I was stabbed in a random attack – it left me with something unexpected

Crying on a bench in the woods, I thought about ending it all.

I didn’t have my phone or wallet, so no one – not even my wife – knew where I was or if I was OK.

I’d just lost my mum and had never felt lonelier. I couldn’t imagine life without her – I didn’t want to.

Life has dealt me some bad cards – but this was the worst. I didn’t know how I’d get out of this depressive state.

When I thought of my wife and kids back at home, I vowed to get help. I’d felt these intense lows before, and then I suddenly realised I was struggling with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) again.

Looking back, I first suffered with PTSD in my twenties, when my sister lost her baby – my 17-month-old nephew. Without realising it at the time, it sent me off the rails.

I’d never experienced death before, and certainly not in the family. I didn’t know how to process it, or how to cope. How to speak to people about my feelings.

I started drinking heavily – nearly losing my job as a result. I put on this act that I was the life and soul of the party, and always up for it, when deep down I was a mess. I was depressed, and in a very dark place.

I convinced myself that I was fine and filled the void with partying when, really, I was quiet, withdrawn and having flashbacks, nightmares and hallucinations.

I was nowhere near fine. 

The death of my nephew was the trigger point in developing PTSD – but I didn’t know this at the time. Catching someone in these moments, and helping them through it, is one of the most critical times for someone faced with PTSD – and getting them help.

Sadly, I didn’t get any until much later on.

I managed to live with the symptoms over the years – curb my drinking, put my head down at work. I didn’t forget, and the pain was always there, but I managed to start moving on. To live with it, rather than let it consume me.

That was until 2009, when I was a victim of knife crime. I was at a party and I was stabbed in the chest after a fight broke out. It was a wrong place, wrong time scenario. 

I had a punctured lung and was in intensive care, but I was one of the lucky ones because I got a second chance at life. 

After seven days in hospital, I discharged myself but it took six months for me to fully recover physically, and get my lungs and breathing back to normal. I started having panic attacks, sleepless nights and hallucinations about the attack – the same as when I lost my nephew.

As well as a physical recovery, I had to go through a mental one, too.

In 2011, I finally sought professional help and was diagnosed with PTSD. I only thought it was something soldiers could get, but I found out that any trauma can cause the condition.

Then, 10 years later, after getting married and having my first child, I experienced more emotional trauma – losing my mum.

My mum was my best friend – she was both my mum and my dad, raising me as a single parent. She was an amazing woman, and deserved a medal.

She’d been in hospital for five weeks suffering from a lung disease called chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and was given the go ahead to leave, so we were throwing a surprise party for her – but she sadly died unexpectedly.

At first, I punished myself as I never got to say goodbye to her. I didn’t see a life without her, and started to have suicidal thoughts. 

On paper, my life was good. But the familiar, sleepless, depressive state crept over me, except this time it was much worse. Like I was drowning, and couldn’t escape the darkness.

I felt lost, despite being so loved. Had thoughts of ending it all.

Six days after losing her, I left my phone at home and went on a walk. I had no idea where I was going, but sobbed my heart out on a bench for about five hours.

With PTSD, you can turn into someone you don’t recognise. You’re not your normal self when you’re in these states, and it’s hard to come out of them.

I knew my mum would have slapped me, that she would have wanted me to be alive, so I went home to my family and promised to get help again. Enough was enough.

Following the death of my mum, I started to open up more, speaking to both doctors and friends about how I was feeling. I also confided in depth with Dr Amos, my co-star on the BBC One show, The Traitors.

I now realised that I have had multiple traumas and trigger points in my life. Moments that had broken me, and sent me spiralling.

Looking back, I know the signs of PTSD were there in plain sight – but I couldn’t identify them at the time.

It’s why I’ve become an ambassador for national charity, PTSD UK – to drive awareness of the condition, help people recognise the symptoms and get help at a crucial stage. It’s been eye-opening, but very rewarding – especially this month, with it being PTSD Awareness Month.

Now, I’m taking up hobbies, as well as keeping physically and mentally active. The pain is still there, but I’m building myself up to be stronger.

It’s amazing how life can change so quickly, too. On 18 March 2020 – one day short of a year since my mum passed away – my daughter was born.

It’s funny how life can still deliver blessings in the darkest times. 

For more information, visit ptsduk.org.

As told to Emmie Harrison-West