I had a friend. His name was Teddy Poelking. Teddy was incarcerated for 25 years. Before his release, Teddy told me he worried about going back to society.

“Why,” I asked. “What is there to worry about?”

According to Teddy, a lot.

“First off,” he said, ” the cars drive themselves nowadays, Christopher. They’re even electric. How does that work Christopher? ”

And then there’s the “internet,” which Teddy often lamented. “The internet” was his way of referring to the universe of social media and digital commerce that dominates today’s daily life.

“I don’t know anything about the internet.” This was a refrain he said many times to me, and it was a genuine worry to him. “I don’t know, Christopher, if I can make it. I’m fine here, but society has changed. People are meaner nowadays; they’re different.”

This was the last conversation we ever had. Teddy was released in December 2021 and outwardly seemed to be doing fine. But in July 2022, he called his girlfriend and told her he couldn’t take it anymore. He then ended his life.

Teddy suffered from what I call incarceration-borne post-traumatic stress disorder, a condition that dramatically affected his confidence and ability to cope with everyday life.

PTSD is the most common disorders in the prison population. Mental health advocates are starting to acknowledge that the trauma of incarceration itself may make some people more likely to develop PTSD.

What is sometimes called “posts incarceration syndrome” is not recognized in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. But much research supports the strong link between incarceration and PTSD, and shows that incarceration-related PTSD is a discrete subtype of the disorder resulting from long imprisonment.

Research has shown that even the children of incarcerated people are more likely to have PTSD than others.

Teddy, like myself, began his sentence at a high security level before clawing his way down over the decades to land here in minimum security. Nearly everyone pulling lengthy sentences is impacted by the journey. Some slightly so, but many terribly so.

From our conversations, I believe Teddy suffered from IBPTSD. I saw how he struggled to function day to day due to his anxiety. We often had one-on-one talks during which I would try to calm his worries. Teddy told me the anxieties he faced were borne from the trauma of incarceration. This was no surprise to me, as it’s the same with me and so many others in prison.

I have been incarcerated for 28 years. I have experienced the highs and lows of incarceration, but some things never leave you. You witness unthinkable acts of cruelty and endure terrible things. You see and experience the worst in humanity.

Teddy’s journey was harder than most. Even soaking wet he was a mere 150 pounds, an easy target. He often told me stories about the violence he endured. These experiences profoundly impacted him.

The Department of Justice estimates that 70,000 prisoners are sexually abused every year. That’s nearly 1 in 20 people in prison. Other types of violence are also common in prison settings, and not just by other prisoners. I routinely hear verbal abuse, and even threats, at the hands of overworked staff.

Over the decades I have witnessed suicides and vicious attacks. These sounds and images are haunting. These men are sons, brothers, fathers and loved by their families.

Are these the result of a prison environment that by its nature causes anxiety, depression and PTSD, even in those who have never had those issues? Absolutely.

I correspond with prisoners around the country and their stories are similar. Their traumas are real. Though there are nonofficial statistics, incarceration borne PTSD is a mental health crisis. We must address this crisis in our prisons for the sake of the incarcerated, and for the sake of society.

For the incarcerated, changes in behavior and mental health rarely receive a diagnosis, let alone needed treatment. Untreated mental health issues while incarcerated only get worse.

I suffer PTSD in the form of anxiety. I’ve worked hard to overcome this conditioned response and I’ve had to do it on my own through sheer will.

Whenever someone would walk close behind me, it used to cause me extreme anxiety. This was a result of traumatic experiences early in my incarceration. Just to give you some examples: during my first year, I was jumped from behind and robbed of my commissary as I left the prison store. Another time, in the recreation yard, a new inmate came up behind me and looped a belt around my neck, trying to strangle me. High security is a war zone; it’s constant violence. Decades later I’ve been able to minimize this trauma and control my response, but on occasion I still feel uncomfortable when in these situations.

Most of this nation’s incarcerated population will re-enter society, and they will be suffering from some degree of PTSD. They will struggle to navigate the modern stresses of this strange world, and life will take its toll on them. Sometimes the consequences will be borne by those closest to them. Other times it could burst into the community in terrible ways.

There’s no way to really know why someone like Teddy ends their life. But the stresses of incarceration make it even harder for people like Teddy to prepare for life on the outside. We must acknowledge the reality of incarceration-borne PTSD, so more people can get the help they need.

**I wrote this article and it first appeared in Prison Journalism Project on March 03, 2023. –Christopher

PJP trains incarcerated people to become journalists and publish their stories. They empower a marginalized community to be a vital voice in criminal justice reform.

You may reach the author through prison messaging service GTL GettingOut. Select facility Madison Correctional Institution, inmate number A310612.

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