I came to realise that ‘mental health’ is not a dirty word. They introduced me to Rock2Recovery, a charity that helps servicemen and women with mental health illnesses. But I was pulled from the abyss into which I’d fallen by two former Royal Marine Commandos with whom I’d served. I’d always considered it a coward’s way out, but I’m not ashamed to admit that PTSD brought me to my knees. Me, Garry Curtis – the Garry ‘Gazza’ Curtis, known for his fearlessness and iron chin – would have rather died than sit in a shrink’s chair.Īt my lowest, I attempted to commit suicide. Until then, I’d struggled to cope with increasingly dark thoughts that made me feel like I’d had enough. For the first time in years, I was able to blame something – anything – for the way I was feeling. I was diagnosed with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in 2016. The stress I was under, compounded by having no money, was a perfect storm, but one I didn’t recognize until it was almost too late. I was off my feet for the best part of 18 months and, being self-employed, there was no cash coming in from sick leave.
In 2012 I suffered life-threatening injuries while working as Close protection in Afghanistan. Unfortunately, that same pride contributed to my fall. I’d always prided myself on my inner strength on being the man who others could depend on with their lives. But nothing hits as hard as depression, a kidney punch of a condition that can fell even the strongest, bravest men and women without warning. I’ve been in countless firefights and countless more fist fights with worse-than-lousy chances.
And I’ve worked variously as a fireman and boxer. I was a Royal Marine Commando with tours in Northern Ireland. It’s what happened to me and it’s a vicious circle that can prove impossible to escape on your own. The icing on the cake is that these issues can then, in turn, lead to relationship problems and financial difficulties from loss of work. I have seen others turn to alcohol, drugs, and sometimes violence, to drown the screams, smells, and ongoing flashbacks. And nothing destroys the mind more than the sight of women, children and innocent civilians lying dead or dying at one’s feet. Nothing focuses the mind more than the sight and sound of a guerrilla army and its arsenal of fully-automatic weapons. It’s dangerous, it’s far from well paid, and it’s stressful. But for the most part, my job is nothing of the sort. You might be forgiven for thinking that a life on the frontline is exciting, even glamorous. As a hostile environment consultant, I’ve spent countless Christmas Days in battlezones, often behind enemy lines, and almost always with one or more VIPs to protect. Because this will be one of the first years that I’ll be at home and not in a warzone.
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