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Out of the shadows: PTSD and me

After World War II, when the troops – the lucky ones — returned home, they settled in as quickly as they could to their new and relatively stable lives. Not all had seen combat, but those who had would bear the scars for the rest of their lives. I knew a man who as a teenager had served in Italy, fighting house to house, eyeball to eyeball, for months on end. For the rest of his life he took walks alone in the woods, feeling one with nature and screaming to relieve the pain he carried from those early years. Some of those who missed direct combat had seen some terrible things. A friend was telling me about his father who was a translator, never closer than five miles from the front. Part of the job was stacking bodies at the end of the day. Women served as well men.

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