never be fixed. He has caused so much daily pain that I have developed apathy and am no longer truly able to be present.  I am not trying anymore which sounds terrible and might make me a horrible person.  But I can't keep going through this.  I tried to explain it to my husband, but all he has done is be angry at me.

Telling someone that you understand by shouting "I understand" at them isn't really understanding.  And all he managed to do was tell me all the things I did that caused this in the most condescending way possible.

People don't talk about that side of it often.  The side that says no one can be in pain but me.  The side that says anyone who is upset with me is wrong.  The side that says none of this bleeds into anyone else's life.

He refuses to see how this affects me.  He refuses to see that only he can be the one to make a decision to fix this.  He refuses to accept that his choices and his PTSD affect my life.

The Man Who Isn't Coming Back: A Spouses Grief Over PTSD

I often feel like people don't understand the grieving process. It sounds strange because my husband came home but at the same time I am grieving the loss of somebody who used to be here who isn't anymore.  I look at my husband every day and I see the man I married, but his actions show me that that man isn't here anymore.

It feels like I should be able to capture the man he used to be. I look around my house every day and see bits and pieces that, together, create that man. Sometimes it feels like I should be able to lay in bed and smell his scent on his pillow and bring him back because it feels like he might still be there somewhere. Sometimes when he is gone, sometimes when he is in the field or on a training mission, I lay in bed breathing in his scent and try to will him to be here, to come back to me.

I watch his familiar habits, the ones he still has, and collect them in my thoughts as if the whole of their motions can bring him back. His stray bits of paper, his pile of cammies in the garage that need to be washed, the visual bits and pieces of him, the bits and pieces that did not get lost.

There are familiar patterns about his day, that almost make it seem like he is here. I know that he is not yet. He's not yet home. But the collection of his habits, his little bits and pieces of the man he used to be are probably the most painful part of my day. Because he is likely not coming home. I love the man I have now with all of my heart, but I am grieving the loss of the man that I married. The man who isn't coming back.