I was a million miles away from the grubby, claustrophobic streets of the inner city where I used to police. Here on a warm, lush hillside in Scotland, I felt safe. I was with my family, the views were like something from a painting, and there was no one else for miles.
But then it hit me. A smell I knew well—the odor of decomposition. A sheep had died — far from unusual in these parts. Suddenly I was no longer on a hillside. I was in a bedsit where I’d discovered the body of a man who had hanged himself.
The corpse had been there for two weeks. Thousands of flies, dead and alive, engulfed the room. I had to hold him as we cut him down and searched him for valuables. I had to seize the dressing gown cord he used as a noose.
This was only one of the scenes that flashed before my eyes on that hillside in Scotland. I cried, shook, and sweated profusely. My family got me back to our cottage and sat with me until it passed.
Such is life with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I believe knowledge dispels fear so I want to share some of the common symptoms and how they affect me.
1. Avoiding the City of Death.
The smell reminded me of various traumas and caused intense panic and a flashback. But any of the senses could trigger this reaction.
I don’t go to the city where I used to police. It’s only a few miles away, but I don’t even head in that direction. The place is a dirty dump, but even worse, I know all its dark secrets.
I know where the blood’s been spilled. I can point out where victims have cried. The broken and the damned — a side of life most people don’t see — have left their fingerprints everywhere.
Where most people see restaurants and shops, I see murders, rapes, and suicides. So when I need something, I must get my loved ones (I rarely go out alone) to drive me miles out of their way.
2. Years of anger bubbling inside.
After I left the police, it took years to get my anger out. When I used to argue with my girlfriend, I’d follow her around the house and shout at her.
When I felt let down by a therapist (often), I smashed my phone against the wall.
I was an intolerant loose cannon.
I turned most of my anger inward. I felt like a pathetic loser who’d lost both his job and life purpose. How could I ever replace the excitement and authority of police work?
I felt suicidal most of the time but never attempted to end my life — partly through fear and partly through guilt for the pain I’d cause my loved ones. But no one could have been crueler than I was to myself.
3. Bravely enduring the sound of the toaster.
I jump out of my skin when the toaster goes off. Even when I anticipate it, I still jump.
When I go to a restaurant, I have to face the door.
I size up every single person I see. I assess how dangerous they seem, whether I could win a fight if that individual attacked me, what I’d do, and where the escape routes are located. This is all done subconsciously, so it doesn’t take long. But it can be tiresome.
4. The Maze of Nightmares.
I’ve had the same nightmare for 20 years now. I’m stuck in a maze of high-rise buildings late at night. The area is illuminated with flickering, half-broken street lamps. I need to escape the labyrinth, but at random intervals, people will jump from some of the buildings. If I see one, I’ll be driven insane, yet I can’t just stand still.
Sometimes in the dream, I’m paralyzed by fear until I wake up. Other times I run like the wind, terrified.
I have plenty of other nightmares too. The dreams involve the murder of my loved ones. I often see people from crimes I’ve attended, but the victims turn into my family members.
The older I get, the more I’m tormented by any attacks on young women.
5. Is it paranoid if they’re really out to get you?
Small things get to me. As I type this, a neighbor’s dog is barking. He’ll only bark for a few minutes, but I feel a disproportionate rage toward him and his owner. It feels like they do it on purpose to test me, even though logically, I know that’s untrue.
Things that irritate me can be petty, although I’m much better than I was. Small noises and slight inconveniences produce over-the-top reactions.
6. A final act of cruelty.
I had to give up reading. I could never get past the first page because I’d forget what I read. The same applied to courses—a waste of time and money.
All my life, I’ve loved to learn. I’d been robbed of this simple pleasure.
Driving became unsafe for the same reason — plus, part of my psychosis was a voice that told me to crash the car. I never did, and that voice is a thing of the past now, thanks to antipsychotics.
7. Using the universe as a weapon against myself.
I have low anxiety, which sits in the pit of my stomach and is a sense of foreboding dread. When good things happen, it’ll kick in and try to remind me why I shouldn’t be happy.
If it can’t find specific things to latch onto to bring me down, it settles for existential angst — that life is just a pointless accident, nothing matters, and in the blink of an eye, there will be no life left on earth anyway.
“Pretty good” is a nice place to be.
Most of my mental health symptoms are more under control now than ever. I’m outrunning Depression, I’m free of Schizophrenia symptoms, and I’ve learned to live with PTSD.
I’m much less angry now than a few years ago, and everyone notices it. My anxiety has calmed down, and I have strategies to manage it.
Life is better than I could’ve imagined. I’m not the same as before my mental health problems, but I’m a far cry from the inpatient of a mental hospital that I was in 2010.
I’m at a stage where life is pretty good.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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The post Forced to Relive a Nightmare. How to Recognize PTSD and Its Horrific Symptoms appeared first on The Good Men Project.
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