Even people who talk all day find some things hard to say.

Living with Post-traumatic stress disorder is hard. It makes you act, speak and think in ways that are the polar opposite to your core beliefs. Id like to think by nature my core beliefs are all good and positive so when I loose control and cant stop the negativity coming from my mouth and actions its hard – its like you are watching yourself do it, you have no control. It causes you to overreact in situations that absolutely do not warrant such an extreme response, all very negative of course. It comes with all manner of symptoms and can be set off by an array of stimulus. For me, it’s when I feel inadequate or when my masculinity is challenged in some way. Everything from not being able to do jobs around the house to not ‘being a man’ when it comes to situations involving my partner can set it off. Quite simply, when I feel inadequate or I think someone important to me has a low opinion of me because of my chair, I don’t know how to cope. 

This isn’t easy for me to admit, and it didn’t start immediately after my injury, maybe 10 years later. Crucially it only kicks in when I feel I don’t live up to the expectations of someone I care about. Maybe at the time of my injury I was too busy looking inwards at my situation for the PTSD to set in? After all, it is ignited when I second-guess perceptions of me or how I compare to others; to do that you need to look outward. Or, as my psychologist said, it might be because I’m now faced with new mental and physical challenges as my life has evolved.

PTSD is portrayed on TV at its most extreme. The sufferer might have flashbacks of burning buildings or explosions causing them to freeze at a life-threatening moment in the storyline. But it’s not normally like that. Yes, there are of course people with PTSD so severe this happens and my heart naturally goes out to them. I know people in this situation and it’s awful. But, for me, and the majority of people, it’s far more subtle.

Growing up I’ve always felt I had a position of responsibility and was relied upon. Before my injury I was a prefect at school, the big brother, a bar manager in the French Alps, a holiday company area manager in Spain. I’ve always had a level of responsibility and people depending on me. I’d like to think as a result I was, on the whole, responsible and competent. From the age of 18 I’ve been self reliant, lived away from home, travelled and been able to fend for myself financially, physically and mentally. But it goes without too much explanation that after an injury like mine, a lot changes and the goal posts of life are forever moved.

I guess, at first, I didn’t realise how much they’d moved. For the first few months after hospital, I kept myself amongst close friends and family. I didn’t venture far from my comfort zone. I’m misleading you… when I say ‘comfort zone’ I mean my parents’ house. After a bit of persuasion from family, I started wheelchair rugby. I was completely immersed and still I didn’t really stop to look at the big picture. I remember my first time at training and the team greeting me.  I was so scared. What if I make a fool of myself? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m no good? After just a couple of minutes, they made me feel welcome and like I fitted in.  I went on to become part of the GB squad and, eventually, captain. The thing with wheelchair rugby is, although it’s unbelievably competitive, you are in a safe environment. Despite being in a wheelchair there is a level playing field - literally! My teammates were made up of my heroes, friends and a couple that were not so friendly but the relationships we fostered were respectful and decent. It’s amazing what differences you can put aside when you are focusing on winning big competitions around the world together. 

Although our disabilities and attitudes varied, the thing we all had in common was a wheelchair. There was a level of subtle understanding and underlying empathy because we understood each other and our limitations so well. So, although competition was fierce, and I do mean fierce, any feeling of inadequacy, or not being good enough was directed at my ability as a sportsperson, not as a person. And, once I was made captain, I had a position of authority again so felt reassured by that.

In addition to the team dynamics, there are the support staff. Doctors, nurses, coaches, dietitians, mechanics and more, all there to make the team and me the best we could be. The support we had as athletes doubled as a protective bubble around the squad. I think it is an unintentional by-product of sporting environments but athletes you are spoilt rotten and protected. The less an athlete needs or worries, the more they can focus on the sport and the better their performance. This setup of supportive, professional staff keeping me safe and wanting for nothing provided me with another layer of protection from feelings of inadequacy.

The biggest area PTSD affects me is in relationships. I’m forever thinking I’m not good enough. I torture myself going over what I’m capable of physically in comparison to, for example, my girlfriend’s previous partner. That can be anything: DIY, going to the beach, in the bedroom, you name it. If there is a physical comparison to be made, I’ll find it. I feel inadequate and I get myself so tied up in knots with anxiety that I panic and my fight, flight or freeze response kicks in. At that point I tend to run away and look for distractions, or if I stay, I argue. And that is what PTSD is, an over-reaction to a stimulant. I’d like to defend myself a little here and say this isn’t a case of jealousy. Because it isn’t, it’s so much more than that. I didn’t know what it was at first, I thought I was just argumentative and a worrier. It wasn’t until a few years ago when I went to speak to a psychologist that it all became apparent.

I get completely hung up, and it doesn’t stop there. I imagine my partners dad is thinking things like, “Ok, the last one wasn’t perfect but at least he could get jobs done around the house.” I keep a distance from their friends because I imagine they talk about me, “She deserves so much more than a guy in a wheelchair.” I assume siblings are disappointed their sister is “settling for someone like me.” It’s so hard.

Since seeking professional counselling, things have certainly improved. The self-doubt is definitely still there but my coping strategies are much better, it doesn’t mean it’s perfect though. I still get caught up in my thoughts. I panic, argue, and look for distractions, but on the whole it’s better. I’m very aware that the problem is with me and not with others. It’s not anyone’s fault and I take responsibility. 

It’s amazing that, in many cases, it’s now the mental health issues that actually bother me more than physical ones and I realise I’m not alone in that. A lot of people suffer from mental health conditions for a variety of reasons, and the underlying problems are not always as apparent as the wheelchair I sit in. However, like the support team I had in wheelchair rugby, or the ‘comfort zone’ I sought refuge in in the aftermath of my accident, the key is talking about these issues and sharing your concerns. We’re all carrying a burden, some more obviously than others, and sometimes a listening ear can be the first step in reaching the understanding we need to progress.