Kyiv, Ukraine (AP) – Since his release from a Russian prisons In April, Stanislav Tarnavskyi was in a hurry to build the life in Ukraine he dreamed of during his three years of confinement.
The 25-year-old proposed to his girlfriend, bought an apartment and adopted a golden retriever. And that was that he achieved a week in July.
But he’s as busy as he’s rekindling old relationships and creating new ones, Tarnavskyi You can’t shake up trauma He and thousands of other Ukrainian soldiers have been taken as prisoners. The United Nations says that many be-stripped, hunger and humiliation have endured in the hands of prisoners. This is a lifelong scar experience.
Tarnavskyi was captured during that time Battle for Mariupol In April 2022, he regularly has nightmares about the prison where he was held.
“I see the officers watching over us. They hurt me and want to get me,” he said. When he wakes up, his mind pounds, anxiety surges – until he finds himself on the outskirts of Kiev, Russia is forced to move because he occupied his hometown of Beldianusk.
As Three years of war drags onTarnavskyi is one of over 5,000 former Pows who rehabilitated Ukraine with the help of regular counseling. Regardless of physical injuries that may require caution, psychologists say it is important to monitor prisoners many years before their release. They say the cost of war resonates for generations.
Marriage proposal
A photo studio above Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, is flooded with white walls. After several hours of filming, Tarnavskyi said the brightness was hurting his eyes.
But his mood didn’t dim. Awaiting his return, his girlfriend had just agreed to his surprise proposal.
“I love you so much, I’m so glad you’ve been waiting for me,” Tarnavskyi said, holding a thick bouquet of pink roses and a ring. “You’ve always been my support. I hope you will continue to do so for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
Tarnavskyi said it was the idea of Tetiana Bayeva, whom he met in 2021, and stopped him from taking away his life three times in captivity.
Still, he finds it difficult to talk to Baiewa about his time in prison. He doesn’t want to be pathetic.
As soon as he returned home he felt delusional and under surveillance – a response to constant surveillance in prison. “If you leave the line, they’ll come and beat you. I get a flashback when I look at the (surveillance) camera. When I see it, I get a nervous feeling,” he said.
But as the week goes on, he feels better and is praised for the work Tarnavskyi does with psychologists.
Lifelong care is essential
Ksenya Voznitina, located in the outskirts of Kiev for Veterans at the Lisova Polyana Mental Health Centre in Ukraine, says that small irritations — smell, wind, and color — can cause traumatic memories of prisoners.
But contrary to stereotypes, former prisoners are less aggressive. “They tend to isolate themselves, avoid large gatherings and suffer from trust,” says Voznitsyna.
“They say time is soothing – five or ten years, maybe – that’s not,” she added. “I don’t feel that’s very intense.”
A 2014 study in the Journal of Behavioral Medicine found that former Israeli prisoners and combat veterans tracked for over 35 years had worsening mortality, chronic disease, and self-assessment health.
The authors of this study stated that it is why it is important to monitor former prisoners and provide them with special medical and psychological care associated with age.
That logic is true to Denys Zalizko, a 21-year-old former Pow who returned to Ukraine in less than three months but is sure that his recovery will take a long time.
“You can’t fool yourself. You will never forget, even if you really want to. It will always bother you,” he said.
A certain artist
Zarisko said she survived torture, suicide attempts and merciless assaults for about 15 months in Russian prisoners.
His mother, Maria Zarisco, saw him after his release, which she barely recognized him. He looked thin and “broken,” she said in agony in his eyes.
The physical appearance of Zalizko is almost completely different. His skin looks healthy, his muscles are tight, and he has a lot of energy. But even so, there is sadness in his eyes.
Two things keep him moving forward, and cleans his mind of music and movement.
“Pause and tranquility bring anxiety,” Zarisco says.
Like Tarnavskyi, he receives mandatory counseling at the Lisova Polyana Mental Health Center. And like many former prisoners of war, he is still fighting the High Party Lance – hearing the threat and scanning around. At night, sleep is fragments, and that was true even before the recent increase in nightly drone attacks by the Russian army.
The reintegration process is also a struggle for prisoners of war families.
The psychologist gave Maria Zarisco the space for her son and advised her not to call too often. But it’s Dennis who often calls her and sometimes sings on the phone. She is a skill she taught him as a child.
“I love music. It’s united,” he said, touching the treble clef tattoo behind his ear. Even in captivity he sang quietly to himself, compiling songs in his mind about love, home, war. Now he dreams of transforming that passion into an artistic career.
“I’m now stronger,” Zarisco said. “I am not afraid of death, I am not afraid of losing my arms and legs, I am not afraid of instantly dying. I am not afraid of anything anymore.”
