A PHOTOJOURNALIST TACKLES PTSD

By Peter W. Morris

Sixty years have passed since I first held an ancient Nikon F to my eye, my initial assignment to document Russian fishing trawlers (aka spy ships) illegally transiting United States’ territorial waters off New York City. I stood atop the Coast Guard Cutter Agassiz, my camera capturing this major international transgression. The resulting images were transmitted to newspapers, magazines, and television stations internationally through the Associated Press. A heady experience for a budding photojournalist.

Six decades later, I’ve captured tens of thousands of news and feature images of people of all ages and nationalities, literally the planet's good, bad, and ugly residents.

Some of these images continue to warm the heart with the beauty of their moments, recapturing joy in reflection. Others are revisited as they fill the subconscious with technical memories to be utilized in creativity for future assignments. And then there are those snaps of the shutter that tear at your heartstrings long after publication.

Death ...

Photojournalists, like combat veterans, police officers, firefighters, and ambulance attendants, can’t always delete the sights their eyes have beheld. In scenes of indescribable horror, light-hearted conversations among professionals often fail to reflect the intense situations in which they find themselves ... the deceased in highway accidents, families grieving at murder, suicides, and scarred individuals from industrial fires ...

Extract taken from Peter W. Morris' story in PTSD

ZACK BENZ'S STORY

I have a diagnosis of PTSD, but specifically it is C-PTSD, so there was more than one event that contributed to my trauma. When I was very young - around the ages of between four and ten - my father was verbally and emotionally abusive towards me. At school I struggled to make friends and got bullied due to having an ADHD diagnosis, and (undiagnosed at the time) autism. I was in 'special ed' for all of elementary school. At around that time, I also began to experience the first symptoms of depression and to having thoughts that perhaps my family would be better off without me.

I hit puberty once I turned 11 or 12. This is when things began to really go downhill, as I realized I was transgender. My parents did not take this well. I was told I was just copying other people, and that I would always be their 'daughter'. I was not allowed to choose my own clothes, cut my hair, wear a chest binder or wear any clothing that were not from the girl’s section. Nor was I allowed to use a different name or pronoun, or even look uncomfortable without being punished and yelled at when mis-gendered. At 12, I began self-harming and attempted suicide for the first time. After my mother found out about my self-harm, she began making me stand naked in front of her each night so she could inspect my body. Despite my expressed discomfort, I was told my privacy was a privilege I would have to “earn back.” ...

Extract taken from Zack Benz's's story in PTSD.