You are a high-ranking military service member deployed to Afghanistan. You are responsible for the lives of hundreds of men and women, and your base is under attack. Incoming mortar rounds are exploding all around you. Struggling to see through the dust and the smoke, you do your best to assist the wounded and then crawl to a nearby bunker.
Visoko ste rangirani pripadnik vojne službe raspoređen u Afganistanu. Odgovorni ste za živote stotine muškaraca i žena, a vaša baza je napadnuta. Svuda oko vas eksplodiraju minobacačke granate. Borite se da biste videli nešto od prašine i dima, dajete sve od sebe da pomognete ranjenima, a zatim puzite do obližnjeg bunkera.
Conscious but dazed by the blasts, you lay on your side and attempt to process what has just happened. As you regain your vision, you see a bloody face staring back at you. The image is terrifying, but you quickly come to understand it's not real.
Svesni ste, ali ošamućeni od eksplozija, legnete na stranu i pokušavate da obradite što se upravo dogodilo. Dok vam se vraća vid, vidite krvavo lice koje zuri u vas. Prizor je užasan, ali brzo shvatate da nije stvaran.
This vision continues to visit you multiple times a day and in your sleep. You choose not to tell anyone for fear of losing your job or being seen as weak. You give the vision a name, Bloody Face in Bunker, and call it BFIB for short. You keep BFIB locked away in your mind, secretly haunting you, for the next seven years.
Ova vizija nastavlja da vas posećuje mnogo puta danju, a i u snu. Rešeni ste da nikom ne govorite o tome zbog straha od gubitka posla, ili da ne pomisle da ste slabić. Dajete ime viziji: „Krvavo lice u bunkeru“, ili skraćeno „KLUB“. Držite „KLUB“ zaključan u svom umu, a ono vas tajno proganja narednih sedam godina.
Now close your eyes. Can you see BFIB? If you can, you're beginning to see the face of the invisible wounds of war, commonly known as post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury.
Zatvorite sada oči. Možete li da vidite „KLUB“? Ako možete, onda počinjete da razumete nevidljive rane rata, opšte poznate kao posttraumatski stresni poremećaj i traumatska povreda mozga.
While I can't say I have post-traumatic stress disorder, I've never been a stranger to it.
Ne mogu da kažem da imam posttraumatski stresni poremećaj, ali mi on nikad nije bio stran.
When I was a little girl, I would visit my grandparents every summer. It was my grandfather who introduced me to the effects of combat on the psyche. While my grandfather was serving as a Marine in the Korean War, a bullet pierced his neck and rendered him unable to cry out. He watched as a corpsman passed him over, declaring him a goner, and then leaving him to die.
Kad sam bila mala, posećivala sam baku i deku svakog leta. Moj deda me je upoznao sa uticajima borbe na psihu. Dok je deda bio marinac u Korejskom ratu, metak mu je probio vrat i usled toga nije mogao da vikne. Gledao je bolničara kako prolazi pored njega, proglasivši da je gotov, i ostavivši ga da umre.
Years later, after his physical wounds had healed and he'd returned home, he rarely spoke of his experiences in waking life. But at night I would hear him shouting obscenities from his room down the hall. And during the day I would announce myself as I entered the room, careful not to startle or agitate him. He lived out the remainder of his days isolated and tight-lipped, never finding a way to express himself, and I didn't yet have the tools to guide him.
Mnogo godina kasnije, pošto se izlečio od fizičkih rana i vratio kući, retko je govorio o tom doživljaju u budnom stanju. Ali noću bih čula njegovo buncanje iz sobe na kraju hodnika. Danju sam se uvek javljala dok sam ulazila u sobu, pazeći da ga ne uplašim ili potresem. Preostale dane svog života proveo je izolovan i ćutljiv, nikad ne našavši načina da se izrazi, a tad još nisam znala kako da mu pomognem.
I wouldn't have a name for my grandfather's condition until I was in my 20s. Seeking a graduate degree in art therapy, I naturally gravitated towards the study of trauma. And while sitting in class learning about post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD for short, my mission to help service members who suffered like my grandfather began to take form.
Nisam znala kako se zove dedino stanje sve do svojih dvadesetih godina. Želeći da diplomiram umetničku terapiju, prirodno sam težila proučavanju traume. Dok sam slušala na časovima o postraumatskom stresnom poremećaju, ili skraćeno PTSP, moja misija da pomognem vojnicima koji su patili kao i moj deda, počela je da se oblikuje.
We've had various names for post-traumatic stress throughout the history of war: homesickness, soldier's heart, shell shock, thousand-yard stare, for instance. And while I was pursuing my degree, a new war was raging, and thanks to modern body armor and military vehicles, service members were surviving blast injuries they wouldn't have before. But the invisible wounds were reaching new levels, and this pushed military doctors and researchers to try and truly understand the effects that traumatic brain injury, or TBI, and PTSD have on the brain.
Posttraumatski stresni poremećaj imao je nekoliko naziva kroz istoriju rata: nostalgija, vojničko srce, granatni šok, pogled u daljinu, na primer. Dok sam napredovala ka diplomi, besneo je novi rat, ali zahvaljujući modernim pancirima i vojnim vozilima, vojnici bi preživeli i takve povrede od eksplozije koje ranije ne bi. Ipak, nevidljive rane su dostizale nove nivoe, a to je nateralo vojne lekare i istraživače da pokušaju stvarno razumeti efekte traumatske povrede mozga, TPM, i PTST-a na mozak.
Due to advances in technology and neuroimaging, we now know there's an actual shutdown in the Broca's, or the speech-language area of the brain, after an individual experiences trauma. This physiological change, or speechless terror as it's often called, coupled with mental health stigma, the fear of being judged or misunderstood, possibly even removed from their current duties, has led to the invisible struggles of our servicemen and women. Generation after generation of veterans have chosen not to talk about their experiences, and suffer in solitude.
Zahvaljujući napretku tehnologije i neurooslikavanju, danas znamo da zapravo postoji isključenje u Brokinoj zoni, ili zoni za jezik i govor, posle preživljene traume. Ova fiziološka promena ili, kako se često naziva „nemi teror“, zajedno sa stigmom mentalnog zdravlja, sa strahom od osude ili nerazumevanja, možda čak i odstranjivanjem sa aktuelne dužnosti, dovela je do nevidljivih borbi pripadnika vojne službe. Generacije i generacije veterana odlučile su da ne govore o svojim iskustvima i da pate u samoći.
I had my work cut out for me when I got my first job as an art therapist at the nation's largest military medical center, Walter Reed. After working for a few years on a locked-in patient psychiatric unit, I eventually transferred to the National Intrepid Center of Excellence, NICoE, which leads TBI care for active duty service members. Now, I believed in art therapy, but I was going to have to convince service members, big, tough, strong, manly military men, and some women too, to give art-making as a psychotherapeutic intervention a try.
Moj prvi posao je bio kao stvoren za mene, posao umetničkog terapeuta u najvećem vojnom medicinskom centru, „Valter Rid“. Posle nekoliko godina rada na zatvorenom odeljenju psihijatrije, konačno sam premeštena u Nacionalni centar izvrsnosti, koji je vodeći u oblasti brige o aktivnim vojnicima sa TPM. Verovala sam u umetničku terapiju, ali morala sam da ubedim pripadnike oružanih snaga, koji su veliki, jaki, muževni vojnici, a i neke žene, da probaju stvaranje umetnosti kao psihoterapetsku intervenciju.
The results have been nothing short of spectacular. Vivid, symbolic artwork is being created by our servicemen and women, and every work of art tells a story. We've observed that the process of art therapy bypasses the speech-language issue with the brain. Art-making accesses the same sensory areas of the brain that encode trauma. Service members can use the art-making to work through their experiences in a nonthreatening way. They can then apply words to their physical creations, reintegrating the left and the right hemispheres of the brain.
Rezultat je bio bezmalo spektakularan. Nastala su snažna, simbolična dela koja su stvorili naši muškarci i žene u vojnoj službi, i svako delo ima svoju priču. Primetili smo da tok umetničke terapije zaobilazi problem govora i jezika u mozgu. Stvaranje umetnosti pristupa istim onim čulnim područjima mozga u kojima se nalaze podaci o traumi. Stvarajući umetnost, pripadnici službe mogu da razmisle o svom iskustvu na bezopasan način. Tada mogu primeniti reči na svoje fizičke kreacije, iznova ujedinjujući levu i desnu hemisferu mozga.
Now, we've seen this can work with all forms of art -- drawing, painting, collage -- but what seems to have the most impact is mask-making. Finally, these invisible wounds don't just have a name, they have a face.
Ovo uspeva u svim oblicima umetnosti - u crtanju, slikanju, kolažu - ali čini se da najviše uticaja ima izrada maski. Konačno, ove nevidljive rane imaju ne samo ime, već i lice.
And when service members create these masks, it allows them to come to grips, literally, with their trauma. And it's amazing how often that enables them to break through the trauma and start to heal.
Kada pripadnici službe stvaraju ove maske, to im omogućava da se bukvalno hvataju u koštac sa svojim traumama. Neverovatno je koliko često im to omogućava da izraze traumu i da počnu oporavak.
Remember BFIB? That was a real experience for one of my patients, and when he created his mask, he was able to let go of that haunting image. Initially, it was a daunting process for the service member, but eventually he began to think of BFIB as the mask, not his internal wound, and he would go to leave each session, he would hand me the mask, and say, "Melissa, take care of him." Eventually, we placed BFIB in a box to further contain him, and when the service member went to leave the NICoE, he chose to leave BFIB behind. A year later, he had only seen BFIB twice, and both times BFIB was smiling and the service member didn't feel anxious. Now, whenever that service member is haunted by some traumatic memory, he continues to paint. Every time he paints these disturbing images, he sees them less or not at all.
Sećate li se „KLUB“-a? To je bilo stvarno iskustvo jednog mog pacijenta, i kad je napravio masku, mogao je da se oslobodi slike koja ga je proganjala. U početku, bio je to mukotrpan proces za njega, ali na kraju je počeo da razmišlja o „KLUB“-u kao o maski, a ne kao o unutrašnjoj rani, i na kraju svake sesije predao bi mi masku, govoreći: „Melisa, čuvaj ga.“ Na kraju smo smestili „KLUB“ u kutiju za dalje čuvanje i kada je napuštao Centar izvrsnosti, odlučio je da „KLUB“ ostavi za sobom. Godinu dana kasnije. samo je dvaput pogledao „KLUB“, i oba puta se „KLUB“ smeškao, i pripadnik službe se nije osećao uznemireno. Sada, kad god bi ga proganjalo neko traumatsko sećanje, on bi nastavio da slika. Svaki put kada slika ove uznemirujuće slike, sve ih manje vidi, ili ih ne vidi uopšte.
Philosophers have told us for thousands of years that the power to create is very closely linked to the power to destroy. Now science is showing us that the part of the brain that registers a traumatic wound can be the part of the brain where healing happens too. And art therapy is showing us how to make that connection.
Hiljadama godina su nas filozofi učili da je stvaralačka snaga u veoma tesnoj vezi sa rušilačkom snagom. Sada nam nauka predočava da deo mozga koji registruje traumatsku povredu može biti deo mozga gde se dešava i oporavak. Umetnička terapija pokazuje kako da to povežemo.
We asked one of our service members to describe how mask-making impacted his treatment, and this is what he had to say.
Zamolili smo jednog pripadnika službe da opiše kako je na njegovo lečenje uticalo pravljenje maske, i evo šta je rekao:
(Video) Service Member: You sort of just zone out into the mask. You zone out into the drawing, and for me, it just released the block, so I was able to do it. And then when I looked at it after two days, I was like, "Holy crap, here's the picture, here's the key, here's the puzzle," and then from there it just soared. I mean, from there my treatment just when out of sight, because they were like, Kurt, explain this, explain this. And for the first time in 23 years, I could actually talk about stuff openly to, like, anybody. I could talk to you about it right now if I wanted to, because it unlocked it. It's just amazing. And it allowed me to put 23 years of PTSD and TBI stuff together in one place that has never happened before. Sorry.
(Video) Pripadnik službe: Izgubljeno gledaš u masku. Izgubljeno gledaš u sliku, i to za mene oslobađa stege, pa sam tako uspeo. Kada sam je pogledao posle dva dana, rekao sam: „Boga ti, evo slike, evo ključa, evo zagonetke,“ i samo je odlepršala. Od tada je moje lečenje postalo neverovatno, jer nekako su navodile: „Kurte, objasni ovo, objasni ovo.“ I prvi put za 23 godine mogao sam da govorim o problemu otvoreno, bilo kome. Mogao bih govoriti o tome i sa vama ako bih hteo, jer sam ga otključao. To je neverovatno. Omogućilo mi je da smestim 23 godine PTSP-a i TPM-a na jednom mestu, što se nikad pre nije dogodilo. Izvinite.
Melissa Walker: Over the past five years, we've had over 1,000 masks made. It's pretty amazing, isn't it?
Melisa Voker: U proteklih pet godina napravljeno je više od 1 000 maski. Neverovatno, zar ne?
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause) I wish I could have shared this process with my grandfather, but I know that he would be thrilled that we are finding ways to help today's and tomorrow's service members heal, and finding the resources within them that they can call upon to heal themselves.
(Aplauz) Volela bih da sam mogla da podelim ovaj proces i sa svojim dedom, ali znam da bi on bio oduševljen, jer pronalazimo načine za lečenje sadašnjih i budućih pripadnika službe, i pronalazimo resurse u njima koje mogu da prizovu da bi izlečili sami sebe.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)