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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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What helped me was realising that there was nothing inherently wrong with me and that it was my brain trying to cope.

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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.

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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.

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But it also meant nothing to make me happy. Nothing to be proud of. No growth and no reason to get up tomorrow.

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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.

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So when you get out. Remember this. Maybe you're just really traumatised too. Be kind to yourself.