The first time I realized that I had PTSD, was when I was 9 years old and we lived in the town Lund in the south of Sweden. We lived in a beautiful house with a garden filled with fruit trees, close to the big university hospital. This particular winter, we had so much snow that the military had to fly out with food to people in the countryside or pick them up, landing on the flat roof with big, loud helicopters. It scared me.
It was then my Dad told me about how we once had to flee in Beirut at dawn in a military helicopter, right when the war broke out in 1972 and grenades were thrown at us.
It’s my first memory, seeing the sky turn red, from the side fast, while he ran with my mother, holding me in front of him. Then, I understood it must be why I was so scared of helicopters and fireworks. This lasted until 2014.
In Christmas 2010, when I once again was awakened in the early morning by the sound of some, I looked out the window in Maunawili, Hawaii, and saw three Black Hawk, I think they were headed towards Iraq.
After writing about it in 2014, I realized and reframed the story of the one of rescue, that it could even be what any of the ICE-officers had had to do, why the United States so often seemingly go out to war, the questioning of their imposed right to I had had my entire life became released, as I understood what they are fighting for on a personal level.
Then a strong sun-glare projected through a reflection in my window a hot summer morning, after an exhausting spring of not only finishing the draft of my second book, but having had to deal with increased stalking. I collapsed and regressed somehow, and almost died from a severe bloodpressure fall, but moved instead of laying still.
I still have flashbacks sometimes of other things, but when I’m here in Portugal there isn’t any personal history of traumas, so they are much less.
Today, I saw several dragonflies and noticed a ring of turquoise color on them, while thinking about worthy causes like the book “Dreams of the dragonfly” had examples of, that I read at the Honolulu Detention Center in 2012 before I was deported. Maybe it was a dragonfly that inspired the making of helicopters? I would think so.
What can your inner child invent?