Invisible Prison

The wee boy before the world got hold of him

When I look back at my life today, I sometimes wonder who that wee boy might have become if things had been different.

I grew up in Glasgow, in an environment where I learned about life long before I understood anything about psychology, trauma or mental health.

Nobody sat me down and explained what was happening inside my head. Nobody explained how our early experiences could influence the way we think, how we feel about ourselves or how we see the world.

We were just getting on with life.

Looking back, I can see how my experiences influenced the person I became. I learned ways of coping, protecting myself and navigating the world around me. Eventually, some of those learned behaviours became so familiar that I thought they were simply who I was.

But were they really me? Or was I looking at life through everything that had happened to me?

Being diagnosed with C-PTSD

I’ve been formally diagnosed with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD).

Understanding that diagnosis has given me another way to look at my past. For years, I knew what I’d done and the life I’d lived, but understanding how childhood trauma could influence my development was something else entirely.

C-PTSD is a recognised mental health condition. Alongside the symptoms of PTSD, it involves difficulties with emotional regulation, self-image and relationships.

It is often associated with repeated or prolonged trauma, particularly experiences from which a person finds it difficult to escape.

What interests me is how early experiences can affect our beliefs about ourselves.

Imagine a wee boy growing up believing he needs to be tough to survive. If that belief is repeatedly reinforced, being tough might become more than a way of coping. He might eventually believe that toughness is his entire identity.

He isn’t necessarily conscious of any of this. He’s just getting on with life, responding to the world as he understands it.

That’s what I mean by the invisible prison.

How we build a prison without realising it

Here’s how I explain it in everyday language:

Experience → Meaning → Belief → Body response → Survival behaviour → Repetition → Identity → Perception → More behaviour → Consequences → Stronger belief.

This is my way of illustrating how learned responses can become part of our identity, rather than a formal clinical model.

Something happens to us. We give that experience a meaning. Over time, that meaning can become a belief about ourselves, other people or the world.

Our bodies respond to perceived danger, sometimes before we’ve had time to think things through. We develop ways of coping. Repeat those behaviours often enough and they can become habitual.

Eventually, we might start confusing what we’ve learned to do with who we actually are.

That identity can influence how we interpret future experiences, reinforcing the beliefs we already hold.

It’s important to understand that this is a simplified explanation of a complicated psychological process. Not everyone responds to trauma in the same way, and our lives are influenced by many factors.

But this framework has helped me make sense of my own experiences.

The life I went on to live

My journey eventually took me into gangs, organised crime, addiction and imprisonment. I experienced serious violence, including being stabbed 17 times. I spent approximately seven years in prison.

For a long time, that was my world.

I’m not going to sit here and blame everything I did on my childhood or on C-PTSD. I made choices, and those choices had consequences for myself and other people.

But there’s a difference between taking responsibility for your actions and understanding what may have influenced them.

That’s something I’ve learned through recovery.

When I look back now, I don’t just see the adult who got involved in crime and addiction. I also see the wee boy who learned certain things about life and carried those beliefs into adulthood.

Trauma doesn’t automatically lead to addiction, violence or criminal behaviour. My story is my own, and I would never suggest that everyone living with C-PTSD follows the same path.

What I can say is that understanding my experiences has helped me question beliefs and behaviours I once accepted as part of who I was.

Nobody taught us how to heal

One of the things I often talk about is how we learn to survive without necessarily learning how to heal.

We can spend years learning to protect ourselves, cover up our feelings or avoid situations that make us uncomfortable.

Sometimes the very behaviours that helped us cope in one environment can create difficulties in another.

A person who has learned to expect danger might struggle to feel safe even when their circumstances have changed. Someone who expects rejection might find it difficult to trust others.

These are recognised patterns that can occur following trauma, although they aren’t inevitable.

For me, an important part of recovery has been learning to examine what I believe, why I believe it and whether those beliefs are still serving me.

I can’t change what happened yesterday. But I can develop a different understanding of those experiences and make different choices today.

From addiction to recovery

On 24 May 2005, I began my journey in recovery.

More than 21 years later, my life looks very different.

My recovery has involved the 12 Steps, my Christian faith, personal development, taking responsibility and helping other people.

For me, faith has been an important part of discovering an identity beyond my past. It has given me a sense of purpose and a different direction in life.

I don’t suggest that my personal approach is a treatment for C-PTSD or that everyone needs to follow the same path.

Recognised psychological treatments for PTSD include trauma-focused cognitive behavioural therapy and eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR). People with C-PTSD may need additional time, support or adaptations according to their individual needs.

Recovery is personal. What matters is that people can access appropriate help and develop an understanding of themselves without being defined solely by what happened to them.

Going back through the prison doors

These days, I return to prisons for a completely different reason.

I visit prisons and recovery communities to share my experiences and speak about addiction, trauma, identity and the possibility of change.

I’m interested in the question of how a person can become so conditioned by their circumstances that they begin to see themselves entirely through the beliefs and behaviours they developed to survive.

And, more importantly, what happens when they begin to question those beliefs?

I want to share these ideas in language that ordinary people can understand, while remaining open to the knowledge and experience of mental health professionals.

Living in the here and now

One of the greatest changes in my life has been learning that I don’t need to keep living as the person I once was.

My past is part of my story, but it isn’t the whole story.

Understanding trauma doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine or expecting people to recover simply by changing how they think.

C-PTSD is a genuine mental health condition. Recovery can take time, and people deserve appropriate treatment, understanding and support.

But I also believe that developing a greater understanding of ourselves can open up possibilities we might never have imagined.

Today, I have opportunities to share my experiences, support people in recovery and return to places I once entered as a prisoner.

That means something to me.

To the next person

If you’re reading this and living with C-PTSD, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’ve been through.

Your experiences are your own, just as mine are.

But I would encourage you to look beyond the negative beliefs you might have developed about yourself.

You are more than the things that happened to you. More than the ways you learned to cope. And more than the mistakes you may have made along the way.

I spent years believing I was the person my experiences had shaped me into.

Today, I understand that there’s a difference between the person I became to survive and the person I can choose to become.

And that’s why I continue sharing my story.

The person you became to survive doesn’t have to be the person you remain.

About the author

Billy McKay is a Scottish author, recovery advocate and speaker with more than 21 years in recovery. Formally diagnosed with C-PTSD, he shares his lived experience of childhood trauma, addiction and imprisonment through his writing and work in prisons and recovery communities.

He is the author of Who Turned the Light On and is currently developing his second book, Leaving the Invisible Prison.

Website: https://billymckay.net