Ethan H.
Photography by Mina Derebail
Dear Reader,
Ethan’s letter describes his personal journey with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after witnessing gun violence. Ethan explores both the graphic incident and his resulting struggles in his letter. We advise those who may be triggered by these topics to exercise caution when reading his letter. If you are struggling please reach out to one of the resources listed on our Resources Page.
Sincerely, The Georgetown University IfYoureReadingThis Team.
If you are reading this, take your time.
It was November 5th, 2022, around 10:30 am. I had a date that night with a girl I had my eyes on for months. I wanted to get flowers, my car detailed, and my suits dry-cleaned to make a good first impression. First things first, I was having an issue with my debit card, and needed to get that fixed before I could buy anything. I got to the bank, pulled over to some street parking, put on my e-brake, took off my seat belt, and looked up. What I saw was horrifying.
There was a man walking towards my car with a bullet hole in his head. He had a flap of flesh hanging over his eye, and tons of blood rushing down his face. A part of me wanted to get out and help the man, but then I realized, I had no clue if he had a gun, or how far away his attempted murderer was either. I decided to stay in my car as the man approached me. Then I realized that I was sitting in my soft-top Jeep Wrangler. If this man approaching me had a gun, and for some reason I enticed him, my car wouldn’t be sufficient to protect me. The man ended up walking right past my car. He was so close I could have touched him if my passenger side door wasn’t in the way.
It was the summer of 2023. I was still dealing with the immense post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from witnessing a violent crime a few months prior. Things only got worse when my dad nearly passed away due to liver failure, my girlfriend at the time dumped and cheated on me, and the extreme social isolation I felt being a new transfer student. I also noticed that I was much quicker to anger than I normally was, which only made the social isolation worse. Every small task became a mountain I needed to climb. I feared going to the grocery store out of immense fear of being killed by a stranger. When I was at work I couldn’t sit at my desk for more than 10 minutes before feeling that I needed to move to feel safe. I couldn’t study because my thoughts were always so racing. When I wasn’t overstimulated from PTSD I became so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed, not even to make food some days. I felt unlovable, betrayed, scared, hopeless, confused, anxious, crazy, depressed, angry, full of hatred, and as if I had fallen into a bottomless pit that I would never get out of.
I knew I had to take time off school to get help. I withdrew from my summer classes and took a gap semester the subsequent fall. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. Once upon a time, I didn’t know if I would see tomorrow, let alone feel “normal” ever again. Yet, here I am, feeling better than I have in years. All because I asked for help and took the time necessary to heal. If you are reading this, and you are at your lowest of lows, if you don’t know how you’ll get out of bed tomorrow, or make yourself dinner today, don’t be afraid to take time off and get help.
You got this, be patient, keep going,
Ethan H., Georgetown University
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