Prenita Hudson: PTSD & Family

Once called shell shock or battle fatigue syndrome, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a serious condition that can develop after a person has experienced or witnessed a traumatic or terrifying event in which serious physical, mental, emotional and spiritual harm occurred or was threatened. The impact of traumatic ordeals can cause intense helplessness, fear or horror when a person may have experienced a sexual or physical assault, unexpected death of a love one, an accident, natural disaster or war.

A PTSD sufferer may experience reactions that include shock, anger, fear, nervousness and even guilt, and these feelings do not just disappear overnight. They can become so strong that it keeps them from living a normal life and they cannot function as well as before the event occurred.

I do not suffer from PTSD, but my brother and daddy do. As a daughter and as sister it is painful to witness the pain that they are unable to escape from. From the way they interact with me and their view of themselves as a father, as a son, and even as citizens in society, it is debilitating for me to witness.

Please, do not misconstrue my words, I am not talking bad or degrading my family members. No not at all. As a daughter and as a sister who first knew what it felt to love a man and what it means for a man to love me back, I feel absolutely helpless. It’s like watching my brother and daddy in a glass box and there is no way for me to reach them and no way for them to reach me. As I try to find the words to write this, I still can’t seem to describe the impact it has had on my life and my well-being.

To witness the sleepless nights, the upsets, and even the struggle to write their name on a sheet a paper is like witnessing a helpless child, with tears in his eyes, standing in front of a counter trying to reach his favorite stuffed animal. All you can do is rush over there and give it to them so that your child won’t have to suffer from the anxiety of not having it.

But not realizing that it’s that stuffed animal that keeps them safe at night. It is that stuffed animal that gives them joy, happiness and self-satisfaction. And it is that same stuffed animal that brings them peace when their world is in disarray.

Now imagine your whole life wanting that peace, joy and happiness. I’ve witnessed this day in and day out. I have seen my daddy and brother at their highest and at their lowest. I’ve seen their struggle with alcoholism and their inability to relate to others the way they want to.

In the eyes of a PTSD sufferer, they think we don’t care, or listen or understand what they are going through. To them, their world is completely turned upside down and each day, they try their extreme best to make up for their mistakes. To them, it’s like being blind and deaf in a world where they can’t find the words to express what they feel or see what I see.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not perfect. I’ve lashed back on plenty of occasions. I’ve argued and fought, not knowing then how PTSD has impacted their lives. How I show I understand now is by giving and showing them love.

I know that there is not a magic pill to make PTSD go away as quick as a snap of a finger. No, not at all. What I do is love them for who they are and who they are not. I love them so unconditionally that they have no other choice but to say it back! I don’t care if my dad makes a fit if he can’t find his remote or my brother can’t seem to find the way to put his arms around me to hug. I love them so hard they are left with the impression that someone does care about their well-being.

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There’s no other gift that I can find myself giving than the gift of loving my daddy and brother for who they are and who they are not. My daddy gave me the best daddy, and my brother gave me the best brother, and what I can do to return that blessing is by giving them a loving daughter and a loving sister.

Memorial Day is a day to remember the fallen soldiers who have given their lives to protect this country. But let’s not forget those who suffer from their own daily battles. I dedicate this article to my daddy and brother, who are both U.S. Army Veterans, and to those who are caregivers for those who suffer from PTSD.