I thought only soldiers got PTSD.
I was wrong
When I first heard the term Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) I thought it was something only soldiers or people that had been in combat experience. Little did I know that I would also be diagnosed with it, someone that was nowhere near a war zone.
PTSD is a mental health condition that is triggered by a terrifying event that you either witness or experience.
As a Social Scientist and Human Rights specialist, I worked in various humanitarian settings. From living in Sri Lanka post-civil war and having tanks stationed outside my apartment, to the grossly overcrowded refugee camps in Greece. Yet, what really had an impact on me, both negative and positive was working in the field of addiction in Greece.
I was twenty-four when I accepted a job working in an NGO that focused on the rights of people living with HIV/AIDS. I was the youngest in the organization and the only female. I was in charge of “harm reduction” which focuses on a set of principles aiming at safer practices for people who use drugs.
I loved my work. It was exciting, it was meaningful and it gave me PTSD.
I am one of those people that becomes too closely associated with my job. I need it to have some type of meaning. I learned the hard way that working in addiction means you need to learn defeat.
I conducted street-work, going to areas throughout Athens where people who use drugs would gather in what seemed to be a post-apocalyptic scene. There was no judgment on my part. I would talk to them, I would call an ambulance when someone would overdose, I would go to doctors appointments with them. Once a week I went to the prison hospital where the HIV positive men were held. I was the only female so there were moments when some would try to cross a line. Overall though, I saw their need to have someone to speak with outside of the confines of their cell.
My colleagues always came up with new project ideas. Great ideas. Ideas that could help those in dire need to find a safe space. To leave the streets, get out of the police’s radar. It was interesting and thrilling and I participated in all the projects.
Until I started having nightmares. Nightmares of my mother and sister being raped. I started breaking out in cold sweat when I had to conduct street work. I do not blame anyone for this happening to me. The people that I worked to help never did anything to make this happen to me. Sure, there were moments of intensity but I realized it was all part of the situation. I never once felt thought “they did this to me”, no. I felt that I did this to me. I became so close with what I did for a living that I actually forgot how to live. I couldn’t tell what healthy boundaries were anymore, what healthy practices were which given the nature of my work, was ironic.
On a weekly basis I went to a drop-in center that we were operating for sex workers. It was crucial work and it was making an impact. I started resisting going, telling my boss that I didn’t want to go. He would not hear of it (which he did for my own good, having seen the challenges I faced as a woman in an all-male workplace and wanting to encourage me). I would go but I felt like I was drowning. One day I went into his office and told him that he cannot make me go, with his response being “you are going”. That is when I broke down. I curled up in a ball on the floor and started crying uncontrollably. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop shaking and sweating. He was on the floor with me trying to calm me down but all I could say was “please don’t make me go, please. I can't take the night terrors anymore. I can’t handle the anxiety. Please help me. I’m scared”.
I went to see my therapist and each week she would tell me “you have lost more weight. Are you sleeping”? I would respond that I was not sleeping, I was afraid to sleep because every time I did, I would wake up screaming and crying. I would explain that my anxiety was off the charts, that walking downtown with my friends, the streets where I grew up were now trigger points for anxiety and being easily scared and on guard.
Going deep into therapy, I was able to find a series of traumatic events that brought me to that point. One of the most severe being a young man dying in my arms from an overdose because the EMT did not find him important enough to ever show up. I carry that guilt with me until this day even though there was nothing more for me to do. I blocked this memory for the longest time. It took months on end to realize what had happened and for me to remember. Reliving the moment was painful but it was also liberating.
I finally made the decision to leave my job. I knew that I would do more harm than good in the situation I was in. I felt guilty for having the label of “PTSD” as I thought I was not deserving of it having not been a victim of abuse or fought in combat. Yet, it was the case and the traumatic events I was either witnessing or being part of on a daily basis were impacting me severely.
Looking back, I know now I would have done everything differently. I would have protected myself from what was severe burnout. I would have set boundaries. I wouldn’t have gone to places I felt like I could no longer handle. Having started at a workplace where I was so excited to go every day, I did not realize that burnout was a very real thing, especially working in the field I did. I would have accepted that defeat is part of it.
Over the years I have been able to overcome a lot of this trauma I lived through. I have realized though, there are still triggers. I still feel anxious when walking in certain areas where I use to work. I still have nightmares from time-to-time. I was offered numerous jobs working in the same field and though I am severely tempted, I realized I am still not ready.
Already being a person prone to depression and anxiety, it is no surprise that all of these mental health illnesses were exacerbated. I have found small mechanisms to try and soothe myself when I am triggered. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. I have stopped punishing myself for taking a step back from everything to care for myself. I have allowed myself to remember and I have allowed myself to understand that there is strength within my pain and it is up to me to decide how I will use that.
