Post-Traumatic Stress / Pre-Stress Trauma - Part I

Posted on Fri 31st May, 2019 @ 7:44pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD
Edited on on Sat 1st Jun, 2019 @ 5:46pm

1,718 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Counselling Offices
Timeline: MD-04: 1504 hours

"I know it's only been a couple of days," he began, "But I really thought I should see someone. I just..." He paused and took a deep breath. "I keep seeing them."

Jason Fisher sat in Counsellor Graves' office. It had been four days since the Falcon had been towed into Starbase 109 following a pirate attack that had crippled the Defiant-class vessel. Quite how they were able to do that was still an active investigation, but, for now at least, Fisher's concerns were more personal.

Paul nodded. "I would honestly be surprised if you weren't," he said. "Your ship was being shot to pieces all around you, as I understand it. Are you having flashbacks during the day? Nightmares? How is it happening?"

Fisher seemed to be holding himself together better than many who had lived through such a devastating attack might. But he could feel the man's inner tension and the swirl of emotions he was keeping in check.

“It’s both,” Fisher replied. “It’s not too bad when I’m occupied - when I’m focused on something else. It’s in those spaces when there’s nothing... When I’m alone... And especially at night...” His voice got quieter as he continued almost trailing off into a whisper.

"It's your subconscious' way of working through it. Doesn't mean it isn't a pain," Paul said with a wry look.

Fisher sighed and sat back in his chair. It was several moments before he spoke again. "I'm familiar with the stages of grief," he said, his eyes slightly glazed. "In theory, I know what I'm going through is normal and time will heal and all that, but..." he trailed off.

"'They say that time assuages. Time never did assuage,'" Paul quoted. "What are you seeing in your nightmares and flashbacks?" he asked.

"Flashes," Fisher said, looking strangely vacant all of a sudden, his focus not on Graves but on the wall behind him. "Flashes like fire. Um... Perhaps they're explosions, but they don't look right for that... And then... bodies. Some of them I recognise... But then there are more and more, and I don't recognise the faces anymore..."

"Decidedly not pleasant," Paul agreed. It reminded him of some of how own unpleasant memories. "Can you tell me how it happened, how the pirates originally attacked?"

“The first ship had been following us for hours,” Fisher began, his eyes almost glazing over as he recalled the events. “At first we weren’t sure whether they were just going the same way, as it were, since we were cloaked. So, we changed direction a couple of times, you know, just to see what would happen. And soon it became clear that they were tracking us. Before we knew what was happening, half a dozen ships were converging on our position. We put up a good fight,” he continued, a sense of pride coming through in his voice, “The Falcon’s a tough old girl...” He paused. “At least she was. In the end the numbers were just too great, we couldn’t hit them quick enough to neutralise their numbers advantage.”

"What sort of cargo were they after, do you know?" Paul asked, "or were they simply out to destroy your ship? That's a lot of pirates to plan and carry out such a coordinated attack on one ship. Usually, it's just attack and grab, and they're gone."

"Indeed," Fisher nodded, "That's what our investigations are attempting to ascertain: It's so out of character that we figure there must be a bigger play here."

"It seems to me almost as if they're testing us," Paul said. "They thoroughly tested our fighter pilots, and now they're testing our battleships."

He frowned as a memory came to him from the days when Horatio Drake had commanded the station--of an enemy vessel whose mysterious crew he had 'piggy-backed' on, psionically, to avoid the shock of a crewmate's death. Frowning, he leaned forward. "Commander, were there any telepaths or empaths onboard the Falcon?"

“Captain Grax,” Fisher replied with a shrug, “But other than him, I don’t know...” He paused for a second, as if trying to process something. “Why do you ask?”

"I had an experience while on a mission with the previous commander of this base. Our ship was attacked by a species I was unfamiliar with, and we were pretty much beaten to a pulp. It was just one ship, but they sincerely intended to take us out."

“Forgive me,” Fisher replied with a slight sense of hesitation in his voice, “I’m not sure I’m making the connection. Are you saying that who ever these aliens you encountered were could be behind the pirate attacks?”

"I wonder if they are," Paul said, "but I have no proof of anything." He shrugged. "Since my experience with those unknown aliens, I've had more immediately pressing things to occupy my time--aAnd you are among those more immediately pressing matters," Paul added. "You had to watch a lot of crewmates die, in a situation that made you powerless to help them, faced by an enemy you couldn't satisfactorily confront. Is that a reasonably accurate summation?"

Fisher took a moment to process the counsellor's words before slowly nodding. "Yes," he said quietly, "Yes, I think that sums it up pretty neatly." He offered a half-chuckle, almost under his breath. "It all sounds so simple when you say it like that."

"Yet it's anything but simple to you, who experienced it directly," Paul said. "I only wanted to make sure that I understood the scope of what happened." He sipped from his water glass. "How are you feeling about it? We don't need to dissect your feelings; that wouldn't be productive, and it could do more harm than good. But just in general--when you get up in the morning--how do you feel?"

“The immediate isn’t too bad,” Fisher said reflectively, “It’s more as I start to go about the day’s tasks. As I said, when I can focus on something - a report or a briefing - I’m not too bad. Otherwise, I feel... nauseous... hollow... like I’m never going to be quite complete ever again.”

"Like feeling--gutted, it sounds like," Paul said. "Do you find yourself working a lot or doing things outside of your work to keep from thinking about the attack?"

"I'm not sure I'd say I've been deliberately over-working," Fisher replied. "We've had a couple of fairly intensive investigations going on, so we've been pretty busy anyway, and, at the moment, I'm still settling into life on the station, so I don't really know what to do or where to go outside of work yet."

Paul nodded. "I was involved in one of them. Yes, you've had your hands full. I think you're probably already doing a version of what my profession calls cognitive behavioral therapy. In this kind of therapy, we try to break the vicious circle that arises from your thoughts, your emotions related to your thoughts, and how you act, based on your emotions. From what I can tell, you are working through what happened to you in a pretty healthy way. Feeling as you do, and the nightmares, are normal. You witnessed a lot of your friends and crew die violently, and there wasn't much you could do to sop it or fight it. You're likely to feel hollowed out for a while until your mind adjusts, and the experience feels less raw.

"Right now, it seems to me that you are using your work to distract you from your feelings, and what you need is something to distract you when you aren't at work. Instead of concentrating on that hollowed-out feeling, I'd like for you to concentrate on something proactive. What were your crew like when they were alive? How did they make you feel joyful or amused? Do you have any memories like that?"

"Yeah, I do," Fisher replied. "Not too many - I hadn't been on the Falcon all that long," he clarified, "I was still very much getting to know the rest of the crew, but, yeah..." He paused, reflectively. "Joanna. Joanna Messoudi. She was a... um... one of the bridge engineers. She was born on Mars, but her family were all from France on Earth. She was great. I loved hanging out with her. She had such a wicked sense of humour..." He smiled to himself, as he remembered a particular joke they had shared on the bridge only a couple of weeks ago, and then the smile faded. "I never took the opportunity to tell her how much I liked her..." His voice trailed off again and, suddenly, he was fighting back tears.

"It's okay to mourn her," Paul said, "especially in here."

Jason offered a weak smile. "Thank you," he said, quickly wiping away at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I guess it hadn't really occurred to me that I'd not really had feelings like that for anyone since Mikaela."

Paul started to comment and then pretended it was a yawn. He and Mikaela were still trying to keep things discreet between the two of them. "Popular name," he said. "The XO here is a Mikaela--Mikaela Locke. Have you met her?"

"Um... Yes," Fisher replied, slightly confused by the counsellor's question. "That's who I mean..." Then he shook his head, as he realised what he'd done. "I'm sorry," he continued quickly, "There's absolutely no reason why you should know that. Mikaela and I were together for ages - we've known each other since we were both at the academy." There was a slight bitterness in his tone now. "Not that you'd be able to tell from the greeting I got when I arrived the other day."

Paul blinked. "You've known Mikaela for that long?" Had she ever mentioned a Jason Fisher to him? Paul tried to remember. It was entirely possible that she had, but he couldn't recall.

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly seeming distant, “Nearly a decade.” He chuckled to himself, as if recalling a memory, but didn’t say anything further.

 

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