Healing Combat Trauma

Busting Out of the Bunker at Last...Made to Be Social Beings, We Die in Isolation

Following up on the "Bunker" post of the other day, about the protective isolation of the bunker for the combat vet with PTSD, it seemed high time to write "the rest of the story," about what the subject of "Eyewitness to Combat" sees now about the bunker mentality, and how and whether it's possible ever to overcome it. (So here's a picture of his bunker in Vietnam, to illustrate it.)

What follows are direct remarks from the vet, from a few weeks ago, about this exact topic. I'll add a few words where I have to, to keep the flow going, but the thoughts and the wording are his:

On the problem of the bunker:

"We are made to be social beings. We die in isolation. And that’s why when we withdraw into a hole, we are withdrawing into a grave -– just one that isn’t covered up yet.

With me I wanted to get out and I wanted to be with people. I wanted to enjoy my surroundings. I wanted to go to parties. I really did. I wanted to do that. But I had this deep ingrained fear that if I was around too many people, too long I would talk too much, say too much, and they would figure out who I really was, and not like me. And every place I went, it seemed that I was always pissing somebody off. Making somebody angry at me, and that rejection was more than I could handle. So it was easier for me to decide that I just hate everybody, and don’t want anybody around me but animals. And crawl back in my bunker, and hide. But then I would die there. Because what I really wanted to do was go back and be with people who cared about me, somebody who would love and accept me and who I could have fun with. Every time that something would draw me out of the bunker, I would do something stupid, have my PTSD moment, and have everyone around me direct me back to my hole.

We are supposed to be social; we are supposed to belong. For those of us who are Marines, we belong to one another, we belong to the Corps, we belong to the men who came before us, and the men who will come after us. We belong to something bigger than ourselves, and that’s what makes us Marines for life. This is not unique to the Marine Corps however; for we all have an innate, ingrained need to belong to something bigger than ourselves; to something that accepts our faults, that builds upon our good deeds, good qualities, that involves people. Be it religion, be it Indian culture, be it motorcycle clubs, be it national associations. We all have a need to belong. The problem arises in our isolation creating a void that is filled with the wrong associations/influences. For we WILL belong to something, good or bad; harmful or helpful. Churches prey on that need to belong. (We've both had bad experiences with churches, so we give the secret fist-bump to each other at this point.)  

Now, all veterans belong to one another. Their bond is in their service, that transcends the specific branches and time.

People go back in the bunker to heal, to hide from being hurt; or to hide from hurting others. They stay there and depression sets in; and they cannot get out by themselves. Someone has to physically go in and bring them out, just like (my guy friend, a Navy seal) did with me; just like you did with me.

He encouraged me; he listened to me; he understood me; he had been where I was. He said, "I don’t know how to help you; I love you; I care for you. But I know if you don’t want to do something, you wouldn’t do it. So what I want to do is share a dream with you that I’ve had since I got out of the Navy. Reasonable or not. But I need your help to do this. And when you feel like you can come out, call me. And he left a stack of papers about a foot high. I spent a week staring at them, and it interrupted my depression! And he'd put one of the most interesting articles on the very top. He had made me a part of what he was doing. I just wanted to be and do something that people wouldn’t hate me for; wouldn’t criticize me for. Because the aftereffect of ‘Nam was so bad, because we gave so much; and received so little. And we had done MORE than we could do over there. I just wanted to do something where people didn’t hate me."

(That Navy Seal friend is someone he'd previously helped himself; stood up for him so he wouldn't go to prison for his third arrest.) "I’m the one who walked in there and walked him out of his depression. Blood brothers, combat vets. He was a friend."

I mention the name of another friend of his, who he served with in Vietnam, who was injured on his same kill day/alive day, and who used to call him up to see if they could go be mercenaries in South America together. It all sounded like an elaborate, not so cleverly-disguised death wish. Very Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. When I first knew him, there was a real pull to that. Now, further down the healing path, not so much. I ask him about that guy. A lot more reasonable now, he reflects, though he knows the allure, "That’s not the way to go; it’s not the way to make you happy. It’s just another way to get yourself killed. Problem is, sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t."

How much time has he spent in his bunker over the years?

"Years. Probably spent 20% of my life in a bunker, hiding, wanting to die, not having the nerve to shoot myself; hoping that the diseases and the meds would finally do me in.

I just didn’t know how to be happy. There was no joy in my life. There’s no reason to live. My family used to ask me, 'How can you look at what you’ve done, and tell me that you have no purpose in life? You don’t understand.' Problem was, I didn’t understand. I did not know why I didn’t have the capacity to have joy, to love anyone or to have fun. I just know I’d tried religion, I’d tried everything the VA could throw at me, in-house therapy, group therapy, self-help, medication, I tried working myself to death, I tried getting rich, I tried doing stupid things to harm myself (go back into combat situations), where maybe if I revisited it; I tried going to The Wall; and something would just not allow to want to live, or be happy, or enjoy being in my life. I couldn’t look around and see the flowers, let alone smell them. All the roses in my life were wilted; not because they were, but because of my vision of them was wilted."

My self-esteem, my sense of self-worth, my self-pity, and sense of total uselessness overwhelmed everything else. No matter how hard I tried, everything I touched was going to turn to shit. I heard it from my dad, and then I began to believe it was a generational curse. A curse is only a curse if you decide it’s going to be a curse. I understand the Universe. I understand me and the necessity of believing in yourself and believing in others. Politically the world may seem like a shitty place; but it’s always seemed like a shitty place. World’s always been a bad place, and it’s always been full of good people, and bad ones. And we have the right to choose the ones that we’re with. And we have the right to choose whether we’re going to be happy or sad, or doing something that’s worthwhile or not. Money is essential but money’s not the end. Money is only the means to an end, and yet we lose that perspective.

I’m no longer willing to let other people and their misery dictate whether I’m happy or sad. It’s up to them to walk through that door. Sick and tired of being sick and tired, that they’d rather die than continue on. Then they’ll walk through that door and want help and accept it. As long as they have one ability to resist, they will."

We talk about two guys we know, combat vets from different eras -- Gulf War and Vietnam. Neither one seems to really "get" where they need to go with this recovery stuff. When they're doing well, they're broadcasting their healing to the world; when they're down, they're completely off the grid, hospitalized for suicidal ideation and attempts. My mind reels from this. I wish when they were doing better they'd put more time into actually finding a way out; not just broadcasting it, so their lows wouldn't have to be so low, since their highs seem...unnaturally, or at least unsustainably high. It reminds me of a friend who says, about people who complain but do not attempt to solve, "It must not be bad enough for them yet." 

He weighs in: "They haven’t lost ALL their resistance. One of two things happen when people reach that level: they either commit suicide, or they get help. What makes the difference? A friend. A friend who can walk in under that and take them by the hand and walk them out. Just like in combat, if you get wounded, you can’t walk yourself out. Someone to grab you by the nape of your neck and drag your ass out of there. You can’t do it by yourself."

He continues: "If vets who have been healed don’t go and get vets who haven’t, then no one else will. In this situation the Marine Corps phrase of “we take care of our own” is literal; if we don’t, no one else will: not the vet’s family, not his relatives; no one. Only a vet can walk out a vet."

But yet, I helped you...and I'm not a vet. But you came looking for the help, too. He replies, "But you were a friend, a sincere, concerned friend. A friend like that, another vet; not the government...."

Editor's note: The photo above is of the "Eyewitness to Combat" Marine with two of his buddies, very Three Musketeer-y, circa 1966 or 1967.

Kind Words from a Mentor and Friend about "Healing Combat Trauma"

Unsolicited feedback can be encouraging, especially when it's positive. Had a very nice surprise of that kind this past this past week when I received a lovely and unexpected email from Arthur Egendorf, Ph.D., a dear mentor and friend, whose own work with war veterans recovering from trauma gave me practical hope that good, heartfelt work could be done in this area.

(Egendorf is a Vietnam veteran [Army intelligence] with a Ph.D. in psychology from Harvard, and a lifelong interest in therapeutic healing modalities, beginning with talk therapy and branching out from there. He was one of the originators, in the 1970s, of the "rap groups," that allowed returning Vietnam veterans to have someplace to go and peers to talk with, when they weren't willing to take part in the services offered by the V.A. In any history of the Vietnam era that focuses on PTSD and veterans, such as Gerard Nicosia's encyclopedic "Home to War: A History of the Vietnam Veterans' Movement," Egendorf is one of a handful of experts from the time whose name keeps coming up.) 

I'll write more later in the month, as a certain anniversary date rolls around, about how much his award-winning book "Healing from the War: Trauma and Transformation after Vietnam," (sadly, now out of print) was put to constructive use with one veteran, whose life it helped to change. It's fair to say that my copy of his book is fairly well completely yellow from highlighting key passages, thoughts and inspirations, so it was especially gratifying to receive these unsolicited kind words from him.

Dear Lily,

In dedicating so much of yourself to the men and women who risk and give their lives for duty, honor, country you do all of us, this mostly sleep-walking America, a great service.  As tireless, fearless, noisy (when necessary) and deeply caring witness you give our soldiers and veterans what they deserve from this entire country but get from only very few.  As one who knows a bit of what it takes to love and care for bloodied and pained survivors who've fought for all of us and then have been mostly ignored, I salute and cheer you on to keep waking us up.  Keep shaking us, Lily.  Keeping making us see how much those who've served have given to us, and how much we owe our thanks, respect and unending care.  You go girl.  

Artie Egendorf 

Editor's note: For more of an introduction to Egendorf's work, here are a few posts that mention him, linked here, here, here (this one in particular, called "A Hand Across the Abyss: How Openness Helps Heal"), and here, among others.

Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan -- Suffering and Love

It's interesting to live a life that's been bracketed on either side by wars in Vietnam and now Iraq and Afghanistan. It certainly created an awareness of hardship and suffering, and the need and desire to offset that. And it brings to mind a favorite quote: "Suffering accompanies life, but love is affirmation." -- Everyday Tao, by Deng-Ming Tao.

Yoga for Veterans is Back in the News...

Yoga classes for veterans -- offered, in many cases, free of charge, at least initially, by practitioners nationally -- is back in the news.

(For a link to previous articles about the topic, including the work being done at Walter Reed, click here.)

"Yoga Warriors" is based in Central Massachusetts, and they offer classes to veterans but also train yoga teachers to work with veterans. From their website:

"The Yoga Warriors program was established at the Central Mass Yoga and Wellness in West Boylston, MA, and has been ongoing since 2005.  Yoga Warriors programs are being established in different parts of the country.  Interested vets can contact the Central Mass Yoga and Wellness at 508-835-1176 to put their name on the contact list.  Some of the classes are free to all vets. Registered yoga teachers that wish to become certified in the Yoga Warriors method can also call the above number to register for an upcoming teacher training workshop." (For a link to their website, click here.)

Paul Zipes, based in Florida, has a  "Yoga For Vets" program that he started a few years ago. We've written about it, here, and are about to again. His program connects yoga practitioners who want to offer a limited number of free classes to veterans of combat or conflict with the veterans who want to take them. For a link to Yoga for Vets, click here.

Former Marine Anuradha Bhagwati started Yoga for Vets NYC started in July, 2008 "as a service for NYC veterans." She says, "the program is designed specifically for veterans dealing with injuries or trauma, but every veteran is welcome, regardless of age, era or experience." For a link to this program, click here.

CBS News had a short segment today called "Yoga Soothes War Vets." Watch it below:

The video shows Vietnam veterans enjoying the experience, but one Vietnam veteran I know didn't take to yoga too enthusiastically. Too many aches and pains for him to enjoy it very much, he said. However, he's a much bigger fan of Qi Gong -- which is sometimes called "the Chinese yoga." For more information about Qi Gong, also called Qigong or Chi Kung, read two recent posts on the subject: here and here. Both yoga and qi gong offer demonstrable health benefits and encourage a more relaxed, calmer mind, and lowered anxiety and tension.

The Spouse's Point of View: "I Just Want It Over With, and Buried..."

Watched a great documentary last night, one hour long, originally broadcast on "The History Channel." The documentary was "Vietnam: Homecoming," and I rented it on Netflix, in their instantly-playable section. They describe it in the following manner:

"This moving documentary follows Pervis Crowe, Stanley Parker, John Hedrick and Mike Cook -- who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder -- as they prepare to attend Operation Homecoming, a gathering in Branson, Mo., to help Vietnam veterans mend. Through poignant interviews, these anguished men share their personal stories of the pain and torment that scarred their psyches and forever changed their lives."

Good stuff. Because I've been privileged to have two years of in-depth, daily conversations with one suffering Vietnam vet, as well as having read his life story, mostly focusing around combat in Vietnam and its aftermath in his life as PTSD, which he sent me two years ago this week, I was astounded by the compelling similarities in what I heard on the screen with what I knew in real life.

Every veteran shared something meaningful. In the conversation illustrated above, a Vietnam vet and his wife exhibited typical conflict over, "you were only there for such a short time...how is it that you can't get over it yet?" frustration. As the wife said, pointedly,

"As your spouse, I don't want you to have to relive it. I want it buried. I just want it over with, and buried."

Unfortunately, that's not likely to be the case. She had "stuck by her man," -- whereas most of the wives in the documentary had not -- and yet, there were tremendous issues. In a suicide note this veteran had left, ironically with his combat brothers, he had mentioned how not only was he expecting to die, but also his wife and their daughter -- a fact that troubled his family members, not unexpectedly, quite a bit when they learned what he had said.

Another veteran, a black soldier, talked about how he managed to keep PTSD at bay until his daughter went off to college. Then his inborn conditioning that "if you get close to someone, they die" kicked in, and he became unrealistically fearful for her safety. At 50 years old, he checked in with what the VA had to offer, the first time he'd realized what an impact PTSD had made on his life, despite the decades of being afraid to get close to people or show his emotion.

Another Vietnam veteran, Marine, sat on his single bed in what looked like a hotel room, and grabbed his shaving kit of medications. This vet's "backstory" was that he was an entrepreneur, a businessman who created a company from scratch that went on to be worth millions. As he described it, he went from rags to riches, and then suddenly at age 50, he couldn't handle it anymore. The empire he built came crashing down, because his PTSD kicked in, and he couldn't run from it, couldn't keep it at bay anymore. And now he was single, marriage destroyed, dependent on pharmaceutical medications to keep his anxiety and sleepness at bay. As he sat on the bed, he took out large pill bottle after large pill bottle, filled with prescription medications, and described his dependence on each one, to help him sleep and help him cope.

I remember the second time I met with the Vietnam vet, Marine, who sought me out for help. He gave me his single-spaced, typewritten list of medications that he was on, 58 in a day, and I almost fainted. Some of them were just for the side-effects of other medications he was on! I was horrified, and sobered. No wonder he had an upset stomach all the time...

A year later, he was down to eight medications from the original 58. Gone was the pain patch, the Oxycodone, the night sweats, the nightmares, the muffled screams, the crappy sleep. Progress is possible. But it started, ironically, with listening to what the veteran went through. "No one wants to hear my story," he said. "They think I should be over it by now. I was only there for two years," he said, "they can't understand why it's the dominant experience in m life, and they're bored with it. Why can't I just move on?"

I heard echoes of that last night in the documentary, with the wife's question: "Why can't this just be buried?" I don't know if I have the stature to comment on this, but this is what I'd say. Honestly, he's not the same person you thought he was. War changed him; combat changed him. And if you can't accept that...you can't accept HIM. He's different now. And whether and how he chooses to show that, it's affected him to the core of his being. He can get better, and he can "improve," and be happier and healthier, by all external metrics...but seriously, if you don't value the core of what he experienced, and why it changed him...you are missing something very, very important. It's key to who he is. And if you wanted someone who wasn't affected by combat, well, that's not who you have right in front of you. It permanently expanded, and blew out, the boundaries of who you knew, and changed him into who he IS. And that is the veteran you can embrace, or not. The choice is yours. The experience was his (or hers). And he (or she) can share it with you, to the extent that you're open to accepting it. Be open. Work on it, if you're not. The payoff is immense. Because you will KNOW who the other person really IS.

A Veteran's Journey from Suffering and Despair to a "Happy and Productive Life..."

Had this conversation just now with a Vietnam combat veteran, who struggled for decades with severe and chronic PTSD. (Read about him in the "Eyewitness to Combat" section. It's gripping...)

It's been almost two years now since we first started talking, and I was looking back on how very much he'd changed. The most noticeable thing to me is how consistent he is now, along with the much lower intensity of the darkness and despair. Back then, when he was suicidal, it was a constant feature. I never knew from one conversation to the next whether that would be our last talk, so close to the edge he was. But that was a phase...and the phase changed, and the "mood" of that phase "lifted," and now I can look back and think how very long ago that seems, even though it was "just" two years ago.

In trying to find words to convey how much I'd seen him changed, I found the analogy of a staircase, maybe one with gigantic stone steps. It seemed that though he was still climbing -- we all are, of course -- he'd cleared those gigantic steps found at the absolute bottom and walked up a few more as well. Now when he slides back down, as we all do, also to some degree -- he no longer hits rock bottom --- so it might still be low, but it's much farther up from where he was, and that progress he made, he gets to keep.

He agreed, and said that it wasn't so much that the demon of despair wasn't there anymore, as that it was something he could now overcome. "Healing," he said, "is when you're able to use what you've been taught" from all those hard experiences. And one of the most key, is not to give up, but to do what you know to do. Whether it's to stay on the lowest dosage of the medications that keep you functional; or the healing techniques you know can help -- whether by going to a practitioner, or even the ones you can practice yourself. And ideally both: appropriate medication AND healing work. Together: an excellent, therapeutic combination. Singly? Not so much. It's like there's something missing...and there is. Synergy, for one thing.

St. Patrick's Day is this vet's "Alive Day," or as he used to call it, his "Kill Day." The day that everyone else was shot or killed, and he was shot and almost died, and barely didn't. Not a major celebration in his life; one with a whole lot of guilt for surviving, and one guy in particular who died who was a short-timer, and went into the fight with him because of their friendship.

St. Patrick's Day last year, this vet was doing great. On his medication AND doing healing work. Pleasant, engaged, out in public (even in crowded places), managing, letting his whole personality out, the bad as well as the substantial good. Major progress.

This year, St. Patrick's Day, not so much. Kinda "backslid," as the old churches would say. Had abruptly stopped his medication, because he wanted to "feel again," or "feel more." And what he felt wasn't so pleasant for him or anyone he was around. His personality was coming out then too: but it was the dark side, with only glimmers of the light.

That was a learning experience, for everyone. Get back on the meds, but don't stop the healing work either. They're BOTH important. They both produce the synergy necessary. With both, he says, he's able to stabilize; see the triggers and the red flags for what they are, but not react in the same way. Without the medication? As he describes it, "I'm looking for the switch..." to turn off the triggers "but there is no switch." Together, it works. And together with support from others: WE all work better too :-)

(Interestingly, though, he was still able to do one major thing THIS St. Patrick's Day. He told the story, in a powerful, moving and very public way, of the last seven days of his friend's life, leading up to his tragic death on that infamous "Kill Day." He said he'd never before had the strength to tell that story, and this time he did. Fellow combat vets eyed him nervously, preparing for the big crash...that never came. How well did he make it through? With an enormous sigh of relief. He went to bed and slept deeply, finally able to lay that burden down that had dogged him for 43 years. He was able to let the haunting memory go, without giving up the love of his friend. And that's what you'd call...healing. Bonus points were when the dead friend came to him in a dream that night, and they saluted one another. As though it were safe to let that memory go...but let the love remain.)

---

"Life for me ain't been no crystal stair," the great American poet Langston Hughes wrote in his poem, "Mother to Son."

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor --

Bare.

But all the time

I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners,

And sometimes goin' in the dark

Where there ain't been no light.

So, boy, don't you turn back.

Don't you set down on the steps.

'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.

-- "Mother to Son," by Langston Hughes.

The same could be said by so many veterans who suffer. But yet there is still hope, and it's in the climbing, not the "setting" down :-)

Returning to the conversation with the Vietnam vet, I told him how much I appreciate the consistency since he's been back on the low dose of medication he takes. Failing to find a better word, I said how much I appreciated getting to see his "charming" personality again, instead of the roller-coaster of pain, frustration, anger and despair. "ALL of these guys have charming personalities," he reminded me; "That's why their wives married them...And that's what we've got to help them return to."

"The Vast Majority of (Vietnam) Veterans Have Melted Back into Society..."

In reading a book tonight, "A War of Nerves: Soldiers and Psychiatrists in the Twentieth Century," by Ben Shephard, Cambridge: Harvard University Press (2001), I came across this interesting paragraph:

"Yet a Los Angeles Times survey of veterans in 1975 concluded that, overall, 'there is ample evidence to suggest that the vast majority of Vietnam veterans have melted back into society as successfully as any soldier from any war.' Vietnam veterans were joining the traditional veterans' organizations, using the GI Bill for education in greater numbers than any previous generation, and successfully getting off heroin. Only 2% of Vietnam veterans used narcotics in civilian life. The LA Times quoted a VA psychiatrist: 'Our society was scared by the image of the Vietnam veteran coming home and shooting up the community, of being a junkie. It was a distorted image that the veteran is still paying for.' There was, he believed, 'no evidence that Vietnam has produced a disproportionate share of people who are maladjusted to society and no evidence that the primary contributor to that maladjustment was military service.'"

I wonder if even Vietnam veterans would agree with that appraisal. It seems awfully rosy. There's a tendency when people first get back to want to fit back in, as though nothing ever happened. I wonder if they caught the respondents at that phase, before they had had significant adjustment issues. The old statistic was that it took veterans, including Vietnam veterans, 13 years to become  homeless, because it took that long for safety nets of family support and employment to fail. The statistics coming back from England with more recent wars is that it's taking three years, not 13, so the pace is escalating. A survey taken in 1975 would have been within that window. It's germane to note that the PTSD diagnosis did not become part of the DSM until 1980. Prior to that, according to "A War of Nerves," one prominent psychiatrist (Chaim Shatan) "argued in 1974 that there were probably one to one and half million men suffering from 'post-combat syndrome,'" while four years later, Arthur Egendorf, Ph.D., a psychologist and Army veteran himself, "(using looser criteria)" put the number at "over two million, a figure almost ten times as great." By 1982, the book says, "another article ... declared that 500,000-700,000 veterans were 'in need of emotional help at the present time.'"

A more common experience would seem to be that of a conversation I had with a friend today. She was talking about her uncle, who she never knew, who had served in Vietnam. According to his mother, she had "two" sons: the son who went off to war, and the one who returned. Her son's platoon was wiped out; only he survived; and he came back, and never really rejoined society. From the sounds of things, he got high, and stayed high, pretty much since he got back from Vietnam. And has never been able to have a job in which people contact is a requirement. Sad tale, and not an uncommon one from the era.

Quotable Quotes -- Arthur Egendorf on When Healing Happens

“Healing occurs as we develop the openness, care and vision to cast in a worthy light whatever appears before us." -- Arthur Egendorf, Ph.D., from "Healing from the War: Trauma and Transformation after Vietnam," coincidentally my very favorite book on the subject, although unfortunately it's also out of print.

Martin Luther King Jr Had a Dream for Combat Veterans, Too

Martin Luther King Jr., from a speech delivered exactly one year before he was assassinated in Memphis, Tenn.:

"This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love." -- Martin Luther King Jr, speech at Riverside Church in New York City, April 4, 1967. 

Editor's note: A link to the online text and audio of his full speech is here.

Honoring Women Veterans Who Served and Suffered

October 12th through 16th is "Military Rape Awareness Week." In observation of that, the story of Colleen Mussolino, as retold by veterans advocate Susan Avila-Smith:

In Memory of Colleen Mussolino, Women Veteran Trailblazer

"I wanted to be an aviation engineer," Mussolino said.  "The recruiter said I could get into the program, but I found out that was closed to women." Instead she became a cook.  Soon the young WAC would find out just how differently women were regarded in the military.  On December 29, 1965, Colleen was raped by four men and left for dead.  She spent one night in the hospital and was sent right back to her barracks.  Colleen was treated like a prisoner of war, interrogated and was blackballed on the post trying to force her to sign a paper that she would not prosecute. Threatened with a dishonorable discharge, Mussolino signed the paper and was honorably discharged in March 1967.

For the next 20 years, Mussolino raised two sons, and lived her life.  But as time went by, the traumatic assault that was supposed to be covered up and forgotten began to take its toll.  "I was getting more and more short-tempered," Mussolino said. "My temper was just bad."  One day, while fishing with a World War II veteran, he told her she was entitled to veterans benefits.  She applied and began to receive benefits. She also joined a women's support group at the Brooklyn, N.Y. VA Medical Center.  "I was looking for other women who went through what I went through," Mussolino said. "Your civilian counterparts have no clue."

Women Veterans of America
With talk of the war breaking out in the Persian Gulf, she realized more women would be involved in combat than ever before.  In response, she co-founded Women Veterans of America to offer support and attention to the issues facing women in the military.  "The transition from military to civilian life is difficult," Mussolino said. "Once the uniform goes on, it never comes off." Their mission: Information and support for women veterans; liaision to government agencies; obtaining veterans' benefits and health care; advocacy in local and national isues affecting women veteran and women serving in the military. Pressure on Congress and the Department of Defense to cahnge the Uniform Code of Military Justice to include a fair avenue for victims of assault and rape to be able to report their cases and get their day in court. Punish those who perpetrate such crimes and offer protection from intimidation and threats for women who report the assaults. "The repercussions from the way the victims are treated only adds to the problem and can cause severe PTSD symptoms," the statement reads. "The UCMJ does not protect the victim, but instead rewards some perpetrators with promotion, and does not punish except with a slap on the wrist and a finger shaken in the face it continues.  It is difficult for many to fathom the emotional and physical turmoil that the men and women of the armed forces are put through.  To add sexual assault to the burden is unconscionable."

In November 1996, reports of sexual harrassment and sexual assault against women at the Army Proving Ground in Aberdeen, M.D., prompted "20/20" to put together an investigative piece on the military's handling of sexual assault.  A member of Women Veterans of America wrote to 20/20 about her own experience. "She was afraid to be interviewed because she had been given death threats," Mussolino said.  Instead, Mussolino agreed to share her own story of sexual assault and cover-up in the military with Peter Jennings. "I figured if anything came out of it, women would know they are not alone, and there is help," Mussolino said.  "Not only women are raped, but men are raped. The story seemed to validate them, too." During the show's airing, the Department of Veterans Affairs made a toll-free number available for women to call in for counseling.  "Over 3,000 women called that night from all diferent wars and branches of service," Mussolino said.  "The Department of Veterans Affairs realized more had to be done for women veterans." "A lot of Vietnam veteran women in this country don't come forward," said Mussolino.  They don't talk about it.  Those are the ones I want to reach. There is help. There is therapy by talking to a brother or a sister."

Despite her disabilities which have put her in a wheelchair, she would be at every significant event for MST and Vietnam vets, and was the primary point of contact for the media since the early 1970s.  Since Colleen's terminal illness, Women Veterans of America "decided that WVA is taking too much time on the issue of MST, and has dropped it from their services."

PTSD from Military Sexual Trauma (MST) is caused by sexual harrassment, rape and intimidation, or any improper sexual behavior.  Perpetrators often go unpunished, and have no "record" in an effort to play down the prevalence of assault and harrassment.

Editor's note: There's a "fan page" for Colleen Mussolino on Facebook, linked here.