Quite often we stumble when making our way through life. There are ups and downs and, of course, many detours along the way. Recently I have had many ups in my life, but it seems the downs have had a much stronger pull than usual, and I find I am struggling to pick myself up.
It has become apparent in the last several weeks that what I perceived as helping other service affected Veterans through Soldier On Cycling just wasn’t hitting the mark. It was as if I was my efforts to provide assistance through cycling and other avenues was being humoured and that nothing substantial was being achieved. I thought hard about this realisation and wondered what I should do differently, what I could do to revitalise what I thought had stalled. It was at this point that I realised it was in fact me that had stalled and everything else had moved forward without me.
At first this upset me. This was something that with a handful of others I had built from scratch. An avenue for Australian Veterans to find a sense of purpose and enhance their recovery through cycling. It had worked for me and surely would work for others. And work it did, and it has grown into a massive community of Veterans and supporters across different Veterans support organisations.
This was my first step backward.
I needed to look back at what had been achieved in the past three years and look forward to what I realistically could contribute into the future. I was giving too much, offering too much and ultimately it was not helping at all.
Another step backward to try to step forward.
I ceased managing the Soldier On Cycling social media accounts and being the main point of contact for group members to contact. Recently the majority of interaction had been quite critical of the way the cycling initiative has been run, with a small number of interstate members were questioning the overall goal of Soldier On Cycling.
This was my first step forward.
My interaction with these members changed from acknowledgement to rebuttal. Like them I was just another member of an online social cycling group. I was a volunteer and I was having my integrity questioned by semi-anonymous Facebook profiles. More than anything this angered me, and after the criticism and threats I received post Trois Etapes 2014, it was obvious that the best course of action was to remove myself from the situation. The critics now had their chance to stand up and to make a worthwhile contribution to the group.
I started riding for my recovery when I separated from the Australian Army in 2012. Somewhere in the last few months I forgot this. I forgot cycling was supposed to be fun. I forgot cycling was supposed to be about connecting with friends. I forgot about my recovery.
A big step backward to look at moving forward.
I put too much emphasis on supporting Soldier On and Soldier On Cycling when it was me that needed the support. Since I procured the first Soldier On Cycling jersey three years ago I have ridden a total of three times in a different cycling strip. I felt obligated to fly the Soldier On banner; even more so since I was given the opportunity of a lifetime to ride as a part of Team Soldier On in last years Trois Etapes. Willingly and unwillingly I became the face and voice of Soldier On Cycling and every ride seemed to have a certain level of pressure and expectation attached to it.
Small steps forward.
Something as simple as deciding to wear a different cycling strip has been liberating. A new opportunity to embrace my cycling roots again has invigorated me.
While I am moving forward I am not turning my back on Soldier On and Soldier On Cycling. I will continue to interact with Soldier On and wear the Soldier On strip when I want to.
I am just taking control of my recovery and doing what it best for me.
To quote a very wise person: People should come and go, so go with a warm welcome back and a way to light the path.
As more and more returned veterans put their hands up and ask for help the processes for support services are steadily improving. Thanks to people like MAJGEN John Cantwell the stigma that is attached to persons with PTSD is slowly disappearing. It takes a lot of courage to speak openly and honestly about an issue that often results in self-harm, substance abuse and even suicide. For a high-ranking, high-profile ADF member to stand up and acknowledge that his service to his country has caused a mental illness is incredibly brave. By shedding his uniform, rank, and medals; John Cantwell has empowered other returned veterans to admit that they too need assistance.
Recognising that there is an issue is the first of many steps towards recovery and rehabilitation. The second step is often the most difficult and at times the point where a person in uniform will retreat and hide; raising your hand and asking for help.
The Australian Defence Force and Australian Army in particular are constantly in the media tackling varies issues such as sexual misconduct and gender equality. While both are extremely important in their own regard, the spotlight rarely shines on another equally important issue; the culture towards members with PTSD and depression.
I’m not going to pretend I know about every single ADF member’s details about living with mental illness. I know about my own experience and also others that were brave enough to share their stories with me. I struggled for months before I put my hand up and asked for help. As I’ve stated before I was rebuffed by the one person at my unit whose primary duty it is to look after Soldier’s welfare. Being told to “Harden the fuck up” struck a huge blow to my confidence and I started to withdraw from those around me.
Others have related the same kind of experiences to me with regards to their first encounters within the chain-of-command. Some superiors ridiculed and some provided that much needed assistance. It took several months for me to ask for assistance again. Many around me were extremely supportive; there were a small group of supporters from the Army that fought tooth and nail to get me the help I desperately needed. But there were others that seemed determined to prove that what I was living with was my fault and I should get over it.
There were words spoken to me in private while I was at my lowest point which were delivered with such venom a day rarely goes by that I don’t hear his words in my head. “You are a fucking lying soft cunt”. These words were delivered at me as I lay in a hospital bed awaiting the arrival of my parents from interstate. I had suffered an anxiety episode so severe I admitted myself to an Army hospital. This would also be the moment where others further up in my chain-of-command became aware of what was happening and after almost 12 months of living with PTSD, anxiety and depression I was finally able to acknowledge I couldn’t continue without help.
While my story is not uncommon it is certainly not the norm. Many ADF members ask for help and are looked after very well with counselling, rehabilitation services and flexible working arrangements. One of the first things that occur once an ADF member seeks professional help for depression, anxiety or PTSD is the implementation of restrictions on their terms of service. You are no longer allowed to do certain tasks that are deemed to be dangerous to yourself or others and your career and posting options are effectively stalled. While many of these restrictions are incredibly important and beneficial, such as no access to weapons or limited field time, others such as removal from your normal job into an administrative role often causes more undue stress.
I had several restrictions placed upon me when I was posted to Brisbane. No access to weapons, security clearance review, no promotion courses, regular drug testing, six month alcohol ban, weekly performance reviews, fortnightly counselling sessions and no field exercises among others. At the time of my new posting I was incredibly fatigued, I was 10kg under my ‘ideal’ weight, insomnia plagued me, anxiety attacks were the norm and of course I was acutely depressed. My new unit; in particular my Troop Commander and Troop Sergeant were incredibly supportive; and as I got to know the rest of the Squadron members I was able to continue my rehabilitation with very few interruptions.
My life was well and truly back on track and my symptoms had abated. I had met and started a relationship with my future wife and I was enjoying the availability of time to spend with my family; in particular my Twin nieces. But as with all things in the Army, resources were stretched thin and when my restrictions of service expired I was called upon to step up and take on extra responsibility. I relished the opportunity to prove my worth and performed some very big tasks with very limited resources and manning.
When the time for the new posting cycle to be reviewed came about I was bounced back and forth between a heavily constrained Career Management cell and a senior Soldier that should never have been allowed to look after Soldier’s welfare and career issues. In the end my career plan was completely discarded and the aspirations of another Soldier were forwarded to my Career Manager instead. During this incredibly stressful period I spent the majority of April to August on exercise in Northern Queensland with very little consultation on my next posting. By the time I was actually consulted about what locality I may have wanted I was given one option; Kapooka, home of the Army Recruit Training Centre. It was decided that I was to become a Recruit Instructor.
During this time I was having depressive episodes and anxiety attacks. However instead of shying away from the issues that were causing this; I tackled them head on. I solicited the advise of family, friends and colleagues on the pros and cons of taking this unwanted posting or leaving the Army; my only two options. Just as many people advised I accept the posting as those they suggested I discharge and find a new job.
Finally I gained employment outside of the Army and started my separation process. This is usually a long and drawn out process, however as it was nearing the end of the year and I had to move interstate; my paperwork was rushed through the system. My unit was incredibly helpful during this stage with many of my in-trade superiors expressing that I had made the right decision and that “The Army had changed”. It was true; I no longer felt like an individual Soldier, instead I felt like a number that was being shuffled around a giant spreadsheet.
I left the Army without a farewell, without a discharge certificate being presented and without any ongoing assistance for my depression and anxiety. Months later, after I was settled into my new home and job, did I start realising I was relapsing; I was missing my friends and previous life.
Without the support of the ADF I relied heavily on my family and friends for the ongoing support I needed. I did reach out to the Department of Veterans Affairs after the death of my Grandfather and was placed on a six-week waiting list to see a councillor. Two days before my appointment I was advised it had been cancelled and my rescheduled date was another four weeks away; I never turned up to it. Instead I started talking about my issues with others and realised that many other Soldiers had been experiencing the same obstacles as me especially those that had separated from the ADF.
This is the reason I’m so passionate about the mental health of returned veterans. The system is not yet good enough and so we rely on each other to be open and honest for ongoing support. The Australian Army was built on courage and mateship. Those that speak up about their battles with mental health issues and the lack of ongoing and adequate support services are continuing that tradition even if they no longer wear the uniform.