Under Siege

by Belinda Neil

  My mind raced with the possibilities. The mental negotiation commenced: Yes it’s a possibility, but no you are not choosing this option, I reminded myself. I chose to listen to the help I was being given instead.

  I discussed this thought in a counselling session with Vera and later found that she had contacted my commander at St George to ensure I could not get access to my firearm. I was mortified. I hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the suicidal thoughts. The reality was I was still not in a good place and I acknowledged Vera did the right thing.

  By mid 2004, however, Greg described me as a ‘walking time bomb wrapped in Christmas paper’. At every appointment I would walk in, smile and ask how he was. When he asked how I was feeling my standard non-thinking reply was, ‘Good’. By the time the session was over it was quite clear I was not good. This was how I was going through life. I didn’t want people to get close to my sorrow and distress because I was still concerned I could cause damage to others by telling them about it, as I thought I’d done with my first psychiatrist. (This vicarious traumatisation, as it is called, is a process of change that happens when you care about other people who have been hurt and feeling committed to or responsible for helping them.) I was continuing to keep my symptoms locked in a cupboard as I still couldn’t deal with them. Instead, I adopted a Pollyanna approach to life. I might have accepted I had an illness but I was still fighting it. I showed concern for others in my life but couldn’t show the same concern for myself. I wanted to feel better, but it wasn’t happening fast enough for me.

  I often thought about Solar Springs and felt fear about what had almost happened to me there. I felt afraid of that and wondered how I had got to that point. I knew how close I had come to choosing the peace of oblivion, and sometimes regretted having taken the harder path. Finally I felt positive: I was ill and had finally accepted that, and I now knew how other people in the same situation as mine might be feeling.

  A woman at Jake’s school had dark long hair and a skinny build. She reminded me of Michelle Miller, the prostitute killed by Nathan Kerr, and immediately I saw her as a walking corpse. When my mind became so confused, I remembered the calmness and serenity offered by that view of Morton National Park at Bundanoon. Then I felt guilty because I shouldn’t have been thinking this way. Every time I closed my eyes my head felt as if it was spinning. I was still having counselling and psychotherapy sessions at least twice a week.

  A dear friend of Rob’s from the Special Air Service (SAS) based in Perth had recently come back from Afghanistan. He was very traumatised by things he had seen and been involved in, and I believed his situation was so much worse than ours. I really felt for him. He told us he enjoyed so much coming over for dinner as he could relate to the way we were feeling. I was more than happy for him to come over any time if it helped him. We were all a little like zombies, all on our antidepressant medication. Our SAS friend used to sit back and watch Rob and me get dinner, work around the house, or just generally chat to him. He later said the reason he so relished coming over was that our wacky emotional states made him feel good. At least we were helping someone, even if it was providing some amusement.

  At this stage I had met a group of women through my daughter’s dance lessons. During the one-hour class we would sit together and chat. I didn’t tell them much about my background, only that I was a police officer on sick leave with PTSD. When Melanie first started the dance classes they were held on a day and time when I had a permanent counselling appointment. Rob told the women I had a weekly massage at that time and they were all envious. Later, when the class time changed and I took Melanie myself, I was too embarrassed to tell them the truth.

  These women weren’t aware of the incidents that had put me in this position and they had little idea what I was going through. I only gave minimal information to protect them and myself as I could still barely discuss the images in my head or the symptoms I was experiencing. I felt tainted by what I had seen and would look at these women and feel grateful they had never experienced the horrors I had: the broken bodies, the devastated families. I was glad they had not been exposed to this brutal side of life and they did not have to go through what I had suffered.

  The antidepressant medication I was taking sometimes made me slow to absorb information. I found these women very tolerant when I continued with a conversation after they had finished it. They did not judge me and never commented about my strange behaviour. I consider myself fortunate that I am still associated with these wonderful women.

  My family continued to have difficulty supporting me emotionally for a number of reasons and I had never asked for any support. When I finally succumbed to my symptoms and took sick leave, I was too proud to ask them for help and I did not want to be a burden to anyone. I was the person my family came to when they need to talk through something and I was concerned that I might traumatise them by detailing the situations in which I had been involved.

  Recently I discussed this with a family member, whose response I believe applies to work colleagues and family alike. I was told that this person did not understand PTSD, what had caused it, what its associated symptoms are. A former work colleague told a friend flatly, ‘I just don’t get PTSD!’

  I now know how to answer this. It is not necessary to have endured PTSD to understand what it is. Do your own research into the symptoms your loved one or colleague is displaying, either on the internet or by talking to a health professional. The best thing you can do is be there for the PTSD sufferer. Let them know you support them, listen without being judgmental, show them you care and can be called on at any time. At the very least an occasional phone call to your friend or family member will work wonders.

  I certainly remember those who made the effort and thank them. What they did made a world of difference to me.

  CHAPTER

  22

  The end is also the beginning

  It is only through acceptance that one may find peace.

  Former hostage negotiator Nicole, 2013

  The police rehabilitation officer called me several times, asking whether I was returning to work. I had asked Greg how long it would take for my brain to start functioning normally again. When would the forgetfulness disappear – in twelve months, five years, fifteen years? I might well have been asking ‘How long is a piece of string?’ I was still leaving home appliances on, forgetting to lock up the house when I went out and even neglecting basic hygiene. I had an MRI of the brain to ensure there were no organic problems. No, it was quite simply PTSD.

  Towards the end of 2004 I had to accept I was not returning to work and submitted a medical discharge. I had already been advised that my command was going to submit one if I didn’t, as they needed to readvertise and fill my position. I knew my career as a police officer was over.

  I was devastated by this. I was so proud of what I had achieved. I’d had the opportunity to work at some of the most interesting and highly intensive areas in policing. I never once shirked responsibility and always gave every situation my best effort. I had received numerous letters of appreciation from members of the public and other senior police officers, as well as awards and commendations. In 2003 I had been awarded the National Medal for over fifteen years of diligent service. In 2004 I was awarded the NSW Police Medal for ten years of ethical and diligent service, including the first clasp, as recognition for an additional five years. I did not want to leave. I still had things I wanted to achieve.

  The horrendous flashbacks of the homicide scenes I had attended continued to plague me. In particular, whenever Rob was angry I would get a flashback of the bruised face of Donna Wheeler. Rob had never hit me but my PTSD-induced fears made me worry that being a strong man he might strike me in anger. Then I could be dead just like Donna Wheeler. My children would no longer have a mother. This continued to play on my mind and whenever Rob became agitated I grew edgier.

  By early 2005 I couldn’t cope any longer. It was a vicious cycle, my symptoms, my irritab
ility, forgetfulness, and lack of concentration were affecting Rob’s stress levels, and his agitation and anger were affecting mine. We had been undergoing marriage counselling for eighteen months but I couldn’t manage it any more. I was at the point where I couldn’t handle Rob’s anger and the thought of dying due to a punch to the face. I could no longer stay in the marriage for the sake of the children. I knew if I were to continue as a mother and look after my children I needed to start looking after myself as a priority.

  In February 2005 our marriage was over. We both agreed to end the marriage before we ended up hating each other. It was a huge weight off our shoulders for both of us.

  We sat down and told the children. Jake was six and a half years old and Melanie was three and a half. I feel Jake accepted what was happening at that time due to all the arguing he had witnessed. Melanie just followed her big brother; she was too young to understand what was going on.

  Rob and I both put the children first; they had not asked to be in this situation. I took on a major mortgage to buy the family home from Rob. I wanted to try and minimise the disruption for the children, to maintain some stability for them. Rob stayed in the house until April, when he moved into his own home only ten minutes’ drive away. We were both off work, both mentally ill, so there was no custody dispute over the children. Without the need for solicitors we decided on a shared custody arrangement that remains in place today.

  I would be lying if I said things were easy after our marriage ended. I was a single mother with two small children and struggling with PTSD. It was a very difficult time and I knew if I didn’t look after myself I would never get better. Then I had the good fortune to discover a book called Crime Scene by Esther McKay, a former forensic investigator with the NSW Police. It was her account of working as a forensic investigator and her subsequent breakdown after developing post-traumatic stress disorder.

  This was the first time I had been able to relate to another person’s thoughts, symptoms and feelings about PTSD. I no longer felt so alienated and isolated. I was no longer the only person feeling like this. The book, in effect, normalised what I was going through.

  My breathing exercises continued, together with my daily quiet time sessions and ongoing psychotherapy. The antidepressant medication I continued to take numbed my emotions, but it did not help improve my memory or many other symptoms, including the terrible flashbacks and mood swings.

  In August 2005 Greg conducted a study of ‘putative cerebellum exercises’ involving fourteen of his patients (see Appendix). The cerebellum, sometimes called the miniature brain, is a separate structure attached to the bottom of the brain. It has always been known as critical for balance and motor function and more recent research has revealed that, as well as having an important cognitive function, it may have an impact on emotional memory.

  I was prepared to try anything to relieve my symptoms so I agreed to take part. I was given various simple exercises and instructions on how to do them. The goal was to carry out a simple balance exercise regularly, to make the cerebellum work harder. We would take a ‘Black Box’ approach – in between the ‘exercises’ and the ‘result’ is what we might call the Black Box, for arguments sake. Whilst we do not know what was occurring in the Black Box, research has indicated that, based on PTSD and other conditions, including Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) where these types of exercises have been used, that these exercises may have an effect on the cerebellum and its impact on emotional memory. This is yet to be proven and thoroughly tested, I can only provide my experience and the effect these exercises had on me. The science behind this is a matter for discussion for experts, not for this book; I will focus on what occurred next in my recovery.

  I went home that afternoon feeling optimistic for the first time in ages. I wanted to get better and, hopefully, discontinue the antidepressant medication. However, it was made very clear to me that these exercises only constituted part of my therapy. I would continue to receive the usual treatments for PTSD, including psychotherapy and/or cognitive behavioural therapy and medication.

  I was told to do these exercises twice a day for only five minutes each time. Strict adherence to this regime was critical to success. The first exercise involved balancing on one foot with my eyes closed. I was to keep my other foot close to the ground in case I felt unsteady or about to overbalance. If I did feel as if I was about to fall, I should use my other foot to steady myself, rather than my hands. I was also allowed to change feet if my leg started to ache.

  I used the microwave timer in the kitchen and did the exercise morning and night. I was told that if it was difficult, then it was likely my cerebellum was working very hard to regain that balance. After nearly three weeks, I was finally able to balance for five minutes on one foot with my eyes closed. I noticed I was starting to feel calmer around the children. I was still irritable but there was an underlying feeling of good, no longer the destructive feelings of anger. It was as though the veil of depression was lifting. My memory was still terrible, however, I was no longer feeling frustrated from the loss of my former capabilities. I was starting to accept my ‘ditsy’ state.

  After I’d successfully completed the first exercise I was given the second one. This involved balancing on one foot with my eyes closed and my arms held out to the sides at shoulder level. Very slowly and keeping my arms straight, I was to bring my hands to the centre and touch my index fingers together. This movement was to be done no more than twice in the allocated five minutes.

  I continued with more exercises, which involved the purchase of a wobble board/balance board and a set of juggling balls. First, I had to balance on the board with two feet and my eyes open. Then I added the extra task of throwing a juggling ball from one hand to the other at eye level. Next, I had to throw two juggling balls and finally three. Again, I did the exercises for only five minutes twice a day. I had to successfully complete the previous exercise before I started a new one.

  I was amazed at the difference all this made to my symptoms. After three weeks I had permission to wean myself from the antidepressant medication.

  By the end of August 2005, I had my first night out with some close girlfriends after over two years of withdrawal and avoidance of social situations. For the first time in years I was starting to remember what it was like to feel happy again.

  The core group of patients, of which I was one, all started seeing results within one to three weeks of doing these exercises. I even began to sleep better and my feelings of anxiety lessened. At the end of August 2005, while driving to Coffs Harbour with my mother, I experienced a vision of an accident similar to an earlier intrusive thought. When I turned around to check on Melanie in the back seat, I imagined her head severed from her neck and blood pouring out. However, I did not get the same heightened feelings of panic and anxiety that I had experienced on the first occasion, nor did the feelings last as long. This was a major breakthrough for me.

  I still have lots of terrible memories, but they are becoming more distant. I can now control the thoughts; they do not control me. People with PTSD continue to relive horrific situations, but once I started the exercises my recollections became less immediate. People who do not have PTSD may wonder why someone cannot ‘let go’ of a horrific experience, however, PTSD is about having a recurrent, contemporary experience. Sufferers constantly relive the experience and thus react as though the horror had just been seen or felt for the first time.

  I still live with PTSD, but I have learned to recognise what triggers an escalation in my symptoms. Knowledge is power. This allows me to better manage myself and use the various techniques I have learned. I have found that when I am most stressed my balance is not good. I have also established that whilst the putative cerebellum exercises do not resolve PTSD they definitely assist in the reduction of some of my symptoms.

  I am still an overprotective mother. I once photographed my son before he went out with a friend and his friend’s father. Not unusual you may
think, but my reason for taking the photograph was in case Jake became lost or kidnapped, so I had the best possible evidence of what he looked like and clothes he was wearing at the time. I no longer do this. Fortunately my mental health is improving, slowly but surely.

  Numerous parents tell me they also have fears in relation to their children. An expert told me that, yes, all parents have fears; the difference for those with my traumatic background is that we have the gallery of images to add an extra dimension to these fears.

  I am very fortunate to be surrounded by a supportive group of friends and family members. If my symptoms escalate, for example, if I start to become very busy to the point of being hyperactive, one of them will soon point that out to me. I can then identify the stressor and work on it. I also have no problem ringing a friend and saying, ‘Hey, I’m having a shocker, have you got a minute?’ something I rarely did before the treatment. I can even tell my children I need time out, especially when I am irritable, and disappear to the bedroom for half an hour. They accept this and understand that it assists me.

  I still suffer badly with my memory and concentration. If someone waved at me and I didn’t acknowledge them I wasn’t being rude, I just didn’t recognise them. To combat that, I now just smile and nod at everyone I see. I still have symptoms of hyperarousal – feeling tense, having an exaggerated ‘startle response’, and remaining in the ‘flight or fight’ mode, being hypervigilant and suffering fatigue – although not to the extent that I suffered them in the past. I still jump at loud noises but I’m no longer diving to the floor or checking for intruders.

  I have had only one major setback that required me to go back on the antidepressant medication for a period of time. This was caused by the stress of filing a duty of care civil suit against the NSW Police Force. After almost four years of highly stressful negotiation, we settled out of court. Now the case is over I can continue in my recovery.