‘I think I’ve been stabbed.’

I didn’t think I’d utter those words, but in 2020, walking back to my nan’s house after her funeral, I was headed towards an underpass when three strangers appeared out of nowhere and attacked me.

There was a blow to the back of my head, then another to my back causing me to stumble forwards. 

Luckily, I had enough of my wits about me to grab one of my attackers by the arm and shout: ‘What are you doing?’ but as quick as the assault started it was over. The three men ran away.

I started walking away again, dazed, dizzy and confused at what had just happened, assuming I’d been punched. And then I noticed my shirt.

What had been pristine white just moments before, was now soaked with blood. 

From about the age of seven, my nan was my world.

Mum had left when I was a baby and dad was in and out of prison, so it wasn’t long before she stepped in to give my brother and I stability.

Nan tended to our every need: buying our school uniforms, cooking our meals and washing our clothes. She was a strong, resilient woman and the beating heart of our family.

So when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in her eighties, it was hard to watch her slowly decline.

By that point I had a wife and two kids of my own and long moved out of my hometown, but I still made sure to check in often.

Sadly, in early 2020 I learned that she had cancer and wasn’t having treatment. She said she was ready to go.

Of course that didn’t make it any easier for us as a family when, in late February, she did indeed pass away – and it crushed me that I never quite made it to her bedside to say goodbye in time. 

But I never could have imagined what would happen on the day of her funeral.

On March 27, 2020, five weeks after she passed and quite early into the first lockdown, 16 of us socially distanced in a church to say goodbye. 

After, as we couldn’t have a traditional wake, a few of us (in our bubble) decided to go to Nan’s and raise a glass in her garden. I got dropped off at the shops, which were walking distance away, to pick up beer.

A simple, routine, task.

Instead, as I walked home, those three men turned what was already a bad day into the worst of my life.

After they’d scattered, a woman pulled up beside me in her car to ask if I was okay. That’s the last thing I really remember. 

At one poin,t I was surrounded by paramedics and police. I could hear screaming, and I vaguely remember telling someone to tell my kids I love them. 

In hospital, I can recall a doctor saying I had internal bleeding and that I was being rushed to surgery. As they wheeled me to an operating room, I caught a glimpse of my wife standing outside of A&E. I can only imagine how scared she must have been.

My first memory after waking up is seeing the scar down my stomach. I burst into tears.

Back then, I was pretty naive about knife crime. I thought it happened to certain people and only in certain parts of the country. It didn’t feel real or even possible that this could happen to me.

But as I now know, knife crime can happen to anyone, anywhere, at any time.

After calming me down, the doctors and police explained I’d been stabbed eight times: four times in the back (one of which had ruptured my spleen), twice in the head, once under my chest, and once under my arm.

I don’t think I properly processed any of this. Even after I went home, the numbness remained, but so did terror.

It didn’t matter that I was now miles away from where the attack had happened – I was terrified to leave the house, even someone knocking on the door unexpectedly was enough to make me panic.

Unsurprisingly, my mental health declined as a result, and at my lowest, I didn’t see the point in carrying on. I’ve only managed to learn how to navigate these feelings because of my wife and kids.

Even though it’s been five years since the attack, and at my wife’s urging, I underwent therapy, I still struggle with big crowds and aggressive behaviour because I’m always afraid it could happen again.

And sadly, that is a very real risk as, in the year ending March 2024, there were around 50,500 offences involving a sharp instrument in England and Wales. That’s an increase of 4.4% from the previous year. 

Even more worryingly, according to the Office for National Statistics (ONS), 83% of homicide victims aged between 13 and 19 were killed with a sharp instrument in that same time period. 

What more is it going to take for the Government to take this seriously? 

Yes, the men who attacked me were all arrested, charged, and sentenced. However, they only received around seven or eight years’ jail time – it isn’t enough considering the scars and trauma I have been left with for a lifetime.

I just want to live a normal life. I don’t want to have to worry about my kids being stabbed or for them to have to worry about me being hurt again.

We must put an end to knife crime. Because if it can happen to me, it really can happen to anyone.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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