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Lyle

Content Warning: These stories are about violence, abuse, neglect and exploitation and may include references to suicide or self-harming behaviours. They may contain graphic descriptions and strong language and may be distressing. Some narratives may be about First Nations people who have passed away. If you need support, please see Contact & support.

Lyle is in his 40s and lives with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) and developmental trauma.

‘I had a very sick mother who was a narcissistic abuser. So I grew up in pretty much an emotional vacuum,’ Lyle told the Royal Commission.

When he was in his 20s, Lyle had ‘some significant mental health concerns’. His doctor misdiagnosed him with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder.

‘The treatments haven't been effective. There's been an over-reliance on medication … but not really getting to the bottom of the condition. I have to say I haven't been able to function at all well.’

Lyle’s C-PTSD wasn’t diagnosed until a couple of years ago.

‘I've been out in the community since I was 20 with a chronic identity problem, with PTSD symptoms, but not even a safe place in which to heal, to have treatment.’

Lyle said the misdiagnosis made his conditions worse.

‘We're dealing with the peripheral symptoms as opposed to the underlying problems. Hence, why I can't seem to ever get to where I need to be with treatment.’

Lyle said Medicare won’t fund the intensive treatment he needs for C-PTSD. Without treatment, he can’t earn a living and is now homeless.

‘Needless to say I fell into a massive hole because there was no funding to … see psychologists.’

Lyle told the Royal Commission he’s currently living in the garage of a stranger who saw him on the street and offered him a place to stay. Because he’s homeless, Lyle has struggled to apply for the NDIS.

‘I had to submit via email. And then you have to wait for a written reply. Now there's a problem with that in that if you don't have a physical address it's very hard to receive mail. Being homeless I had to basically constantly stake out post boxes.’

The NDIS rejected Lyle’s first application for support because it didn’t consider his condition ‘serious and ongoing’ and because there were ‘adequate services’ to support him.

‘I was a dead man walking for [more than a year]. I was so dissociated, so symptomatic, that I literally couldn't even move. I was just, “If I don't get treatment, I'm going to die.”’

It was only after he appealed to the Administrative Appeals Tribunal that the NDIA agreed to support him. Lyle said he still can’t adequately treat his C-PTSD because neither the NDIS nor Medicare will cover all the clinical costs.

‘[The NDIA] haven't even bothered to even look at clinical services. Every time I mention that it's like a dirty word. They don't even want to go there. So now that's led to secondary problems of homelessness now. And the stress that I've been under for the last three years waiting … it's just got worse.’

The NDIA has given Lyle funding for accommodation, but he still can’t access it. He’d like to discuss it with his NDIS coordinator and his care planner, but they keep cancelling appointments.

‘I've never met either of these individuals. Neither of them have mobile phones that they ever pick up. I've just got an email trail back and forward. And I've been imploring them to please come and meet me or find someone who can come and meet me so we can establish a treatment plan, a housing plan. And months have gone by and nothing has happened to that effect.’

Lyle said his plan has tens of thousands of dollars earmarked for therapeutic supports he needs, but hasn’t seen.

‘I finally got two hours in my budget for therapy, two hours a week … The rest is spent … paying people to not turn up. It's a self-feeding machine that they only pay themselves. I don't know who's working for who.’

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Disclaimer: This is the story of a person who shared their personal experience with the Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect and Exploitation of People with Disability through a submission or private session. The names in this story are pseudonyms. The person who shared this experience was not a witness and their account is not evidence. They did not take an oath or affirmation before providing the story. Nothing in this story constitutes a finding of the Royal Commission. Any views expressed are those of the person who shared their experience, not of the Royal Commission.