This conversation goes back a while ago with a combat veteran of the Vietnam era, who has been trying various therapeutic methods for addressing his decades-long case of severe PTSD, and finding, by degrees, some actual and substantial relief.
Over the past few months, as his situation has greatly improved, aspects of his PSTD have fallen away, symptom-by-symptom. But lest this lead you to believe that such progress, or success, is all "positive" -- the reality is, it doesn't always feel that way to the veteran, who has become habituated to seeing the world through the context of their having PTSD. PTSD, of course, affects virtually every important aspect of their lives: from how social they are, to relations with their family, to how they can hold a job, how much pain they are in on a daily basis, how much stress they can manage, and how many medications (with their attendant side-effects) they take. Psychological symptoms, physical symptoms, even "social" symptoms: they're all there.
And after a lifetime of identifying yourself as a "crazy, f*cked-up Vietnam vet," f'r instance, if that "identity" should start to fall away -- as you progress towards actual health and wholeness...mmmmnn, what do you replace it with? Because there needs to be something. Having relied on one identity for years (even decades) to manage life, and keep others at bay, suddenly that "crutch" or that "coping system" is no longer there. And with all the other problematic pieces stripped away, piece by piece, what's actually left is a raw, brand new...baby. At least in terms of trying to cope with who you are in the world. Amazing stuff. And as great as it might be to get some symptom relief, and some ultra-positive life changes, at the same time...fear comes into play. Who will I be without this shell I've learned to rest upon for so long?
Even the Bible talks about, in a slightly different context, how if you're going to sweep a place clean and remove all the demons, you have to immediately replace the empty space with something good, lest more demons come by (boy, the Bible is awful cheery; I'd forgotten...) and, finding the place vacant, immediately seek to fill it up with something "ten times worse" than what had been removed. Mmmm. Lovely. But the principle is a worthy one: If you're been relying on one thing, for a long, long time -- and you suddenly remove it -- you'd better find a way to be comfortable with the new self, because it's what's you have from here on out.
Having been privy to these struggles with one veteran as he walks his path, it's been surprising to me to see how "upsetting" the concept of healing can be -- initially upsetting, that is. There's an old Tony Robbins line that human nature will do much more to avoid pain than they will to seek pleasure, and I think that comes in to play here, too. Change is painful; growth is painful; heck, even healing -- in that context only -- can be painful. It's all new; it requires new skills; a new outlook; even new hope. But ultimately, it's (obviously) the best way. Most ironic of all is when the combat veteran, for example, has been the one to pursue the healing so radically -- and then when it starts to happen, in shock, he draws back, startled, as if realizing, ahhh, this is going to be my new life: how strange. I wonder if I recognize me in this at all.
Of course, over time, the progress coming in waves, as more methods are tried and proven useful, the experience gets better, and the veteran gets to be more at peace in his own skin. Symptoms with which he has lived for decades start to abate, and be replaced by ... peace... and better experiences with himself, his family and loved ones. Overall, though the process is bumpy, the progress is sure. There's no turning back: the combat veteran continues to WANT his healing, and his healing is happening.
And suddenly, the revelation, at least in his mind: "I have PTSD," he declares, decades into the fight, "but I am NOT PTSD." Previously, of course, the unspoken assumption was that there was no distinction. PTSD so consumed his life than in fact he WAS PTSD. Now, he can say that he has it -- increasingly, even better, that he HAD it -- but that it is not him. Wow.
