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#1
By
Team Infidel
on
January 2nd, 2008
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| USA TODAY does not identify victims of alleged sexual assault except in cases in which the victim makes the allegation public. For military women, abuse by fellow soldiers is "an unnecessary betrayal," Westrup says, noting women often are more scarred by sexual violence than combat. "Most go over understanding the nature of war." PTSD and MST "will exacerbate the other," Kimerling says. "It erodes the social support you have to cope with the ongoing stress of serving in a war zone." Natara Garavoy, another psychologist here, says there can be added stress for those who are the only woman in a unit. "They don't want to stand out," she says, adding that some try to appear unattractive to ward off male soldiers who might not see another American woman for months. Whatever their trauma, military women often hesitate to report problems. That's partly because of the military's ingrained emphasis on unit cohesion and the unspoken taboo against telling on a fellow soldier. It also stems from the fear of reinforcing stereotypes that theirs is the weaker sex. "Women do have to prove themselves more," says VA spokeswoman Kerri Childress, a Vietnam-era Navy veteran. "They have to work really, really hard to look tough." All that pressure must go somewhere, Resick says. Men with PTSD often are angry and act out aggressively. Women often turn inward and become depressed, she says. Both men and women "try not to deal with it" and often take years to seek counseling, Resick says. Even so, men started applying to the 41-bed program for males here soon after the war began. Applications for its 10-bed women's program picked up recently, Westrup says. Seventeen percent of female veterans use VA health services, compared with 11% of men. "We may be seeing the tip of the iceberg," Kimerling says, adding that more women are likely to seek help as they return home with unresolved trauma. Facing the need to get help Lauren Bess was a model sailor who rose fast to master helmsman. Driving a Navy fast-combat-support ship in round-the-clock replenishment operations in the Persian Gulf before and during the Iraq war, she was "constantly stressed" by frequent "general quarters" calls to battle and going days without sleep, she says. As her ship sailed home to Bremerton, Wash., in August 2003, she says, she began getting in trouble for shirking her duties. She constantly felt anxious. "I was breaking down," she says. Bess, now 26, began drinking and stayed away from friends. Her downward spiral cratered the night she overdosed on prescription drugs and woke up in a hospital. Feeling "like I was failing life," Bess was put on limited duty and sent to a base in Florida for treatment. During a hurricane, she says, she was raped by a fellow sailor in a deserted barracks. She says she feared her career would be ruined if she reported the attack, so she said nothing and never filed a criminal complaint. In April 2005, she was given an administrative discharge under honorable conditions. "In the military, they train you that your brother is there always for you," says Bess, her head down, her hands shaking. "The person who hurt me was someone who was there for me." Bess moved home to Lodi, Calif., and tried to work through her problems, but it was "rough, really hard." She finally entered the 90-day residential program here. "Coming here was the first hope for me to get back to a new life," she says. Bess hopes that by speaking out, she'll encourage other women to get help. Tucked in a corner of a VA campus here, the red-tile-roofed center is reached through a vine-covered walkway. Patients sleep two to a room in hospital beds brightened by stuffed animals and patchwork quilts donated by volunteers. In a day room down the hall hang other quilts left by women who've passed through the program. One is appliquéd with military service patches. A Native American dream catcher is stitched to a quilt hanging next to it, a memento to snare the nightmares of war. In another corner hangs a pink quilt that reads, "Powder Puff Girls — Go Girls Go." "They make me feel that I'm not alone," Rathbun says. Starting with a military-style wake-up at 6 a.m., the women spend most of their time in group therapy. They learn communication skills, stress management and ways to short-circuit self-defeating behavior. The most grueling moments come during "exposure therapy," when the women recount the details of their trauma. The idea: to face fears head-on so they can become desensitized to the pain. Easier was a trust-building exercise Rathbun and Bess performed. Melissa Puckett, a recreational therapist, asked the women to stand on a wooden board and, while grasping attached ropes, move across a room to pick up objects on the floor. The two blushed as they fumbled to reach and grab a toy rubber crab. The exercise forced them to work as a team, or else fall off the board. "You have to trust," Bess says after finishing. "How long since you trusted somebody?" Puckett asks. "Ages," Bess replies. After more than two decades, Rathbun says she's finally coming to terms with the rape that she never officially reported. Last month, she told her husband, Larry, the Air Force veteran she married two years ago. Nearly a year after being "sucked out of a vortex" in Iraq, Rathbun is on the mend. She knows there are thousands of other women who need help. "We went over there and did a job, but it affects you," she says. "There's going to be a flood when we drawdown in Iraq." |
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