The hidden wounds of war | Closed

Jessica's alarm awoke her as it always did: dark and early at 6:30am. She rolled over in her bed, pulling the sheets a little tighter to try to convince herself to stay in bed. Yet, when she was awake, she was awake. After 5 minutes of pleading with herself to sleep again, she caved and got up. The floors in her apartment were cold on her feet as she walked to the bathroom. It was just finally getting cold in the city; the temperature dropped from the 80s to 50s practically overnight. It was the only other thing that got her out of bed: she couldn't sleep when she was cold.

She started her regular morning routine, except this morning was different. Just yesterday she was an intern for the House of Hope Homeless Shelter. She had a few clients, did intakes and discharges, and shadowed other counselors. Now, however, she was finally a counselor of her own. She graduated and was hired. Today was her first day on staff. She was not an intern. She was going to get a full caseload and she was going to be on her own. The idea of being official now was both exciting and absolutely terrifying. Somehow, she felt obligated to dress nicer and look nicer than she did just yesterday. She wanted to look and feel like a counselor and instead of intern, finally. She did her hair and makeup and got dressed in her most confidence-inspiring outfit.

She walked out the door, feeling a bit more confident and ready for the day. She did wish she could wear heels, but sometimes you have to move quickly in the shelter. So, she was one step below her peak confidence, but still beaming. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, a smile on her face, and a brand new badge that read: Jessica Hanson, Masters in Social Work, Psychotherapist.

The House of Hope looked and smelled the way it always did: a little gray and musty. "Good morning, Karen," Jessica said to the lady at the front desk with a smile. She headed towards her office. That's right, she had her own office now. She set her things down and plopped triumphantly into her chair.

Karen, a petite and pale woman peeped her head into the door frame. "There's a new intake for you. Only responds to Bluebird. Room 104, Bed A. Whenever you get the chance. He's kind of," she paused, "Odd... and quiet. So, I'd get him out of the way because there's a bunch of others on your schedule this morning and a case management team meeting at 12."

"Right," Jessica said, finishing the last sip of coffee. "Sounds good. Thanks Karen." With that, she grabbed her clipboard of paperwork and headed down the hall to Room 104. Each room had two beds and they had 10 rooms total. It was difficult to have a bed in the House of Hope so this guy was incredibly lucky they had an opening. He was also lucky that his roommate liked to play checkers in the common room, so he was essentially alone. Jessica tapped lightly on the open door so she wouldn't startle him.

The client was alone. He sat, staring out the window. Like most clients, he didn't smell too good and his hair was a mess. He was definitely in need of a shower, but that wasn't uncommon. He had a sunken in look, but that wasn't uncommon either. Basically, he looked like any other intake, but this was her first official intake as a counselor.

"Good morning. My name is Jessica Hanson. Is it alright if I come in and we talk for a little bit?" She said, hovering just in the door way.

Bluebird had been sleeping rough for months, a situation he was not hugely worried about it personally. He could remeber sleeping in worse conditions before, but was foggy on why it seemed so normal. That was until the weather turned overnight, he hated the cold, always had.

The cold inspired him to pack up his few belongings in the middle of the night, two changes of clothes, steelcapped boots partily falling apart, some assorted broken knicknacks, and a 9mm handgun wrapped out of sight in a shirt, yet still easy enough to get his hands on, not that he was certain it would fire in its current condition. The only thing he owned that worked properly, the watch on his wrist, could tell time accurate to the second, and was nearly indestructible.

After his stuff was packed into a barely holding together rucksack, Bluebird climbed out for under the bridge where he'd been sleeping the past few months. He knew enough about the city, he easily found his way towards one of the only buildings that kept their doors open all night, city hall. He made his way inside found a spot and curled up to get some sleep.

It was early morning, 6am, when he was woken by a guard. "Oi, can't sleep here mate," Bluebird woke startled and dove at the guard, knocking him down he crouched down arm on his throat ready to chock him out. He suddenly pulled back, once he remembered where he was, "sorry," he mumbled before grabbing his rucksack and attempting to run from the building.

He was stopped by another guard, Jerry, who had watched the whole thing, a soldier himself he recognised the takedown Bluebird had used and made the assumption that the homeless man had to be a veteran. Jerry put his hand up to signal Bluebird to stop, which he did, "what's your name soldier?" Jerry asked.

"Bluebird," was the only thing Bluebird said, he couldn't remeber his civilian name. He shifted clearly uncomfortable. "You can't sleep here soldier, but I can try get you a bunk at the House of Hope, awefully cold to be sleeping outside now," Jerry commented. Bluebird shrugged not really fussed, but he let Jerry lead him out of the building.

Jerry led Bluebird to the Homeless shelter, asking lots of questions, "where were you stationed?, What unit you from?, When'd you get back?" Bluebird was a wall of silence, he didn't know the answer to any of those questions, or if he did he didn't trust Jerry with them.

It was about 6:45am when the pair made it to the shelter. Jerry led them in and spoke to Karen, "Morning Ma'am," he said softly, "We found this poor veteran sleeping at city hall, we were hoping that we could find him a room get him out of the cold for awhile."

"It so happens we do have one open bed, Room 104 bed A, what's your name sir?" she asked directing the statement to Bluebird, who just stood in silence holding his racksuck strap tightly. "He said his name was Bluebird, obviously a codename, he seems to be troubled," Jerry responded after awhile.

"Okay Bluebird it is then," Karen replied, she got another staff member to lead Bluebird to his room, while she stayed with Jerry to gather more information.

Once in the room Bluebird was left alone, he sat staring out the window, his hand slid into his rucksack gripping around the familar and safe feel of cold steel. He turned when he heard the tapping at the door, he shrugged lightly but turned around on the bed to face the other bed, almost in a manner signalling take a seat. He let his rucksack drop to the floor.

Jessica glanced down at the intake paperwork in her hands. "I'm gonna call you Bluebird since that's what listed here," she said. She walked in tentatively. Not because she was nervous, but because you never knew what you were walking into. Clients sometimes were psychotic or had PTSD. She didn't want to be a trigger or anything. She wanted to provide the comfort that she was suppose to provide. If anything, she hoped to provide hope to him. She walked over to the window, took the seat across from him and offered a warm smile.

"I'm so glad you got a bed here. I couldn't imagine how cold it must have been outside," she said, trying to make some casual conversation before they got into the intake assessment. She began checking off some easily observable facts: presentation, gender, average weight and height. She scanned his face, unsure of exactly what he was thinking. "We've got a lot for you here too. We just have some questions to go over to see what kind of services you need and then you can get a shower, some food, some sleep. Whatever you need. I'm hoping you won't mind answer some of these questions."

The assessment were kind of lengthy with medical history, mental health history, and even a trauma history and suicide assessment. From what was on the intake, Bluebird seemed to have some sort of amnesia or PTSD because he forgot his own name and had difficulty communicating. She wondered how some of the questioning on his family would go. Will he remember them? Do they even exist? Jessica frowned for a moment. She surely knew what PTSD looked like, outside of the clinical point of view. "It'll just take an hour or so, if we have the time. And just so you know, everything we talk about will stay between you and I. I can talk more about that soon."

@ A Drop On the Window

Bluebird looked up at her clearly attempting to read her. His eyes stared her down, while he remained silent, wieghing up whether he could trust her. He guessed she'd have to be twenty three, twenty four, she held herself with confidence, and seemed careful today. He sat in silence for another minute or two after she'd finished speaking, then broke the silence "I just need the bed, don't like the cold."

He didn't want to need anything, he knew he should be able to look after himself. It had been awhile since he'd been able to look himself in a mirror so he had no idea what he looked like at the moment, but his best guess was somewhere between A Rabi and an Arab. He shifted his gaze from her to his bag, he slid it under the bed not wanting her to check it.

He sat back again looking at her, he wondered what sort of questions she had to ask, but was fairly certain he'd be unable to answer most if not all of them. "You a head doc, Jessica?" he asked.

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica nodded as he spoke, his little twang of accent standing out to her. Just a bed. She was surprised. Most people took advantage of the services offered here. She wondered why he seemed so distant and wondered if he was one of those people who refrained from getting help. That would make her job a lot harder. If he was going to be resistent, they’d never finish this assessment. She couldn’t get behind on paper work after being a practically perfect intern.

“Hm, sort of. That’s a good question though. I’m a Case Work here at the House of Hope. So, I can provide some supportive sessions while you are here and then help you to connect to other services after we get you back on your feet. Which leads me to this next part. I have some questions for you just about your history and your family history. Just some basic information we ask all our clients to get better a grasp on your needs.”

She was nervous for the first time in awhile. She was pretty confident with her ability to conduct an intake. Yet, her weekly supervision was now only twice a month. She was expected to do this all on her own. Maybe it was the added pressure, but she felt nervous. She hope her voice didn’t come off that way. She wanted to seem as confident as she should be. She just had to get out of her head. This wasn’t her first intake, but it was her first official client.

“Tell me a little bit about you got here. I’m going to be writing while you’re talking. I hope you’re comfortable with that. If not, let me know,” she said, offering a warm smile. The basics: establish rapport, be upfront, ask for permission, and be warm and inviting. That should be easy. It’s natural. He was at least talking to her. It was probably Karen’s fault. She got into her head about him being odd and quiet. He just seemed like any other client. At least he wasn’t psychotic or something. Odd and quiet are preferred to psychosis.

Bluebird watched her carefully, still reading her. He scratched at his arm lightly, feeling a long healed wound. He wasn't sure how he got so many injuries, but knew most of them were from a few years ago, and definately not sustained from living on the streets.

He pulled back, 'I don't remember much about my past, but Ask away," he mentioned. He was clearly becoming uncomfortable, being asked so many questions he couldn't answer. He paused for a second, 'do you need medical information? because I don't think I'll be able to help at all."

He began massaging his leg lightly, it was clear that he must have a number of bad injuries over his years, some of which still caused him at the very least mild discomfort, even if he did his best to disguise that fact.

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica clicked her pen, ready to begin writing. She was relieved that Bluebird seemed willing to talk to her. At first, he looked almost combative, but she should have known better than to assume. She glanced down at the paper work, trying to find her first question. No matter how many times she tried to memorize these forms, she always felt so unsure with what was next and in what order. She stopped, however, when he spoke. His words surprised her. She lifted a brow, involuntarily. She always had to wonder if clients were lying, but she offered a soft smile to not let him onto to her suspicion.

She stopped herself for a minute. She was messing up so much for her first official day. It’s like she was forgetting all the procedure. “Oh, and all the information is confidential. It’s under this law called HIPPA. So, you’re protected health information won’t go anywhere.” She hoped this idea would help calm his nerves, as it often did for clients. While it was essential to mention confidentiality, Jessica often forgot because it was almost second nature to her as a clinician.

“Oh?” Her eyes followed his hands to where he began rubbing his leg. She tracked some of the scars on his arms. It was her job to notice the nonverbal, verbals, and other signs and symptoms. There were clearly some injuries. He either blocked them out, or at least their causes, he was lying, or he had some sort of traumatic injury to his brain that altered his memory. “Tell me more about that. You don’t remember the medical information or you’re unsure of it? There’s no right or wrong. We just want to get a general idea.”

Bluebird froze noticing how he was rubbing his leg, he pulled his hand away. He was clearly self conscious, and didn't want to make a scene about his injury. He was becoming more and more agitated about the situation by the minute, a fact that given his past should terrify the hell out of a person. He began rocking slightly muttering to himself in a unsettling and barely audible manner.

"You'll get home, it'll be fine, wait for the moment, patience," he repeated under his breath, completely in audibly. He kept repeating the line over and over, calming himself down for about a minute maybe two. He immediately stopped when he finally noticed she was still sitting across from him. He pulled his eyes away from her.

"I'm sorry, I can't remember anything," he said. He climbed off the bed grabbing his bag, "I shouldn't of come in, sorry," he said before darting out of the room. He was lost, and would struggle to find the exit.

@ A Drop On the Window

Jessica observed the flashback and regression that occurred in front of her. He was rocking back and forth. She paused, wondering what she had done that could have been a trigger. The lack of memory is not usually something clients are aware of. “Bluebird,” she said, her voice calming. “I want you to know you’re in a safe place.” She wondered what his trauma was, what happened in war, and what caused this sort of response. This was clearly a more complicated case. Although, PTSD in veterans was far from uncommon.

Before she could add anything else, he was up. She was surprised at the level of triggers and how much he needed to go. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that she was following the protocol and it wasn’t her fault she triggered his schemas. She sighed, sitting back in her chair for a minute. She walked outside and glanced towards Karen. “Which way did he go?” She asked, leaving the clipboard on the front desk. Karen pointed down the hall. She didn’t have the right to make the client stay or to remember his traumas. She didn’t have any of those rights, but she had to follow him to make sure he didn’t harm someone else or himself. She walked down the hall, where an Exit sign was hanging. All the doors were locked from the inside which you needed a code to enter or exit.

“Bluebird,” she said, raising her hands. “I can see you’re really upset right now. I just want you to know you’re in a safe place. It’s okay if you don’t remember. We’ll just keep going with the other questions, okay? You can still stay here."

Bluebird was darting down corridors looking for a way out. He was busy struggling with a locked door, he was still not totally back to reality. He panicked hearing Jessica ask Karen which way he'd gone, he easily slipped the 9mm out of his back and tried to fire it at the lock to get out.

*Click*... *Click* The gun jammed not firing a shot. Bluebird's training officer would of reamed him out for having such a badly maintained weapon, for this exact reason. He kicked at the door trying to get through it. As he heard Jessica rounding the corner he lowered the gun, and turned from her.

He took off again, "where's the exit?" he asked looking around. He continued further down the hallway, trying other doors, "where am I?" he shouted. He kept moving through the halls, trying doors checking the corners for something, Jessica slightly behind him. After he reached a dead end, not having found a way out or any threats he collapsed against the wall.

He calmed down as she approached and spoke, "how'd I get here?" he asked her quietly.

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica noted the gun that rested lazily in Bluebird’s hand. She glanced behind her, making eye contact with Karen and nodding for her to buzz for security. Karen seemed to understand and so, she turned back to Bluebird. She felt sad for him, as he leaned against the wall. She also felt on high alert with a gun resting so close to him. She wasn’t sure if it worked, but she didn’t like how unstable he was. At least, he was responding to hear. She tried to find her empathy, though it was hidden under a blanket of fear. She lowered herself to the ground, pulled her knees in tight, and looked at him on the same level. She hoped this would make her seem less intimidating and she tried to find comfort in knowing security was on their way. She hoped, though, that they would stay back.

“You were brought here by some police officers because you were sleeping on public property. They made a referral because we’re an agency that helps people like you and we’re a safe place to sleep and stay and figure some things out.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sure it must be really scary to not remember what happened. Can I get you anything to support you through this?"

Bluebird easily read the fear on her face, he felt safe enough that he didn't need his weapon out. He slid it back into his rucksack which was lying on the floor next to him. His mind was a blur, things coming and going each instant, he was desperately trying to hold onto something. He was trying to hide his own fear and confusion, the words of one of his trainers echoed through his head, 'suck it up son, the enemy won't play nice.'

"Can you show me the exits, I need to know how to get out of here," he asked Jessica in a odd tone, one that said knowing how to get out was more important to him than it should be. He pushed himself up to a standing position once again, "then we can talk some more," he added finally.

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica watched the emotion that flashed across his face and wasn’t sure what to do next. She heard security talking to Karen and was glad that they seemed to be holding off. When Bluebird tucked the gun away, she was even more relieved that they didn’t come over. She was pretty sure that they would have triggered him all over again. She was wondering how to break it to him that he would have to put that gun into a locker while he was at this center. She knew that would make him upset and he’d want to leave again, but for her safety and the safety of the other residents, he would have to lock it up. Instead, she tracked him as he became slightly frantic. She stood too, trying to match him and yet remain calm. “I can see that leaving is really important to you. The front door is right behind us. Can we go sit back down and talk more about that?”

Bluebird walked slowly back towards the room they had been in keeping his eyes on the floor. "I need to know other ways out," he mentioned to Jessica. When he did eventually look up he spotted the security standing by the front desk, he stopped moving readying himself for a fight. He shifted to acting on pure instinct again, forgetting that he was no longer in combat.

He looked around to evaluate his options; he couldn't turn and run, he didn't know how to get out that way; he could always try and fight his way to the front door, but that would risk endangering two non-combatants; he spotted that the door to the room was close enough to make it to.

He took Jessica's hand, and dragged them both into the room. He closed the door sitting up against it so the people he had registered as threats couldn't get in.

@ oldbook;

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica was having a hard time keeping up with Bluebird. His mind clearly worked faster than hers did, but that was to be expected. He was clearly a military man. They were taught to think differently; she will never understand where he was at. In fact, she couldn’t keep up and she was suddenly locked in a room with him. Usually her empathy was useful, but right now it felt dangerous. She was glad that security was already here, but at the same time they were clearly a trigger for Bluebird. She wasn’t sure what would happen when they inevitably came to the door now that he was holding her hostage.

She felt her heart hammering in her chest. In her 4 years of education and 2 years of internship, she never experienced something like this. She felt trapped, which was one of her own triggers. She had to make a conscious effort to calm herself down. She took this chance to do her own relaxation techniques, breathing in a series of 4. Right now, her safety was more important than being empathetic to this man. She had to find a careful way to balance the two or he would turn on her too. He clearly needed a higher level of care than she could actually provide. She felt frantic and stuck, but tried to remain and calm and collected.

“Okay, Bluebird. I think that you’re confused right now,” she said, calmly. Usually you don’t challenge people who are delusional, but this was the time to be more aggressive. “The people who are about to knock on this door are going to do so for my safety. Right now, it looks like you’ve taken my captive. I can tell you’re scared and trying to protect us, but this is making this worse. I need you to keep your gun away and step away from the door.”

Bluebird was under a lot of stress, he didn't like small rooms, or new places. They had troubled him ever since he got back. He moved away from the door pulling one of the beds over to the corner he flipped it onto its side taking cover behind it. His rucksack left beside Jessica.

He scratched at his arm again, before stripping off his restrictive jacket, thinking he'd need the freedom to fight better. With his jacket off, several prominent deep scars were visible on both of his arms, only one was from bullet wound, the others something completely different.

Crouched behind the bed, Bluebird was massively confused, not knowing what to do, or where he was. He finally heard what Jessica was saying, he took a deep breath, "If this really is a safe place, you can make them go away" he pleaded, he wanted to test her.

@ A Drop On the Window
Jessica watched him frantically move around the room. He wasn’t here with her, in this room. He was somewhere entirely different. Once he moved from the door, she backed against it. Now she was the one looking for a way out. She let her fingers rest on the door. She heard knocks on the door and the low rumble of the security guards’ voices. She turned the knob lightly, knowing they would be braced outside. It had been awhile since this location had a crisis of sorts. She wasn’t sure how to handle it. The binder for something like this was sitting in her desk, in a drawer. She wondered where the other therapists were, but knew she was the earliest one in, as usual. She sighed with relief, though, when Bluebird spoke to her.

“Yes, I can make them go away. Remember, they’re only here to make sure that I’m okay. Only if I can give them the gun. They’re going to put it in a locker and you will get the key to it. Does that sound fair to you? If so, you nod and I’m going to open the door to talk to them, okay? We have to talk here. Not everyone here thinks like you do, so we have to explain it to them. Okay?"

Bluebird watched her closely, praying that he wouldn't have to fight his way out. The last time he'd tried to leave hadn't turned out brilliantly. He nodded at her giving her permission to hand over his gun, and talk with the guards. He crouched behind the bed further, clearly anticipating the potential of gun fire.

He was trying to trust Jessica, but all the action so far this morning had began to bring back tidbits of information, he'd long chosen to forget. But he still didn't know whether he could share any of it with her, in his mind he didn't know where he was, what if this was all a ploy by the enemy to get him to reveal information, what if he'd never made it home.

As he was crouched behind the bed he was listening intently to what Jessica was going to say to the guards.

@ oldbook;