Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is much like my other diagnosed problem, (Manic Depression or Bi-Polar Disorder) It still isn't very well understood and only recently has it even been really accepted as an illness.
However if one considers some historical facts, it can be seen that PTSD has really been around for quite sometime although possibly under different names. Those members of the various armed forces that served in conflicts and returned home to find trouble re-adjusting to life were told that they were suffering from "Shell Shock". I am personally of the belief that they were in fact suffering from PTSD.
When doctors could no longer relate the illness to military service, they simply referred to it as "a nervous breakdown". Once again, I do believe the real illness was PTSD.
I don't really recall anything specific in my life that should have triggered PTSD in myself, but perhaps it was a combination of many things over the years, which eventually gave rise to my condition. I recall that in my mid teenage years I went to a doctor, for a reason I cannot recall, and he said to me, "Eddie, if you aren't careful, you will have a nervous breakdown." I really didn't know what he was talking about so I simply dismissed it. Maybe the roots lie way back in my childhood days, I simply do not know.
I do know that as a serving Police Officer I saw and witnessed many things that I would preferred not to. I saw first hand some of the worst things one man can do to another. As the lone Police Officer in a small town I was always involved in everything that happened. I had no choice; I couldn't get a partner to do it, because I had no partner.
During one period of about three months, which began on New Years Eve, I attended eleven accidental deaths in my small town alone. Of those eleven I personally knew ten of them. It started out when a little three year old boy died in my arms on New Years Eve. By the end of March I had attended an aircraft crash, a triple fatal traffic incident, two other fatal traffic incidents, and of course all other Police duties during that time. I had that many reports on my desk to prepare for the Coroner I was going out of my mind trying to sort it all out.
It wasn't intentional, but I was confusing one incident with another and I would have to start my reports all over again.
Perhaps, that combined with issues from my past, finally "caught" up with me and I was no longer able to cope. I personally do have a belief that my PTSD has a link to my diagnosis with Manic Depression. The two are so closely related it is almost impossible to separate them.
After those hectic three months of so much unnecessary death, I continued for the rest of the year in the best way I could. By December I was almost out of control. I had a lot of leave accrued, so I took a long period of leave, and travelled interstate. I wanted to go somewhere where I wasn't a Police Officer, but simply a tourist. I enjoyed the break and returned to work the following January, but I was never really the same person again. It took me a lot longer to realise that something was not quite in order, but when I eventually did I sought professional help.
I was immediately placed on Sick Leave. I never worked again. I remained on Sick Leave for nearly six months, until I received a letter from the Commissioner of Police, basically telling me to either return to work, or apply for a discharge on medical grounds. I sought the advice of my doctor and was told I really had no choice, I was simply unable to return to work at that time. It was a bitter blow, and possibly one from which I have never really recovered.
Sometimes I sit and wonder, what might have been. Should I have asked for twelve months leave without pay, in order to get myself healed, then I look back over the past fifteen years and realise that was never really an option. I have suffered for more than fifteen years, but I have out of work for that long. I have tried to get back into the work force, but each time within a short period, I find myself getting worse and I have to quit.
I have been told that God never gives us a bigger load than we can carry. Maybe God knows I am stronger than I give myself credit for. Sometimes I feel very weak, I feel lost, and I feel unworthy of those who love me. But like my Manic Depression I will continue to carry the burden of PTSD with me for life.
©Copyright
Dark Blue Knight
15th January 2005
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