PTSD
PTSD
I am 76 and I suffer from PTSD. In fact, I have two doses of it. One is medical: cancer and its treatment, dating from 2023. The other is psychological, dating from 2013, and concerns my departure from the University of Miami. I have no wish to discuss either situation and indeed generally avoid discussing either of them (I would like to expunge both from my memory). But I would like to say something analytical and therapeutic, in case it may help someone else and to clarify my own thoughts on the subject. In my experience, this condition is characterized by a chronic apprehensiveness—that there may be a recurrence. It feels as if the world might suddenly give way beneath your feet for no discernible reason. You never know what might happen and you can’t stop it from happening. All you can do is ride the wave as best you can. There is an initial shock and then a drawn-out aftermath. It is like being hit on the head from behind and concussed. You are constantly looking over your shoulder. There can be intense anger, a sense of outrage. Some people around you behave well, others badly (incredibly badly). You go into survival mode. Sleep is an ordeal. What is particularly troubling is the accumulation of aftershocks over a longish period of time. It never seems to be finished, and you have to think about it—your life depends on it. Your life feels threatened. Small things like car accidents get magnified. Pet deaths hit you hard. People close to you suffer too, through no fault of their own. It is not so much post-traumatic as traumatic.
How to deal with it? There may not be a uniform formula, but I can talk about my own case. I did things I valued and spent time with people I liked. I kept away from people and things I didn’t like. Here I was fortunate. I wrote and read, played tennis, played music, threw knives, swam, sang. In particular, I wrote articles for this blog: these are my answer to PTSD, medical or psychological. This gave me an escape from the ongoing psychological torments of trauma. I dedicated myself to daily tennis, because I needed to make a physical recovery. Slowly and steadily, I regained normality—I mean, over a number of years. It took work and concentration. I was lucky in some ways: I didn’t die and my mind wasn’t permanently damaged. Of course, I bear the scars (I will show you them if you like) and they will never go away. There is a reason people are called “survivors”: it isn’t victory but sheer persistence. You don’t beat it, but it doesn’t beat you. Is there anything good about it? Not that I can see, though I suppose it does concentrate the mind (like the death penalty). And it really is about death: will it kill you or will you come out on the other side? Am I a better person for it? I don’t think so, perhaps slightly worse (I have less tolerance for idiots—you see what I mean?). I think it is good to recognize PTSD for what it is and face up to the challenge; there’s no use denying it. I have no uplifting positive note to end on.
All that I can say is that there are people, like me, who are in solidarity with your condition. A persistent, life-threatening, and life-altering medical condition beset me in my early-twenties— forever changing the course of my life. It also left me with persistent medical PTSD. Additionally home-hospicing my Alzheimer’s stricken mother, to her death, didn’t render wonders upon my emotional health either. I am ever annoyed by those who would claim that some “positive” life-lesson is to be drawn out of such experiences; there isn’t any. We simply endure, and quietly empathize with those similarly afflicted.
I found your message oddly beautiful in its honesty. Not every cloud has a silver lining, or even a tin one. Bear in mind that preceding this I had to endure a nasty psychological assault. Solidarity is something.
Thank you for sharing. Your blog and books are valued and read by many. You write well and your writing helps to digest the driest of topics. All that is not a cure for PTSD or a consolation but hopefully it is a positive thing that matters to you.
I appreciate your comments.
Cancer intensified my hatred for most things including myself. I hated people for zombie walking through life. I hated myself for surviving because other people had cancer, but they had kids and families that dependend on them and I did not. I hated that cancer tried to take me out and my hatred would be my fuel for survival. I hate the contradiction of wanting to survive and die. I hate that I felt compelled to learn something from it.
Most of all, I HATE HATE HATE that our fear of death has us wishing for immortality while cells that become immortal ARE cancer.
Hate is the only reasonable attitude. I also hate the cancer of cancelation.
I had the 2nd trauma (but not the first) you mentioned.
I probably had some type of PTSD or complex PTSD even before the diagnosis.
Getting back to normal has been physically tough, but mentally I feel improved. My focus, thinking, and decision making have improved. My fears have reduced. It’s not conducive for me, to think excessively about it remitting, or finishing me off. It’s inevitable at some point so I try to live in the present, as Eckhart tolle has advised.
And that was the self indulgent part.
I wish you good health, strength, and to keep on sharing your knowledge with the world.
I don’t think there is anyone else who is doing what you are doing.
Thank you, and God bless
I think you are right: what I am doing is unique. As the old saying goes, you can’t keep a good man down (probably not entirely true but a nice thought).
It’s an ongoing battle with small improvements.