Recently I realised I was in a depression so deep, I’d no awareness I was in it. Living with Complex PTSD I’ve had episodes of clinical depression before, where circumstances of unrelenting stress have changed my brain chemistry, due to the constant rush of cortisol from trauma responses. Previously in these situations I’ve known I needed an anti depressant, helping my brain produce serotonin and recover. But this time I was completely lost, I did not even feel depressed. In over my head after coming out of almost 4 years of constant nightmares, to integrate the very worst of the sexual abuse I suffered as a child. As a way to bring me hope during this awful time, I began searching for work, thinking that when these dreams eventually did cease I could return to social work. My daughter and I could travel again, we could enjoy the lifestyle we once had, before I had to be treated for Complex PTSD and wasn’t able to work because this treatment made me ill. Returning to the job I loved was a huge motivation that kept me going as the nightmares came, night after night, while inside I wanted to die. I imagined being back at work, feeling whole again from all the trauma I’d faced in the dreams, trying to pass on what I’d learned sharing hope with the clients I worked for. Supporting others gives meaning to life. For me it’s about giving back, but on a personal level it’s putting two fingers up to the people who abused me, saying, I can still do this. Over the 20 odd years I worked as a social worker my specialism was the experience I gained, working with women and children who were survivors of child abuse. I worked face to face and ran groups and training around this issue. Having faced my own story I felt so ready to get back out there, to contribute again, within a field which is dominated with PTSD and all the damage it causes, on so many levels, including economically. My experience of living on welfare/ benefits for disability has been soul crushing. Fighting for every penny, it’s barely enough to live on. On top of the stress of living with a disability like CPTSD and the associated physical issues, you’re constantly worrying about money, always counting every penny. It’s exhausting. I had such hope to remove myself from this, to be able to breathe again doing the job I was so passionate about, rebuilding my life with a purpose. But it was not to be. When my hope was crushed from the discrimination I have faced due to my diagnosis, I longed to not be here anymore. This feeling, which was depression, did not feel like this at all. It felt like pure relief and desire, and I longed for it. I longed to go home to peace. The end to suffering, the end to fighting. It was probably all I could think about, despite the fact I love life and experience joy every day. Dying made so much sense, it seemed irresistible. It felt irresistible. What stopped me was my daughter. I cannot do that to her. But if she was not here I would gladly have checked out, knowing in doing this, peace would follow. After all the bullshit of trauma, followed by the ignorance and fear that exists in this society towards anyone with a mental health diagnosis, or anyone with any disability for that matter.
It is my daughter and my doctor that have pulled me out of this deep state of depression. They confronted me about how I felt, and how I was behaving because of those feelings. I’m now taking an antidepressant, and it is beginning to help my mood, but I have a long way to go yet. It’s such a strange thing to have to confront and accept the job you did is barred from you, because you’ve been ill. I knew discrimination around mental illness existed, but until I encountered it myself I didn’t know just how bad it is, and that trying to fight it is an almost impossible task. I cannot change people’s attitudes, their misunderstanding and fear of what living with CPTSD means. I naively believed social work would be a profession which got this with plenty of compassion. It is after all supposedly based on empathy. This has not been my experience in three years of trying to reenter it. In that time when asked why I’ve had to have time out, telling the truth has led me to being treated with fear and suspicion. To be seen as a label, one dimensional, not as the human I am, with the assets and flaws we all possess. It has felt like being invisible and is triggering to a time when I was small, in a family where I was not seen at all. In the end I reached a point where to keep trying became abusive. To put myself through a process which continued to drop kick me. So many jobs applied for, so many occasions of great interest in my academic and work experience, to then be dropped and left disappointed yet again. All the time trying to keep up with the bills, the rent, the groceries, knowing what you could be earning, if only someone would give you a chance. Fucking soul destroying. This destruction led me to this place of wanting to escape altogether. Too much pain, too much loss. In facing the loosing of my right to earn, in the career of my choice at the end of all of those nightmares, I became overwhelmed in a pain too deep. I had felt so proud of being at a point where I’d integrated all of that trauma. In terms of age, I’d remembered as far back as I could, I really was integrated. That felt and still feels so good. But, this overpowering experience I was going through of not wanting to be here took over, and it felt natural. Understandable, sane. And the sad thing is, it is all of that given the experience I’d lived. This did not feel like depression. It felt like a blessing, not only had I realised I was not afraid of dying after all the suffering, but I longed for it in every part of my being.
Through this a voice inside spoke to me. If you do this, it said, they win. So, I did not act on what I felt. I talked about it. I took the anti depressant and I wait for it to really kick in, just like before when I’ve had to take them. I have found some voluntary work in The NHS which will give me the opportunity to use the skills I have, and provide opportunities for paid work later on. I have to work for nothing to get back in, that’s what I have to do. I am able to really laugh at what has happened. I have one of the best social work degrees there is, from an Australian university. I could walk into any job with it before, along with all the experience I have, but now I’m seen only through the lens of PTSD, along with the huge misunderstandings that others have of this. I’m adjusting , maybe I will always be adjusting to this discrimination. To the powerlessness we feel when facing such ignorance. The big screaming hole inside that roars, please fucking see who I am, please give me a chance, don’t lock me out. It’s robbed me of my piece of mind. It taken nights of sleep. It’s made me feel worthless and small. It’s brought me to a place where I wanted not to be. I guess that’s my rock bottom on the road to trying to accept what seems like an impossible loss. Telling myself I’ll never get over this. But I will I suppose, I’ve gotten over a lot worse. All of the organisations that discriminated against me talk about being, ‘ disability friendly’. About working within legal policy and procedures when it comes to discrimination. About being inclusive. It’s ALL bullshit. I have no faith whatsoever in any of that rhetoric anymore. It’s only words, not action. My experience over the last 3 years has shown me that lip service alone is paid to the principles of equality and inclusion. People’s fear and ignorance dominates in the area of disability because of mental health.
I do feel that some of the feelings in the depression have been a blessing. They have changed me completely. It feels very difficult to put into words. This experience has shown me more light, more love for myself with what I had to survive as a child. Self compassion can only be an asset. It has made me detach yet again to cope with feelings of overwhelming loss. In detaching I can see the truth even more clearly of how society views those of us who are wounded or disabled, when we choose to be honest about this. I have felt and faced the fear that is is out there, projected onto the disabled for this honesty. It’s a staggering wall, built up from the roots of capitalism, racism, patriarchy and misogyny, all continuing to perpetuate discrimination as insurmountable contempt for vulnerability and openness. The only way I can counter this is to continue to tell the truth, to believe in the real power of story telling and love, and continue to write. My real dream has always been to help spread the hope that recovery and healing from child abuse is truly possible. I have lived this, I am still living this. This experience can only make me stronger, not that I believe I need to go through this crap to make me stronger, I don’t ! However, it is yet another life experience that I can use to help others, because I know unfortunately I’m not alone in experiencing this type of prejudice. I feel like I’m on the outside of a society I’ve not been allowed to contribute to anymore, through something I had no choice over, that was not of my making, not my fault at all. A society that shoves all the stuff we’re supposed to have and do down our necks all the time. Consume, consume, consume. But should you have any kind of disability you’re punished, denied access to any kind of lifestyle. Not considered worthy. Stay at home with no income to even try to participate in this myth of happiness. All the talk from the government of trying to get those who are disabled, receiving welfare, back to work. As if we don’t want to work ! As if we are lazy ! This ongoing discussion over the years from consecutive governments has made the type of discrimination I have faced much worse. These politicians are so entitled. They do not have a clue of what it is really like out there. Their words harm and hurt those of us, with a disability, struggling to get back into the work force, after illness and treatment.
My life in recovery is not going to be as I planned , but maybe it will be better. I still feel hope despite everything. I’ve programmed myself to feel hope, that comes from my childhood. It’s what’s kept me alive. I do not feel like the same person after all of this. I feel enlightened by what I’ve seen and experienced because of my disability. All illusions smashed, but I’m still standing. In terms of the grieving process , depression is what comes before acceptance. I feel this depression will bring an acceptance with it, that when it passes brings great peace. This feels exciting. It feels new. For now I go with this and see that depression can be a process that gives, as well as takes away. Change is always difficult for any of us. Lack of control is difficult. If we stand on the edge of this and laugh at it too, then like before, we will get through. Getting knocked down and getting back up is exactly what surviving organised child abuse is. A crap deal. But this is the deal. I refuse to give up now.