I survived a freak hockey accident — a cut to the jugular from a skate — during a game. I've dealt with PTSD for decades.

• Clint Malarchuk's throat was slashed during an NHL game where he was playing goalie.
• He was playing 10 days later but he's dealt with decades of trauma.
• Last week, Adam Johnson, a former NHL player, died in a similar incident.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Clint Malarchuk, a former NHL player and coach and an author of "The Crazy Game: How I Survived in the Crease and Beyond." It has been edited for length and clarity.

I can remember my March 22, 1989, NHL game vividly. When you face death, it's going to be ingrained in your memory, even more than 30 years later.

I was the goalie for the Buffalo Sabres. We were playing the St. Louis Blues when a player named Steve Tuttle crashed into me, skates-first. I can see the whole play: Steve racing toward me, the skate coming up, and then blood rhythmically squirting from my neck.

I immediately knew I was in major trouble. I told the equipment manager to call my mother and tell her I loved her. I turned to an athletic trainer and said, "Hold my hand; I'm dying." I was only 27.

A combat veteran helped save my life, and I was back to playing 10 days later

It wasn't until I was in the hospital, waking up after surgery, that I realized I was going to survive. There, I learned that a few things had helped save my life. The accident happened at the end of the ice nearest our locker room. If I had to travel across the rink, I would have bled out.

Our medical trainer was a Vietnam veteran, and he had seen these types of serious injuries on the battlefield. He was so calm, even in front of a stadium full of viewers, on live TV. He saved my life.

Tuttle's skate had sliced through my jugular and stopped 1 millimeter from my carotid artery, which delivers blood to the brain. I lost a lot of blood, but because of quick medical treatment, I'm alive.

On top of that, I returned to the ice 10 days later. I had been raised as a cowboy. When you fall off a horse, you get back on right away before your fear can get the better of you. The fans in Buffalo welcomed me like an absolute hero.

The next season, my mental health and my performance started to slip

Playing hockey again wasn't just my cowboy mentality but also a business decision. My contract was up for renewal, and I needed to prove myself. I performed well during the rest of the season, and the Sabres resigned me.

The next year is when I started to really struggle. I was having intense nightmares and flashbacks, so I wasn't sleeping at all. Panic attacks meant I was unable to leave the house. It was hell, but I didn't tell anyone.

I went to a Super Bowl party with my team that year. I had a few beers but didn't stay long — an hour at most. I got home and took painkillers for a broken thumb that I was playing with. The bottle said the pills would cause drowsiness if they were mixed with alcohol. I was so desperate for sleep that I took five of them and nodded off.

I woke up in the hospital. Doctors told me my heart had stopped. They asked whether I was trying to kill myself. I wasn't, but I told them everything. That's when I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder, but not post-traumatic stress disorder.

A similar injury to another player caused my mental health to spiral

Thanks to medication and excellent medical care, I stabilized my mental health and went on to have a successful coaching career in the NHL — though I never played at the same level I did before the accident.

Then, in February 2008, Richard Zedník, a Florida Panthers player, suffered an injury very similar to mine. The press started calling me, and I was once again reliving everything I hadn't processed about my accident.

It was all too much. I was so overwhelmed and no longer in touch with my mental-health providers. In October of that year, I attempted suicide. I survived, but the bullet is still in my head.

I was diagnosed with PTSD more than 20 years after my accident

Finally, after my suicide attempt, I was diagnosed with PTSD.

I've accepted that I almost died. I also know that I'm a tough son of a bitch.

Yet hearing about the death of Adam Johnson, who died last week at 29 in a very similar incident to mine, triggered my anxiety.

This time, I have the tools that I need to cope. My heart breaks not only for him and his loved ones — but also for the thousands of fans in that arena who witnessed the accident. I want them to know that trauma will live in their bodies. They need to process it and get help.

Thirty years ago, when I nearly died, there was no counseling offered to anyone. In 2008, when Zedník had his accident, the team was offered mental-health support, and I thought how much different my story could have been if I had that. That's why I share my story: I want others to seek help and know they're no less of a tough old cowboy if they do.