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“ I JUST WANTED THE PAIN TO END”


Inspector Rob Morland shares the harrowing story of his battle with post-traumatic stress disorder


W


ho am I? Well I am not who I thought I was. I am a person living with


complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C/PTSD), depression and anxiety. This is a condition I’ve had for a very long time but was only diagnosed with it in October last year – it was a day I will never forget. I have been a police officer


for over 24 years and a Detective Inspector for almost 12. I love my job and always will be passionate about policing.


Some would say that I am


with children or finances following separation or divorce?


Phil Bowen is an ex-police ofcer having served for 14 years before leaving to train as a lawyer. He


has over 25 years experience in all aspects of family law.


He is a direct access authorised Barrister, so you don’t need a solicitor to instruct him.


Based in Chesterfield, Derbyshire, Phil travels all over England and Wales to represent clients.


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outgoing, gregarious, overly confident, cocksure, a smidge arrogant and some would even say that I have a good sense of humour. I come from a long line of alpha males. My dad was a paratrooper and a very strict disciplinarian, my cousin was also a paratrooper and later Special Forces. At 17 I followed suit and joined the army. The army was where I learned


to build my suit of emotional armour. If I ever felt I needed to open up or show emotion, I would shut that right down. Empathy fatigue is a red flag when it comes to PTSD. After becoming a police officer, when I left for work every day my emotional suit of armour went on. I needed to be this funny, outgoing and confident detective that took everything in his stride. “Never let them see you bleed and save your tears for home”, is what I would say to myself. I could attend atrocious scenes of death and be calm, focussed and clinical.


“ If I ever felt I needed to open up or show emotion, I would shut that right down”


28 | POLICE | OCTOBER 2020 Then came Father’s Day 2017.


I was duty DI for the weekend and had had a rough time of it. I had been called out on the Friday to a proper NCA-led firearms job, on the Saturday to an old lady who had died in a house fire. And then on Sunday, I responded to an incident in which a mother had murdered her five-year-old son by throwing him off a cliff, before doing the same to herself. She had done it on Father’s Day, so she said in a letter received later by her estranged husband, to spite him. I later bathed my son as I


usually do and as he lay in the bath with his eyes closed waiting for me to wash his hair, all I could see was the young boy lying on the grass on top of a cliff. That was it, I was gone. Slowly but surely over the next couple of years and without realising it, I became withdrawn and disinterested. I didn’t want to speak in any depth to anybody, including Lisa, my wife. I wasn’t excited at seeing my kids at the weekend anymore and I put a bit of weight on. I was angry but I didn’t know why, and this spilt into the workplace. Then came September 2019


and another weekend of being on call. I drove past a flat in Hastings where a few years before I had attended a child death. I had a flashback. I was back at the hospital resus room with the mother of young Marcel who was 10-months- old. He had choked on a grape and died in hospital. The scream I heard his mum shriek was something I will never forget. In the car, I remembered working out how many years I had to retirement and how many more dead babies I would have to see again. The next day there was an email waiting for me, saying that I had inherited five extra calls. Each one was another opportunity


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