Every combat veteran with PTSD knows what is meant by their "bunker," or what "going to their bunker" means. It's a walled-off, isolated situation that allows them to get some space to themselves, away from other people (including family and friends), when they feel particularly triggered, and they need to stay in there for, well, as long as they're going to. They come out when they're ready, and not a moment before. Obviously this situation can be very frustrating to others in the vet's life, but for the vet it affords him or her some very necessary, protective isolation.
The rest of us who aren't combat vets with PTSD I suppose could think of it as the vet putting himself or herself in a time-out from the world, by taking themselves out of the mix, and away from people and stimulation, both bad and good. And the time-out will be over when it's over, because they decide when it's up.
The recent Fourth of July with its fireworks that remind many vets of combat was a classic bunker situation. Many, many vets were making plans before the Fourth for how to protect and insulate themselves from being triggered by the fireworks (noise, smoke, crowds). One Gulf War vet with PTSD who had already isolated himself, wrote of putting a pillow over his head and just wanting it to be over, so that he didn't have to experience it. The next day, fireworks all exploded, he was better. But during, he had to be in the bunker. Another combat vet with PTSD, from the Iraq war this time, talked about staying in her bunker for days, making brief provision runs, every fourth day or so, to the grocery store and then...back to her bunker. When she needed to be in her bunker...
The bunker concept/construct is so typical to combat vets with PTSD that I thought I'd ask one who I know fairly well how he'd describe it. He has decades of PTSD "experience" under his belt, and I've also seen him retreat to his bunker at various times. A month one time, a week another time, the last time, a day. Sometimes even a few hours. But however long the episode lasts, during that time: totally unreachable. And realistically, you better not even try...because it just makes the situation worse.
The more chances I've had to experience this with him, the more certain I can be that, short time or long, he'll emerge from his bunker, when he's good and ready, and with a new and improved outlook on why he went in the bunker in the first place. (For those who don't know, the bunker can be anywhere...a shed, a garage, a spot in the woods, a room in a house, even a chair. But it's sacred, inviolate, untouchable space...and the vet goes there in retreat, partly to spare those around him, but also strongly to get control over what he's feeling. (He or she, obviously.) So I figured he'd be able to offer his personal/expert advice on this.
Here's how the conversation went.
Me: "What typically sends vets to their bunkers?"
Him: "Any situation -– losing a job, losing their cool, a fight with their kid -- that makes them lose control sends them back to their bunker, so they can regain control. It may not be much, but while they're there, at least they have control over that little room they're in."
Me: "What's the longest time you've ever spent in your bunker?"
Him: "A year."
Me: "!!!"
And then he clarified. (Remember, this is just his opinion, but it's worth sharing, because of the number of vets he knows and has observed, as well as what he knows about himself.) "Each time a vet goes into their bunker, they go in for a longer period of time. Until one time they go in and they don’t come out." (He does know an awful lot of other vets who have sadly killed themselves. That happens in bunkers, too. No wonder families and friends are justifiably concerned.)
The progression he just mentioned...vets spending longer and longer times each time in their bunkers...is actually the opposite of what he's been doing, since I've known him (which coincides with his getting better). Each time he goes to his bunker, it's both less frequent, and for shorter and shorter times each time, to the point that the last "bunker" episode I observed him in was actually only about half an hour.
In the middle of a frustrating conversation, not quite an argument, but one where emotions were high and we weren't communicating smoothly, he "withdrew" to his bunker of self-enclosed, protective space -- without moving from the couch he'd been sitting on. I saw him cross his arms, very agitated, close his eyes, and start doing something that looked like huffing and puffing. Even on an animal instinct level I knew, give this person his space. All the body language was daggers. I stepped away, and a short while later, he bounced back, and resumed where things left off, able to manage the conflict without any undue strain. Turns out what he'd been doing during the huffing and puffing phase was actually deep breathing, to calm himself down and regain control. Very smart. On the outside, he looked furious. On the inside, he was doing what he could to get back under control. As a result, he was able to "emerge" from his bunker in record time -- which speaks to the tremendous benefits of learning coping skills and stress-reduction techniques, as he has.
When I first knew this vet, he talked about what he'd learned at an inpatient PTSD program at the VA years ago. It was the cutting-edge program at the time, and he speaks of it with great appreciation, even though many of the guys he went through the program with sadly did not make it. ("Did not make it" is euphemistic code for "sadly, later killed themselves.") One of the biggest things he learned in the program, according to him, was about "red flags" and "triggers," and how to get away before you make things worse. Heading for the bunker, just like in the description of the vet with the pillow over his head, is one way to keep things from getting worse. For the vet, that is -- for the family or loved ones, it's very difficult to experience, and hard to ignore, though one of the secrets seems to be, going on with your own life, while maintaining a compassionate (but not nagging) concern for how they're doing.
One of the distinctions he likes to make, though, between what he learned from the behavioral modification skills, above, in the VA program, and what he's learned since then, following more of a healing path, is that now he has some ability to not just "avoid" triggers but also "deal with" situations as they come up. The red flags still show that the problem is coming, but instead of being ONLY triggered, there are now new ways to deal with it that don't only involve avoiding or isolating.
The situation above, of being in conflict but being able to "be" with it, and breathe through it, meant that the conflict didn't have to explode into a multi-day saga or a physical exit to an actual bunker, which could last for weeks or months -- or even a year(!) Ahhh, progress is a beautiful thing...
Editor's note: For Part II, "Busting Out of the Bunker at Last," go here.
