MOOM

This blog may be upsetting to read for some; it made me sad to hear and watch. I hope this helps others. See the positives in your and others’ experiences just as we have and continue to do so. As always – stay kind, learn every day. Help us remember there is still compassion in this world.

“I was walking to my cell and I could hear the prisoner swear at the guard in Hungarian. The guard pushed the prisoner back to the cell and set the dog on him .”
“ A water hose set on him”
“The prisoner had been isolated for days ”

Him

Secondary Trauma

FIRED BRAIN BALLOON

https://pin.it/ad7VFsf47

I Writing and drawing can bring release and a sense of clarity through expression. Above is my interpretation of one of the hardest times in my life. This journey has taught me so much in many areas

A laugh from nearby , hugs and hand shakes . Should I give these strangers my shopping list to use as an autograph book ?

‘Woah , long time no see, we all heard you got banged up.’ ‘Mate, what was that like?’ Pulling their phones out to call their friends ; ‘ Guess who I’ve just bumped into , he’s out ?’

People desperate to know what those prisons must have been like , ‘ Bloody hell mate ‘.

From the vegetable aisle I’d watch and listen to him jokingly reel off stories of four years’ imprisonment in Hungary and three months in a Thai prison, I became really good at keeping my jaw off the floor and pulling my eyes back in my head.

Each time the meet and greets would end with ,’ Bye mate , good to see you , stay out of trouble ‘ laughing as they walked away. I think each time someone walked away, he realised he had no friends.

I wasn’t known in our local area , I was a bystander in more ways than one. Here we go again. Walking anywhere with him was like someone had a pause button on our steps, like they were in control . They were in control becuase they wanted to hear stories . Had they realised these stories , though maybe exciting to hear , he had the pain of living them.

He’d walk towards me , head held up high . I can only describe every shopping trip as a groundhog day , a rehearsed skit , ready to perform but I think he was just hyper vigilant ?

He has always been great at telling stories , in fact his whole family are . stories that involve private jets , the Kray twins , the Richardson brothers , stories from each generation of his family .

There was no fooling me . Until recently ,I hadn’t realised that what he was sharing was impacting my mental health and wellbeing .

I would be sad to hear the stories that belonged in a movie , the ones that made your jaw drop .Again , it seemed so normalised for him I remained curious of the general ‘ how many people to a room?’ . Naturally , I would then try to understand, put myself in his shoes . Can you imagine sharing a cell with 52 other inmates in sweltering heat , a hole in the floor as your toilet ?No place to lie down or stretch your legs, hammocks above your head , wishing one was yours.Wondering how long you’d need to be in prison before you were able to have a hammock of your own .

It was draining for him to answer the same questions over and over , to put his cloak on and give a dramatic show to everyone . He taught me there is a status to uphold in prison . You either learn it or you have it dependant on crime/mindset I suspect . I’d like to believe that not one inmate is truly proud of their crime , or at least for now they just don’t or can’t realise it yet .

Do you think status is important in a prison environment ? If you’ve been following my blog you’ll know I’d later find there was much more he didn’t share with anyone but me the silver foil , a lighter and brown powder. In fact , he was already using heroin in prison . Maybe if I had asked about his time in prisons abroad on the phone calls rather than sparing him reliving trauma , I also would have walked away.

I saw past the bravado and persona. I had done since we were seventeen years of age . We are in our Forties now and have been back in each others lives for almost three years . I still remember the day I saw past and through his eyes . Every bad thing people would say about him , I was indifferent , I knew it wasn’t the real him. Why was I so connected to him ? I mean even I kept him at arms length .

I had to keep myself safe , I had a family .I still wonder what changed ? Maybe the pain in his eyes , my role as a support worker and my sometimes naive, vulnerable and kind nature made me choose to ignore any red flag. Maybe my self esteem was so low , I didn’t care what I would be getting myself into.

Of all the times he relayed stories , not one person said , ‘ Mate , you’ve been through a lot, are you okay? ‘. I tried my best not to judge others for their seemingly lack of compassion, maybe the red flags won for them.

Did they judge ? Some were of the opinion , ‘well you put yourself there. ‘

For me , that was it , he was there for a crime he committed. Others people’s reactions to such stories had me thinking. Do people think prison is to be given a rotten time ? Did I misunderstand a prison’s purpose? Was I too gentle , a softy , naive ? Should I not be so bothered by the stories ? Should I give more understanding to the ‘ friends ‘ that state ‘ well he deserved what he got ‘? After all maybe those friends found it hard to ask if he was okay ? Some stories were hard to process for them, especially in a supermarket.

If you have read my previous blogs you will already know there is a lot to unpack prior to finding out he was on drugs and afterwards . I liken it to the ‘ calm before the storm ‘ .

I say this for two reasons

1) the other person may not even recognise there was a trauma/ adverse childhood experience ,if they do , then either way you risk ‘opening a can of worms’ and introducing/revisiting pain and/or being resented for it

2) The effect it can have on you , the listener, the observer . You risk becoming exposed to trauma you wouldn’t have otherwise been exposed to.

I became exposed to his trauma, when he’d recognised his Adverse Childhood Experiences , he began to resent me for essentially ‘ opening the can of worms ‘ , BUT he’s worked through every one.

His ‘ stories ‘ or traumatic experiences , as he now recognises them rubbed off onto me . I re lived them. The aftermath and how he coped with his emotions , I allowed myself to suffer the brunt of any outbursts . You see , in my mind , as long as it didnt impact anyone else but me , then it would be okay. I tried to protect and his journey of shame had caused me to hide and withdraw from everyone especially after witnessing the supermarket fan’s reactions. Of course , how wrong I was! What impacted me negatively whether i knew it or not negatively impacted others around me . At times I was very strong , using every bit of knowledge i had , turning it into a positive and using it in my work , becoming more insightful into Criminal exploitation, the before and after mindsets. I’d say I was also In a bit of denial.

I use this blog as a journal , a release. I certainly didn’t feel I could even speak to a counsellor . Maybe soon I’ll post an ‘anecdote’ of his time in prison. I didn’t commit a crime yet I feel I received second hand trauma.

If anyone wants to support me in my journey to relearn what it’s like to receive compassion please leave a comment or email moomjourney@gmail.com

As always Thanks for reading !!!! I hope it makes sense , nothing is perfect eh!?