Living with PTSD, anxiety and depression isn’t easy. This is the story about how PTSD, anxiety and depression almost took my life away…
Living with PTSD, anxiety and depression isn’t easy. It’s struggling to get out of bed every morning, it’s going to work and faking a smile. It’s telling everyone you’re ok when you’re not, just because you do not want to hear ‘oh it’s just a bad day’ again. Feeling tired but not sleepy. Overthinking every little detail. Wondering if you’ve done something wrong, if you said the right thing or the ‘I should have’ or ‘I could have’ moments that constantly take over.
I have PTSD, and as a consequence, anxiety and depression. This is my story.
For years I knew there was something different about me. But since there isn’t much awareness when it comes to mental health, I never wanted to admit it might be anxiety and depression.
My PTSD stems from my childhood, the constant feeling that I was never good enough for my parents. Growing up I was bullied and beaten at school. I was bullied and beaten at home. At the age of 18 I was out on my own, fending for myself.
I left Malta a few years ago in attempt to start a new life. I didn’t have my comforts and had to face the fact that I needed help. It was then that I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression (the PTSD was diagnosed about a year or so later). I was prescribed anti-depressants and I was doing OK on them. I was especially lucky because after asking for an anonymous post on Women for Women, I reached out to one of the ladies who commented, and this stranger helped me accept and deal with what I was going through. We’re still very close friends today, and I will forever be grateful to her. But what I needed most was to be home with my family and friends, so I came back.
Moving back wasn’t easy. I had been on medication for 6 months by then, but the stress of moving back, finding a new job and living back with my mother and sister was too much for me. I never got along with my sister, she has always made my life difficult. Just over a month after having come back to Malta, I had what I’m sure will remain the worst day of my entire life. I was feeling extremely bad and messaged my friend, telling her the depression was really bad and I needed someone to talk to. Her reply was that she was busy and that I should just relax. So, I went for a drive.
I left where I was in the afternoon, not able to think straight and I had an accident on my way home. Thankfully no one was hurt, but I destroyed the front of my car. I had never been in an accident before and I freaked out. I called my mother, hysterical, and instead of asking if I was ok, she got mad at me and didn’t offer any help. I understand that she wasn’t feeling very well that day, but a little emotional support would have done wonders for me. I wanted to keep my car in her garage until I got it to a mechanic as the engine was exposed and my anxiety made me obsess that someone was going to steal it. This caused a huge argument, but in the end, she agreed.
I went home, put the car in the garage and looked for support at home. I told my mother my depression was really bad, and I couldn’t handle everything that was happening to me. She offered no support, said I’m careless and am just making a big deal out of everything. So, I decided I wanted to spend the night with some friends. I asked to use her car since I couldn’t use mine. Again, a big argument, and my sister came in and pushed me. I pushed her back. My mother then interfered and said she had no respect for me, words which still echo in my head till this day.
I don’t know what came over me, all I know is that I looked at the two boxes of antidepressants that I had bought just that morning and I felt like such an incredible burden that I wanted to disappear and make everyone’s life easier.
I wrote the note “I’m sorry I am a burden on you, I won’t be anymore”, and left it on my pillow. I took the boxes out on the balcony and a packet of cigarettes. I was the only one who smoked so I knew no one would find me on the balcony. I kept looking at the pills. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but I couldn’t take the feeling of emptiness and hollowness anymore. I wanted the pain to end. I tried messaging some friends. I needed a tranquilizer and I was in no position to drive.
Looking back, at that point I think I just needed support. Someone who understood me and was going to make me feel like I wasn’t a burden.
But they were all with their partners and told me to just relax and go to bed, or to drink a glass of wine. I messaged the person most special to me, saying that I needed to go to hospital. No reply. I have never felt so alone in my life. I felt like no one would even notice I was gone, that I mean nothing to no one and that my life meant nothing. So, I started taking the pills. I took 11 when I stopped for one last cigarette.
That cigarette saved my life. It was then when I realised what I was doing and that my PTSD had almost managed to take my life away from me. I ran to the bathroom and called 112 and told them what I had done.
My mother heard me crying hysterically, but instead of coming to see if I was ok, she started yelling at me, telling me I would do anything for attention and that I cannot just do this because I didn’t get what I wanted. I remember panicking when the police arrived and asked them if they were taking me to prison. They said no, but they had to come to see if everything was ok and why I took the pills. The ambulance followed and took me to hospital. My mother did not come with me. I went alone.
As bad as it sounds, I remember feeling a sense of relief the second I got out of the negative energy of my mother’s house. While I was in the emergency room two of my friends showed up. My mother had texted them. They stayed with me until I had thrown up after drinking this horrible coal drink the nurses gave me.
The next day a family member came to visit me at the hospital and gave me a lecture on how I shouldn’t do these things for attention. That my mother not giving me her car was not a reason to take pills and leave that note. I tried to explain how I was feeling. I tried to explain how my PTSD was making me feel so depressed, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. In the meantime, I got messages from the people I had reached out to, telling me I ruined their Saturday evening and I shouldn’t do these things for attention and that I should have just gone to bed. It was then that I decided I needed to stray away from these toxic people.
I was on suicide watch, and the carers were incredibly nice to me. I will never forget them. One of them gave me a lecture telling me that this moment will pass and that she never wants to see me there again.
This is the part that makes me cry as I write, as I remember how supportive she was and how someone who didn’t know me knew exactly what I needed at that moment. I will always be grateful to those two women. I stayed with friends for the next three weeks. A doctor and a holistic therapist. They took me out, supported me and listened to me. Exactly what I needed.
I started getting stronger. And I started wanting to help people. The friends I was staying with made me want to live. And I will always be grateful to them for this. I later rented my own place and adopted a dog, and he is what gives me strength as I will never abandon him. I am his whole world and he is mine. Whenever I get suicidal thoughts, I just look at him and remember I have him to live for, and the moment passes.
I do not regret calling that ambulance. I do not regret saving my own life. I have since found new amazing friends who are extremely supportive. They understand that I isolate myself sometimes, and the best thing is, that if I don’t reply to their messages or calls, I know they will show up at my door to make sure I am ok. I am extremely lucky to have these people in my life. My mother has since moved away from the ‘it’s just a phase mentality’ and has begun to try to understand what I am going through. Even though she doesn’t understand it, she tries, and I appreciate that.
I wish there was more awareness when it comes to mental health. And I wish that governments around the world understood how much the quality of life affects mental health.
The cost of living forces me to work long days with 2 jobs to make ends meet, and this does anything but help my condition. I have only recently been able to afford things like laptop, prescription glasses and a meal at a restaurant with friends.
The message I want to send out there to all the men, women and children who suffer from any kind of mental illness is that your condition is and always will be a part of you, but it is NOT who you are. My PTSD is a part of me, and although I wish I had had a normal childhood with love and affection rather than beatings and insults, I wouldn’t change it because I am what I am because of that. I am proud of who I am and how far I’ve come in spite of not having the adequate support in my childhood.
I used to use my PTSD condition as an excuse not to get things done, but through therapy and the support of the amazing circle of friends I have today, I have managed to start my own mini-business and am, touch wood, doing quite well. I do not have university degrees because I had to start working at 18. But I have still been employed by some of the largest companies in the world as I built myself up from nothing, and this is all DESPITE my mental health conditions. And if I can do it, so can you.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to tell anyone who can’t get out of bed in the morning that you are not alone. 1 in 3 people suffer from anxiety and depression in Malta. And for those of you who are the lucky 2 – please check on your friends.
No one believes me when I say I have depression because I am the positive one, I am the one who is always smiling. I am the one who is always helping others and the one who boasts about being able to make a corpse laugh. I identify a lot with Robin Williams. Because I do those things for the simple reason that I know what it’s like to feel alone, to feel empty, and to feel like I am not worth the oxygen I use to breathe. This is my life. Happy and smiling on the outside and struggling through an endless battle on the inside. But I am stronger than my PTSD, I am stronger than my anxiety, and I am stronger than my depression. And you are too. You just need to believe it.
If you are experiencing any issues related to mental health, do not be afraid to speak out. You may book an appointment for a therapy session with Richmond Foundation by calling on 21445551 or 79990409, or else send an email on [email protected]. You may also contact Kellimni on https://kellimni.com/, who offer chat, email or messaging support.
Do you suffer from PTSD as well? We’d love to hear about your experience too. Contact us or send us an email at [email protected]
