Your browser window currently does not have enough height, or is zoomed in too far to view our website content correctly. Once the window reaches the minimum required height or zoom percentage, the content will display automatically.
Alternatively, you can learn more via the links below.
We all know it’s hard leaving prison. In fact, they even have a medical diagnosis for it. Some call it Post Traumatic Prison Disorder (PTPD), others Post Incarceration Syndrome (PICS) or Post Carceral Syndrome (PCS). Whatever you choose to name it, it’s estimated that about forty per cent of people released will experience it. I certainly did. They just called it PTSD when they gave me my diagnosis.
Symptoms of PTSD include depression, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares and avoidance of triggers related to incarceration. After prison, this can result in difficulty adjusting to life and maintaining relationships.
I got out of custody and experienced all of this. No one could understand, because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t put it into words.
I didn’t know what was normal. I didn’t know I was feeling off. Eight years of living in a cell, and then, one day, freedom. I had no idea how I was supposed to feel or why I was so depressed. I had no idea why I was so anxious about going down the street or why I was freaking out when I saw cops … I had no idea why I was being so weird!
So I’d reason it’s because I’m just inherently weird and, therefore, other people will think I’m weird too. I thought, maybe it’s best I just talk to other criminals. They won’t think I’m weird. I’ll stick to my own lane.
But spending time with other criminalised people is not ideal when it comes to staying out of prison. I mean, we aren’t all that bad. It’s not that. A lot of us get out of prison super traumatised. Reintegration programs can help us only so much. But when one day your job, family, children, a whole life is gone and replaced by isolation and loss of agency, it doesn’t matter to our brains if it's justice or our own stupid faults. Our brains are incredibly traumatised. Then you get out and are told to rebuild it all. But why? Last time I built a life, it was all taken away from me. Why should I do it again?
I know I felt this way. A part of my subconscious was terrified to have something I could lose. The pain of losing it all was so bad; my brain didn’t want to have to go through it all again. The easy solution would be to avoid that situation and not have anything to lose again. My brain was very adamant that was the solution.
The more I reintegrated, the more anxious I became. I was actively upset that I was doing so well. Every time I planted more roots in the community, made a new friendship, I’d think I’m setting myself up for pain. When I got my motorcycle, I wondered where I’d keep it when I got sent back to jail. I’d make sure I had enough money to pay my rent for a few months in advance for when I go back to jail.
What helped me was realising that there was nothing inherently wrong with me and that it was my brain trying to cope.
I was so scared of succeeding. I was so worried I was just no good. Just a “crim”, not cut out for “normal life”. But I was just really traumatised. A lot of bad stuff happened in jail, and it wasn’t fun. My brain was just trying to protect me from further trauma. No more hits. No more pain. If I have nothing to lose, you have nothing to take from me.
I went into Port Phillip Prison with this attitude, took nothing and had nothing sent in to me. I came out of jail with the same mentality. Nothing to lose means no more pain.
But it also meant nothing to make me happy. Nothing to be proud of. No growth and no reason to get up tomorrow.
It took a while. But I have a lot to lose now, but also I’m happy. And every day that I am happy, I hold that memory close to me. It's special. It's something that can’t be taken from me. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I know I will go into tomorrow with the memories of how happy I am today. And no one can take them from me.
So when you get out. Remember this. Maybe you're just really traumatised too. Be kind to yourself.
We all know it’s hard leaving prison. In fact, they even have a medical diagnosis for it. Some call it Post Traumatic Prison Disorder (PTPD), others Post Incarceration Syndrome (PICS) or Post Carceral Syndrome (PCS). Whatever you choose to name it, it’s estimated that about forty per cent of people released will experience it. I certainly did. They just called it PTSD when they gave me my diagnosis.
Symptoms of PTSD include depression, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares and avoidance of triggers related to incarceration. After prison, this can result in difficulty adjusting to life and maintaining relationships.
I got out of custody and experienced all of this. No one could understand, because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t put it into words.
I didn’t know what was normal. I didn’t know I was feeling off. Eight years of living in a cell, and then, one day, freedom. I had no idea how I was supposed to feel or why I was so depressed. I had no idea why I was so anxious about going down the street or why I was freaking out when I saw cops … I had no idea why I was being so weird!
So I’d reason it’s because I’m just inherently weird and, therefore, other people will think I’m weird too. I thought, maybe it’s best I just talk to other criminals. They won’t think I’m weird. I’ll stick to my own lane.
But spending time with other criminalised people is not ideal when it comes to staying out of prison. I mean, we aren’t all that bad. It’s not that. A lot of us get out of prison super traumatised. Reintegration programs can help us only so much. But when one day your job, family, children, a whole life is gone and replaced by isolation and loss of agency, it doesn’t matter to our brains if it's justice or our own stupid faults. Our brains are incredibly traumatised. Then you get out and are told to rebuild it all. But why? Last time I built a life, it was all taken away from me. Why should I do it again?
I know I felt this way. A part of my subconscious was terrified to have something I could lose. The pain of losing it all was so bad; my brain didn’t want to have to go through it all again. The easy solution would be to avoid that situation and not have anything to lose again. My brain was very adamant that was the solution.
The more I reintegrated, the more anxious I became. I was actively upset that I was doing so well. Every time I planted more roots in the community, made a new friendship, I’d think I’m setting myself up for pain. When I got my motorcycle, I wondered where I’d keep it when I got sent back to jail. I’d make sure I had enough money to pay my rent for a few months in advance for when I go back to jail.
What helped me was realising that there was nothing inherently wrong with me and that it was my brain trying to cope.
I was so scared of succeeding. I was so worried I was just no good. Just a “crim”, not cut out for “normal life”. But I was just really traumatised. A lot of bad stuff happened in jail, and it wasn’t fun. My brain was just trying to protect me from further trauma. No more hits. No more pain. If I have nothing to lose, you have nothing to take from me.
I went into Port Phillip Prison with this attitude, took nothing and had nothing sent in to me. I came out of jail with the same mentality. Nothing to lose means no more pain.
But it also meant nothing to make me happy. Nothing to be proud of. No growth and no reason to get up tomorrow.
It took a while. But I have a lot to lose now, but also I’m happy. And every day that I am happy, I hold that memory close to me. It's special. It's something that can’t be taken from me. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I know I will go into tomorrow with the memories of how happy I am today. And no one can take them from me.
So when you get out. Remember this. Maybe you're just really traumatised too. Be kind to yourself.
As well as feeling excited about your release, you may also be feeling fearful that something will go wrong so that your release will be delayed, or that you won’t be able to make it once you’re released.
Feeling isolated and lonely is very common after you’ve left prison. In prison you didn’t expect to open up to people and enjoy their company. Now you’re outside, it takes time to relax and be friendly to people.
For many of us, the idea of re-entering society after incarceration can feel like standing at a crossroad, unsure of which way to go.
I was released about four weeks ago and I was quite stressed. To be completely honest, I didn't really want to leave. The truth is, I loved prison and it became part of my identity.
At first, it felt like nobody wanted to give me a chance. But, eventually, one employer took a chance on me. That warehouse job may not have looked like much to others, but to me it was everything: it gave me purpose, structure and, most of all, hope.
Prison is endured, not processed. The trauma often goes unrecognised and unacknowledged. Many of us hide the damage, even from ourselves. Without validation, we carry it alone – mistaking struggle for weakness, layering self-blame on top of trauma and finding no clear path to relief.
Simon Fenech is the General Manager/Director at social enterprise Fruit2Work in Victoria. His transformation from a drug addict, buried deep in Australia’s criminal underworld, to an inspirational figure, intent on changing the lives of others, is remarkable.
Release can feel like a distant flicker – filled with both hope and uncertainty. But, when the gates open, freedom isn’t just liberating; it can be overwhelming.
Help keep the momentum going. All donations will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
All donations of $2 or more are tax deductible. If you would like to pay directly into our bank account to avoid the processing fee, please contact donate@abouttime.org.au. ABN 67 667 331 106.
Help us get About Time off the ground. All donations are tax deductible and will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
Leave a Comment
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse varius enim in eros elementum tristique. Duis cursus, mi quis viverra ornare, eros dolor interdum nulla, ut commodo diam libero vitae erat. Aenean faucibus nibh et justo cursus id rutrum lorem imperdiet. Nunc ut sem vitae risus tristique posuere. uis cursus, mi quis viverra ornare, eros dolor interdum nulla, ut commodo diam libero vitae erat. Aenean faucibus nibh et justo cursus id rutrum lorem imperdiet. Nunc ut sem vitae risus tristique posuere.