Shan Thomas tragically lost her fiancé Dylan to PTSD and explains how he inspired her to campaign for better support for veterans

SHAN Thomas, 47, is a pub landlady and lives in Pontardawe, West Glamorgan.

Here she tells us about how her fiancé Dylan tragically lost his battle with PTSD.

Waking up with a start, I watched bewildered as my boyfriend Dylan jumped screaming out of bed. Dripping in sweat, his arms flailing, he shouted that someone was coming to get him. I called his name and it took several minutes before he came to and crawled back into bed, trembling. As I lay next to him, I was too shocked to sleep.

Dylan and I met through mutual Facebook friends in January 2014. A few years before, Dylan, then 36, had left the army after serving for 18 years, and was working in Iraq for a private security firm.

For nine months we had a long-distance relationship. He’d fly home when he could to see me and his twins Malachai and Faith, 10, from a previous relationship, and in-between we Skyped daily. Despite his tough exterior, Dylan was really caring and always made me laugh.

I realised something was wrong the first time he came to stay at mine in May 2014. The morning after that terrible nightmare I tried to talk to him, but he refused, saying it would open a can of worms. I knew it must have something to do with the army, but didn’t want to push it. After that, he had a couple more episodes when he stayed over, but his nightmares were never up for discussion.

In September 2014, Dylan left his job, came back to the UK and moved in with me. On the outside he was the life and soul of every party, but I’d often find him staring into space, and when he finally heard me calling him he’d seem confused, like he didn’t know where he was.

As I grew more concerned about his behaviour, I tried to ask him about life in the army, but he would just shut the conversation down. So I did some research online and became convinced he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). He’d once told me that four of his army colleagues had killed themselves after struggling to cope with life after war, and I was terrified he’d do the same. I felt totally out of my depth.

One night in March 2015, we were watching a film in which someone took their life. I asked Dylan if he’d ever thought about it and he replied: ‘Every single day.’ That instant, I insisted he got professional help.

The next day Dylan saw his GP and was diagnosed with PTSD, prescribed antidepressants and put on a waiting list for therapy. Slowly he started opening up to me.

He described how he’d had to clear the bodies of women and children killed in an explosion. He told me he’d seen a child carrying a gun, who was then shot dead. And one day his friend was blown up just yards from him.

Years of macho army culture had left him ashamed that he was so haunted by what he’d experienced. But the medication helped, and although he was still waiting for therapy, I was hopeful he was on the road to recovery.

In June 2015, we went on a Mediterranean cruise and Dylan proposed. I was so excited, but within days of returning home, Dylan found out another army mate had taken his own life. Once more, he became low and I didn’t have a clue how to help.

On the night of July 3, 2015, Dylan left home in a terrible mood. Scared he was going to harm himself, I called the police and they started a search. In the early hours Dylan called, ranting about terrorists waiting at the pub to beat him up.

Then at 5.45am I received my last text from him: ‘Help me. I’m on the mountain.’ Less than an hour later, two joggers found his car on a mountain road. Dylan had poisoned himself with exhaust fumes.

As I tried to take in the news, a letter Dylan had sent the day before arrived in the post. ‘I will love you until the end of time but I just can’t deal with this any more,’ it said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I couldn’t stop sobbing.

It’s been so hard coming to terms with Dylan’s death, but I’ve got through it by campaigning for better psychological support for ex-soldiers. In September 2017, I met my partner, Christopher, 37, who has been my rock.

I’ll never know if Dylan could have been saved if he’d had access to therapy sooner. But what I do know is that he was broken from his time in the army and needed support. That’s why I’ll never give up trying to help others.

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