My partner and I were on the Amalfi Coast in Italy, one of the most beautiful locations in the world. Yet all I could do was cry.
My PTSD was the worst it had ever been. A key symptom of this treacherous illness is avoidance. The pain of certain stimuli was so great that I took drastic steps to stay safe.
Although I was on the Amalfi Coast, I wanted to be home in bed.
. . .
How my world shrunk.
I developed PTSD from the traumas I experienced as a police officer. The avoidance started straightforward enough. I avoided the town where I used to police before I was medically retired.
It made sense. I knew the town’s dirty secrets. Most people saw shops, houses, and streets.
I saw the building two girls jumped from to their deaths.
I saw the house where a young man hanged himself.
I saw the street where a boy got stabbed to death, and people walked over him to reach the kebab shop.
I saw the alleys where women had been attacked.
I saw the road where I’d tried to save a motorcyclist from dying while he attacked me.
I saw the blood and the vomit. I saw the smiles of the evil and the sorrow of the damned.
So, of course, I didn’t want to return to this place.
Halfway through my career, I transferred to the big city. The trauma continued to pile up. I helped fish a dead body out of the water. I guarded a building containing a young mother who had been murdered along with her baby. I found a decomposing man who had overdosed days earlier. The list goes on.
So, of course, I didn’t want to return to this place.
I started to avoid crowds. It made sense. In a crowd, I couldn’t tell who was dangerous. Had I arrested any of them? Were there any muggers or thieves? What about people with mental health problems? What would I do if there was a random stabbing or shooting?
In the police, crowds were bad news. They meant riots or gang fights. They meant me being outnumbered — like PC Blakelock, who was hacked to death by a mob.
Crowds were also noisy, and I’d feel overwhelmed. My mind was a scary place to be, and I needed calm and quiet to process my thoughts. Crowds scared me.
So, of course, I didn’t want to be near a crowd.
I started to avoid my friends. These friends were all police officers. They wanted to call me and relive the good old days. Except I couldn’t bear it. They were still living those good old days. I was living in a hell of my own creation. I felt worthless, lost, and suicidal. While they were blaring around the city on blue lights, being heroes, I struggled to get out of bed and shower.
If I did meet them, they’d want to meet in the areas I avoided — these were the most local. I couldn’t explain to them why I avoided so many places. I couldn’t be seen as weak and broken by my colleagues. They’d survived the same situations unscathed, so how would they understand?
So, of course, I cut myself off from my friends.
I stopped going to the gym. The gym used to be my lifeline. It was part of why I stopped being bullied and turned my life around. I hardly ever missed a day — even when I broke my foot in Karate, I found a way to train around it. I can’t put into words how much I loved the gym.
Yet the side effects of medication had made me gain 80lbs in a year. I was sleeping 15 hours a day. Getting up and brushing my teeth took Herculean effort. Going to the gym was unfathomable.
If I had gone to the gym, they’d have seen me as what I’d become — a fat, lazy slob. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. How could I be around strong men when I felt so pathetic?
So, of course, I stopped going to the gym.
Finally, I grew to hate traveling. When I was younger, I went to Japan by myself. I went to Chicago alone. Now, getting through an airport was impossible — the noise, the crowds, the rushing about.
I’d have to sit in cramped economy class next to a stranger. At the other end, I’d be unable to hide away, and my partner would expect me to do at least some holiday activities.
I forced myself to go on these holidays for her benefit but I wasn’t good company because I was terrified. She could sense it, and it ruined her holiday anyway.
So, of course, I avoided traveling.
. . .
The damage of avoidance.
Eventually, I had nothing left to avoid. I’d stripped my life of everything that reminded me of my past. I’d attempted to erase every risk. My imprisonment was complete.
It was only when I began spending my life confined to my bedroom that a terrible realization hit me. The things I avoided were smokescreens. I could never outrun the core of my pain — my own mind.
Buildings and towns don’t have any magical powers. They’re pieces of concrete and metal. They don’t hold on to tragedy, they aren’t dangerous, and there are no such things as ghosts.
The buildings, towns, and situations I avoided were only dangerous because of how I felt.
But I’d already lost everything. How would I rebuild?
. . .
The end of avoidance and what I should have done all along.
I never had a good therapist. I never saw the same psychiatrist twice. So, I couldn’t rely on the guidance of experts. Instead, I realized I needed to swap avoidance for controlled exposure.
In true Geoff Thompson style, I confronted my fears, piece by piece.
I began by going back to the scene of a double suicide, which was the leading cause of all my problems. Two teenage girls had jumped to their deaths from a tower block.
En route, I imagined the block to be a vortex of evil. A hellish place haunted by the ghosts of those the world had crushed. I thought it would be dark and cold like the night when I guarded the bodies.
When I got there, it was none of those things. It was a sunny day. Children were playing outside, and people were going about their business.
I got out of my car and walked to the very spot where the bodies lay 15 years earlier. Nothing. Nothing to remember the nightmare of that early morning.
I returned home, and apart from my dad calling me a selfish bastard for taking the risk and worrying him, it was a positive experience.
Now I’d confronted the worst thing, my other restrictions fell like dominoes.
I went back to the town I’d been avoiding.
I took trips to the big city.
I returned to the gym.
But the best thing was that I started going on holiday with my partner, whom I loved. We went to Japan, the Maldives, and several local holidays. This year, we’re going to a Greek island.
I felt re-engaged with the world around me. I was no longer hiding. I’d gone from victim to survivor.
I recommend you use controlled exposure under the supervision of a therapist. It’s risky to do this stuff alone. I did it because I had no choice.
. . .
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This post was previously published on Speaking Bipolar.
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