The first few years I lived in Sydney
were positively amazing (despite the fact that for the first three months I spent most of the mornings in the strongroom crying my eyes out from homesickness).
I firstly shared a flat with my sister and her friend and then moved
into another flat with two fellow classmates from home that had also started
work in Banks on Sydney's North shore. Later an Aunty of one flatmate moved
down also. Annie was only 3 years older than us and attended the same
denomination as I so we settled at the same Church together.
Life was very sweet; my job was great, work hours allowed a 3.30 pm finish and on most days the beach was my after work venue. I made some amazing friends through both Church and work and had some life changing experiences. One was learning that the L.J.Hooker signs set around the suburbs were NOT ads for brothels and another was becoming a victim of two Bank Holdups within a 6 month period.
The latter was a life changing event in a wholly negative way. I never realized how quickly one's life could flash by or how deeply entwined fingernails could become in short pile carpet. I discovered our bodies amazing instinct for preservation as I felt total calmness whilst I passed over money to a masked bandit that held a gun to my head. Of course in the 80's there was no awareness of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorderand no provision for any type of Counselling. Many of us spent days, weeks and years living with depression, confusion and fear.
The bandits were never caught and this left many of us with little closure about the trauma. I couldn't
cope with loud noises or any type of mask. (I remember going to the Royal Easter Show and the first place we walked into was a tent with Novelty Masks for sale. I just collapsed onto my knees and had to be taken home). I was also afraid of men. ...even those whom I knew. A masked bandit equalled anonymity which
meant to me that any male, even those whom I had known for a long period of time might have been one
of the bandits. I carried a bread knife in my bag and slept with one under my
pillow. Depression took a hold, and even though I operated on autopilot as I
worked all day, the rest of my life was a dismal mess. Except for one of my
housemates "interfering" rather than supporting, I wouldn't have eaten, showered, been
able to cook, tell dirty clothes from clean or managed my money or any other state of affairs.
For so long I
couldn't see a way out, or believe that I would ever again feel happiness or
safety. One evening I lined up all my antidepressants ready to down with a
glass of water. I thought it would be the easiest and least painful way out.
Unbelievably the same housemate walked in on me and once again "interfered"
by telling me what an idiot I was. Not exactly the best approach or attitude...but for then that was enough for me to throw
those antidepressants away and start looking for help....the only reason being to spite my flatmate who thought I was a useless good for nothing.
With
the help of many Counselling sessions with a very supportive Psychologist I
eventually rose out of the quagmire of depression and started to live a little.
I eventually stopped sleeping with and carrying a knife...but I still to this day feel frightened when I walk into a bank and I always have to sleep with a light on in the house. Trauma and depression undoubtedly cut right through a persons soul.
Check My Links:
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Article from Sane Australia
Depression - Article from Beyond Blue Australia
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