The Sandbag Times Issue No: 49

Mental Health: External Quietness, Screaming Inside
What happens
after the success?
By Ben Williams
The ability to place my finger
upon the catalyst for my
problems was difficult. The
darkness within my mind was
suffocating, feeding my body
its feelings of bitterness,
anger, sadness, and pain. My
teeth were ground flat within
a tightly locked jaw that bit
hard on every emotion. Sleep
was broken, continuously
interrupted by nightmares
and flashbacks that stemmed
from bygone experiences.
The only escape was drinking,
self-harm, and violence.
The drink numbed the feelings
and emotions. Selfharming
helped to distract
the mind from its internal
struggles. Fighting was an
opportunity to release the bitter
rage and anger, and experience
a momentary
adrenaline fuelled high which
I deeply craved ever since the
battlefield. As sickening as
these moments were, they
were an uncontrollable side
effects and consequences of
an illness I knew nothing
about.
The combination of intoxicating
chemicals mixed with an
unstable mind was dangerous
for all, including myself.
There was no control or stability;
no pattern or habit; just
an uncontrollable downward
spiral of depression as I tried
to cling on in a desperate
attempt of survival. Every day
was a repeat of the last. A day
that would commence with
fatigue, tiredness, regret,
guilt, and often a hangover,
quickly followed by waves of
emotions that would violently
rock the boat of balance.
Why? Why was I feeling like
this? Why did no one else
around me seem to be suffering
like I was? I felt alone, and
that loneliness led to silence;
mentally shut off. We had all
experienced the same things.
Witnessing our friends being
maimed or killed. The bodies
of enemy combatants and
victims of war. Whether the
next patrol would be the last
one, and if the next step we
took would end our young
lives. My experiences were
no different to the next person,
but somehow, I felt isolated
within my own mind;
caged within a cell of emotions.
I wouldn't allow myself to be
the one who came forward as
the ‘weak one’, to put my
hand up and say I was suffering.
The bravado and hard
outer exterior that we wore as
Commandos wouldn’t
accommodate for that. So,
everything got stuffed away.
However, this wouldn’t last.
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