jnaveen1980
ODI Captain
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2016
- Runs
- 45,688
http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/cricket/england-ashes-hero-steve-harmison-10629666
teve Harmison was one of cricket’s most feared bowlers, but the truth is that he had spent his career fighting mental illness.
In the first part of his searingly honest autobiography Speed Demons, to be serialised in the Daily Mirror, the England star reveals how as he reached the pinnacle of the world game he even contemplated suicide...
As I get in my car, that’s when it really hits me. I don’t want to go. I really don’t want to go to South Africa.
Behind the front door are my wife Hayley and our *toddler Abbie. I have just said goodbye to them. I did the same with our five-year-old Emily before she went to school.
I am sobbing my eyes out. For four days, I’ve been ill just thinking about this moment. The pains in my stomach are so bad I’ve had to lie on the floor, the lump in my throat so large I can hardly breathe.
At night, I lie there and stare into the dark. I am alone with my thoughts, and for me that’s a dangerous place to be.
Now, alone in my car, those thoughts are with me again. There are lots of roundabouts on the short drive to Newcastle airport. What if I pull out on somebody at one of them? If I do it right, I’ll buy myself another few days at home.
Here I am, the top-ranked bowler on the planet. If people could see me now...
At the airport, I meet my Durham and England colleague Paul Collingwood. We fly to Heathrow join the rest of the tour party. I don’t know if anyone can see I’m distressed. I’ve got quite good at hiding it over the years.
As the Johannesburg flight leaves the ground, I try not to cry, but I can’t help it. I’m really struggling.
My first trip with England, eight years earlier, was an under-19 tour of Pakistan. At the time, I didn’t feel it was going to be an issue – I had no idea where Pakistan was.
But pretty much from the minute we landed, I wanted to come home. I felt panicky and unsettled. Merely to call it homesickness doesn’t come near to how desperate I felt.
Luckily, at the pre-tour camp at Lilleshall, I had found a new drinking partner, a young lad from *Lancashire called *Andrew Flintoff, who was the captain.
The night before we left for Pakistan we went to Brighton from our hotel at Gatwick and got bladdered. We were still drunk when we got on the plane but, looking back, maybe I was trying to mask a bit of trepidation.
After a week on tour, I was lying in bed, sleep again *deserting me, until I went to Fred’s room and woke him. “I want to go home,” I told him, and it all came pouring out.
He asked me to give it a week and if I still couldn’t hack it, he would get me on the first plane home.
When the week was up, I told Fred nothing had changed. By now we had moved on to the Biscuit *Factory in Sahiwal – it was *horrendous, rats everywhere, giant insects, lizards.
There would be five of us in a double bed, wearing batting helmets for protection. Fred made good on his promise and I was coming home – but I was scarred for life.
Fast forward to the great summer of 2004, when I was No.1 in the rankings for Test bowlers. It was the same story – only worse. I was in no *position to celebrate. I was in no state to do anything.
England won all seven Tests but as that summer went on I could feel the brightness growing darker. The horrible truth was those same feelings which had consumed me on trips abroad were overpowering me again, and this time it had nothing to do with being away from home.
The demons had not *bothered to travel. They had come to get me at home, in the middle of a very successful English summer.
That’s the thing with depression: It doesn’t care if you’re a millionaire, a successful doctor, a nurse, postman, airline pilot... and it doesn’t care if you’re the number one bowler in the world.
I spoke to England team doctor Peter Gregory and saw a *psychologist. I was asked, “Have you ever considered harming yourself?”
That frightened the hell out of me.
The honest answer was “Maybe”. I can’t say there haven’t been some dark times where I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t here.
It was clear I was clinically depressed and medication would be the way forward. I’ve been on it ever since.
It’s strange to think the Oval Test was my best of the summer. Maybe the cricket offered some respite.
But when I was put on anti-depressants in 2004, I had never felt worse. What was in that car, setting off to tour South *Africa, was a broken shell. When I say I was thinking of crashing the car on the way to the airport, I am serious.
Peter Gregory and our physio, Kirk Russell, really came to the fore and I can’t thank them enough.
What saved me in the end was that, deep down, I wanted to play cricket. I couldn’t give this game up. I took only nine wickets at an average of 72 in that series, but to get through it was one of my greatest achievements.
teve Harmison was one of cricket’s most feared bowlers, but the truth is that he had spent his career fighting mental illness.
In the first part of his searingly honest autobiography Speed Demons, to be serialised in the Daily Mirror, the England star reveals how as he reached the pinnacle of the world game he even contemplated suicide...
As I get in my car, that’s when it really hits me. I don’t want to go. I really don’t want to go to South Africa.
Behind the front door are my wife Hayley and our *toddler Abbie. I have just said goodbye to them. I did the same with our five-year-old Emily before she went to school.
I am sobbing my eyes out. For four days, I’ve been ill just thinking about this moment. The pains in my stomach are so bad I’ve had to lie on the floor, the lump in my throat so large I can hardly breathe.
At night, I lie there and stare into the dark. I am alone with my thoughts, and for me that’s a dangerous place to be.
Now, alone in my car, those thoughts are with me again. There are lots of roundabouts on the short drive to Newcastle airport. What if I pull out on somebody at one of them? If I do it right, I’ll buy myself another few days at home.
Here I am, the top-ranked bowler on the planet. If people could see me now...
At the airport, I meet my Durham and England colleague Paul Collingwood. We fly to Heathrow join the rest of the tour party. I don’t know if anyone can see I’m distressed. I’ve got quite good at hiding it over the years.
As the Johannesburg flight leaves the ground, I try not to cry, but I can’t help it. I’m really struggling.
My first trip with England, eight years earlier, was an under-19 tour of Pakistan. At the time, I didn’t feel it was going to be an issue – I had no idea where Pakistan was.
But pretty much from the minute we landed, I wanted to come home. I felt panicky and unsettled. Merely to call it homesickness doesn’t come near to how desperate I felt.
Luckily, at the pre-tour camp at Lilleshall, I had found a new drinking partner, a young lad from *Lancashire called *Andrew Flintoff, who was the captain.
The night before we left for Pakistan we went to Brighton from our hotel at Gatwick and got bladdered. We were still drunk when we got on the plane but, looking back, maybe I was trying to mask a bit of trepidation.
After a week on tour, I was lying in bed, sleep again *deserting me, until I went to Fred’s room and woke him. “I want to go home,” I told him, and it all came pouring out.
He asked me to give it a week and if I still couldn’t hack it, he would get me on the first plane home.
When the week was up, I told Fred nothing had changed. By now we had moved on to the Biscuit *Factory in Sahiwal – it was *horrendous, rats everywhere, giant insects, lizards.
There would be five of us in a double bed, wearing batting helmets for protection. Fred made good on his promise and I was coming home – but I was scarred for life.
Fast forward to the great summer of 2004, when I was No.1 in the rankings for Test bowlers. It was the same story – only worse. I was in no *position to celebrate. I was in no state to do anything.
England won all seven Tests but as that summer went on I could feel the brightness growing darker. The horrible truth was those same feelings which had consumed me on trips abroad were overpowering me again, and this time it had nothing to do with being away from home.
The demons had not *bothered to travel. They had come to get me at home, in the middle of a very successful English summer.
That’s the thing with depression: It doesn’t care if you’re a millionaire, a successful doctor, a nurse, postman, airline pilot... and it doesn’t care if you’re the number one bowler in the world.
I spoke to England team doctor Peter Gregory and saw a *psychologist. I was asked, “Have you ever considered harming yourself?”
That frightened the hell out of me.
The honest answer was “Maybe”. I can’t say there haven’t been some dark times where I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t here.
It was clear I was clinically depressed and medication would be the way forward. I’ve been on it ever since.
It’s strange to think the Oval Test was my best of the summer. Maybe the cricket offered some respite.
But when I was put on anti-depressants in 2004, I had never felt worse. What was in that car, setting off to tour South *Africa, was a broken shell. When I say I was thinking of crashing the car on the way to the airport, I am serious.
Peter Gregory and our physio, Kirk Russell, really came to the fore and I can’t thank them enough.
What saved me in the end was that, deep down, I wanted to play cricket. I couldn’t give this game up. I took only nine wickets at an average of 72 in that series, but to get through it was one of my greatest achievements.
