PTSD and Trauma

What was my trauma? What was my breaking point?

               I was not a soldier, and I have never killed anyone. I was, however, witness to much death and disease. My family suffered exotic ailments, but not one of us was lost to them. I was never held captive, but I did have my home taken from me. Not one of these events struck as a single traumatizing moment. No, my trauma was a slow one, built up on years of hard and difficult times. A cumulative breaking effect that left me in many pieces before I knew what had happened.

               I was an MK (or missionary kid) to Africa and my family was one of many who served its peoples. We lived in Kenya for three years and then we lived in Botswana for three and a half years. My family contracted malaria several times in Kenya, and my mother in particular caught several diseases I cannot quite recall. It was difficult for me having loved ones so ill. Our life still managed to be a charmed one however. We look back on it in fondness and reminisce often in the wonderful things we experienced there.  

               After an extended furlough in America that dragged on for nine or so months we were reassigned to Botswana. We were not without trouble here, but we had no cases of malaria thanks to the countries arid and landlocked status. I had a lot of fun here and my family gained many good friends. But illness seemed to pursue my mother relentlessly and she became progressively worse as we lived here.

               Living in an odd land starting at the age of 6 was different but not traumatic. The illnesses were not overly troubling to me at the time, and neither were the myriad other issues we faced. What happened next though compressed all of the difficulties into a single point in my life.  We were told we had to go back to the states indefinitely, as my mother could not get the help she needed in South Africa.

               Coming back was hard; America is so different compared to Africa. People have different motivations and base personalities. I saw many selfish kids (compared to the many selfless ones I knew) in the small town middle school I was placed in. The American children were hard hearted to someone so different and were also confused as to how to treat me. My only respite in this time came when I visited fellow missionary kids for a week.

               The following years are very dark in my memory. I was progressively becoming more and more depressed.              

               In my family's concern for my ailing mother, we failed to look at the rest of us. Aside from my mother, I was the first diagnosed with clinical depression. I had many dark thoughts and felt as if an internal darkness was eating me alive. My father also struggled with depression for many years before he received help. My sister has never been diagnosed with chronic depression, and I pray that she may be resilient enough that she may not ever have it. But I think the events of our lives shaped her personality in a way where she is better suited to focus her internal struggles into helping those around her.        

               I feel that this slow paced "progressive trauma" resulted in a mild PTSD with an emphasis on a major depressive period that lasted for years.  I did not suffer flashbacks of violence or intrusive memories of sickness. But I used to have troubling episodes where my memory would wander back to Africa and my sadness would well up. I wanted so terribly to go home; I had homesickness attacks. These happened everywhere I went for quite a long time before they slowly tapered away.

               What saved me was my family. My mother gained a little ground on her issues and noticed my own struggles which I had been trying to hide. My family began praying for me in earnest. Her and my father took me to several counselors, psychiatrists, and psychologists until I found one I could work with. God, therapy, and medication helped pierce the veil of darkness that had settled on my heart and mind.

               So many years later I feel I am past my progressive trauma, but my body still feels its impact. My brain chemistry is still out of order and I still suffer depressive episodes. But I am much stronger in character and feel firmer in who I am as a person. I have discovered God's purpose for my trials and pains. I feel called to help MK's transition between the alien worlds of culture that exist in abundance here on the earth. Without the experiences I have gone through I could not hope to be as effective a helper in this area particularly.

My name is Benjamin D. Hinely and through Christ I am stronger than my struggles.