[ It's a vague answer, as Sam sifts through terminology that would mean little to her he suspects, for ways to explain it more easily. ]
Everyone's damage is different. If it's real bad, you might get medication - antidepressants, mood-stabilizers, the works. Those get prescribed by psychiatrists, though. They're meant to assist with depression and anxiety issues, reduce irritability, improve sleep patterns, help ease nightmares, but they're no fix, just... well, they're like painkillers, right. They help, but you gotta do a little more for the healing process.
[ He rolls up another bandage. Having something to do with his hands helps his mind stay on task, too. ]
Talk therapy's most common. I had a lot of groups where I just sat with these vets, and we just... talked. About their experiences, if they were comfortable sharing, or about how things were going in the present. Being understood, being heard, being able to tell these things to other people who just... get it in ways civilians don't, y'know. Work through the things that hold your mind hostage. Learn what sets you off, and how to cope with it, knowing you're not crazy for having those reactions. That goes a long way to help. Reminds people they're not alone. Some people don't like groups though, so you just talk one on one with some. It's about giving people the tools to come to terms with what they went through, turn the pain from a wound into a scar. Guide them through challenging and changing some of the cognitive distortions they experience in their thoughts and beliefs, and improve their emotional regulation as a result. Develop coping strategies, help them re-establish positive social relationships. And then some just need help that seems small for a civilian, like finding a new apartment, finding a new job. Mundane things that can feel monumental if you've done a couple combat tours and barely remember how to be a civilian anymore. So yeah, different for everybody. Mostly, you gotta understand them, find what works for them. Some people just need you to tell them something, some people need you to show them, some people don't know what they need so you figure that out together, too.
[ Sam's eyes go far away for a moment, expression fond. ]
One of my vets... this huge brickhouse of a guy. Honorable discharge due to the injuries he sustained. Drove a truck full of soldiers, just a routine patrol. Thing got blown up. He was the only one who survived. So he gets shipped back home, right, to his wife and his daughter who barely remembers him, 'cause he served almost two full tours - a tour's three years. And he thinks he's fine, right. Except every time he gets in his car he gets real nervous and just... breaks down. Shaking, crying, sometimes for hours. Can't drive his daughter to school. Can't find a job, 'cause he needs to drive himself. Feels useless, 'cause he can't drive him and the wife to the store to buy groceries. Dude was real bad with words, but I mean... wasn't that hard to figure out. He felt guilty, felt responsible. He drove the truck, but he survived. Doesn't feel like it's safe for him to drive, much less with his daughter and wife in the car. So for weeks, I went to his place, every day. Just got him to sit in the car with me, no driving. Just talking. Man to this day I swear I can recount his daughter's every school adventure and what she had for breakfast, and what kinda toy she really wanted. He loved that little girl, and talking about her. So damn proud. And when he didn't get nervous about being in the car and talking anymore, I started driving him places. Every damn day, I drove him and his daughter to school, him and his wife to the store, and him to job interviews - and to his shifts, when he got a job. And I had him tell me interesting things along the way, y'know. Who lives in that house, what's up with that weird looking tree on the corner there. 'Cause if it's just him, he starts thinking... there might be someone hiding there with a grenade launcher, and they're gonna blow up my car. Or he might think, that pothole could hide a landmine, if I drive over it everyone in this car will die, just like my squad died. Irrational, but he couldn't help it. His mind just slid sideways, and there was nothing he could do about it. I taught him other things to focus on. Taught him a couple breathing techniques too, for when he'd start feeling nervous. Mostly, taught him to be able to relax and be comfortable in a car again, and learn to trust himself again. Learn to accept that it wasn't his fault, and how to handle the guilt when it snuck up on him. And then one day, he asked to try and drive the car into the garage. Just that. Can barely be called a drive, I mean it was like a couple of feet. But it was a victory. And then a couple days later, he drove the car down the road before I had to swap in. And it was a little more every day after that. Took us a while until he could drive the car himself with more people than me in it. Took us a longer while until he could drive the car with his wife and daughter, without me there with him. But we got there. And his daughter's growing up now, and he's teaching her how to drive now. He still got bad days, cause... it never goes away fully, y'know. Like a scar that sometimes hurts. But he's doing good. Still calls me sometimes to talk my ear off about his daughter.
no subject
[ It's a vague answer, as Sam sifts through terminology that would mean little to her he suspects, for ways to explain it more easily. ]
Everyone's damage is different. If it's real bad, you might get medication - antidepressants, mood-stabilizers, the works. Those get prescribed by psychiatrists, though. They're meant to assist with depression and anxiety issues, reduce irritability, improve sleep patterns, help ease nightmares, but they're no fix, just... well, they're like painkillers, right. They help, but you gotta do a little more for the healing process.
[ He rolls up another bandage. Having something to do with his hands helps his mind stay on task, too. ]
Talk therapy's most common. I had a lot of groups where I just sat with these vets, and we just... talked. About their experiences, if they were comfortable sharing, or about how things were going in the present. Being understood, being heard, being able to tell these things to other people who just... get it in ways civilians don't, y'know. Work through the things that hold your mind hostage. Learn what sets you off, and how to cope with it, knowing you're not crazy for having those reactions. That goes a long way to help. Reminds people they're not alone. Some people don't like groups though, so you just talk one on one with some. It's about giving people the tools to come to terms with what they went through, turn the pain from a wound into a scar. Guide them through challenging and changing some of the cognitive distortions they experience in their thoughts and beliefs, and improve their emotional regulation as a result. Develop coping strategies, help them re-establish positive social relationships. And then some just need help that seems small for a civilian, like finding a new apartment, finding a new job. Mundane things that can feel monumental if you've done a couple combat tours and barely remember how to be a civilian anymore. So yeah, different for everybody. Mostly, you gotta understand them, find what works for them. Some people just need you to tell them something, some people need you to show them, some people don't know what they need so you figure that out together, too.
[ Sam's eyes go far away for a moment, expression fond. ]
One of my vets... this huge brickhouse of a guy. Honorable discharge due to the injuries he sustained. Drove a truck full of soldiers, just a routine patrol. Thing got blown up. He was the only one who survived. So he gets shipped back home, right, to his wife and his daughter who barely remembers him, 'cause he served almost two full tours - a tour's three years. And he thinks he's fine, right. Except every time he gets in his car he gets real nervous and just... breaks down. Shaking, crying, sometimes for hours. Can't drive his daughter to school. Can't find a job, 'cause he needs to drive himself. Feels useless, 'cause he can't drive him and the wife to the store to buy groceries. Dude was real bad with words, but I mean... wasn't that hard to figure out. He felt guilty, felt responsible. He drove the truck, but he survived. Doesn't feel like it's safe for him to drive, much less with his daughter and wife in the car. So for weeks, I went to his place, every day. Just got him to sit in the car with me, no driving. Just talking. Man to this day I swear I can recount his daughter's every school adventure and what she had for breakfast, and what kinda toy she really wanted. He loved that little girl, and talking about her. So damn proud. And when he didn't get nervous about being in the car and talking anymore, I started driving him places. Every damn day, I drove him and his daughter to school, him and his wife to the store, and him to job interviews - and to his shifts, when he got a job. And I had him tell me interesting things along the way, y'know. Who lives in that house, what's up with that weird looking tree on the corner there. 'Cause if it's just him, he starts thinking... there might be someone hiding there with a grenade launcher, and they're gonna blow up my car. Or he might think, that pothole could hide a landmine, if I drive over it everyone in this car will die, just like my squad died. Irrational, but he couldn't help it. His mind just slid sideways, and there was nothing he could do about it. I taught him other things to focus on. Taught him a couple breathing techniques too, for when he'd start feeling nervous. Mostly, taught him to be able to relax and be comfortable in a car again, and learn to trust himself again. Learn to accept that it wasn't his fault, and how to handle the guilt when it snuck up on him. And then one day, he asked to try and drive the car into the garage. Just that. Can barely be called a drive, I mean it was like a couple of feet. But it was a victory. And then a couple days later, he drove the car down the road before I had to swap in. And it was a little more every day after that. Took us a while until he could drive the car himself with more people than me in it. Took us a longer while until he could drive the car with his wife and daughter, without me there with him. But we got there. And his daughter's growing up now, and he's teaching her how to drive now. He still got bad days, cause... it never goes away fully, y'know. Like a scar that sometimes hurts. But he's doing good. Still calls me sometimes to talk my ear off about his daughter.
[ Sam grins at her. ]
Just like I'm talking your ear off.