I have suffered from the symptoms of PTSD for just over a quarter of a century without a diagnosis and, accordingly, without help.
What I witnessed on the killing fields of Hillsborough--on the 15th of April, 1989, at the FA Cup semi final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest--has haunted me and has stayed with me all of that time. Part of me died that day. What followed when I and other survivors were falsely accused, blamed, criticized and mocked is another deep tragedy. We were not the guilty ones. We were the heroes that day as 96 of our fellow fans lost their lives in the most horrific way. Those that were at fault, whom are guilty, have lied, covered up and smeared the truth for 26 years are only now finally in the process of being held accountable.
I have suffered the most awful nightmares, flashbacks and panic attacks over all of these years, as well as having low self esteem issues, paranoia, anger and deep frustration. In fact, I have experienced everything associated with PTSD, yet I have not been diagnosed.
Why?
Well, I can readily admit to not seeking help for the first 20 years. I suppose you could say that I was in denial about my illness and condition, that I pushed everything away and that I tried to find solace in the bottle. Believe me, drinking does not help.
For the past six years, I have been banging my head against a brick wall in order to try and get treatment. My general practitioner has tried his best to get me some help, but it has simply not happened. The local mental health service, which has a bad reputation, is a farce, a disgrace; it is diabolical. I guess I cannot expect too much.
I did try some counseling. The lady that saw me on my first appointment was lovely and deeply understanding. Unfortunately, she was due to go on maternity leave, and I was given another counselor. He neither had a clue about Hillsborough nor my condition, so I stopped going.
In January of 2014, a few short months after the death of my father, I wrote a strongly-worded letter to the mental health service telling them my situation, and I explained that what I needed was a diagnosis of PTSD. I know I have it, given what I have gone through and the symptoms that I possess. To my surprise, I got a letter back offering an appointment with a psychiatrist, at the resource center.
The "psychiatrist," if you could call him that, was an absolute disgrace. He showed no understanding, empathy, offered no support, and he more or less condemned me. He didn't even know what Hillsborough was; he "thought it was a fire," confusing it with the Bradford Fire. Then, after I had corrected him, he commented by saying, "Oh yes, it was a stampede."
A stampede?
Anger filled my body at that point, and I forcefully pointed out what Hillsborough really was: Britain's worst sporting disaster, a disaster in which 96 innocent men, women and children were crushed to death. This disaster was due to police failure and lack of care, control, and management, followed by the biggest single miscarriage of justice in the history of the British legal system.
He refused to give me a diagnosis, even though he admitted that I had the symptoms. Surely, if I possess the symptoms, then I have the condition. He stated that did "not have PTSD," as I had "achieved too much in my life." Since Hillsborough, I have had to cope with the tragic loss of my brother at a young age, returned to the church, obtained a degree, gotten married, raised a family and dealt with the loss of my father. I have achieved all of these, despite having PTSD.
As I write this, I am still banging my head against the proverbial brick wall. I am still fighting for that PTSD diagnosis, and I am still suffering from all of the symptoms associated with this terrible condition.
Authored by: JFT96
Last edited by a moderator:
