Here we go again. A number of months after one "setback", another "setback" comes along and we're back at square one. I don't know how many "setbacks" one can have before it becomes something else, but I must be close to the maximum number. If I were a cat, I'd be nearing mortality. If I was a human, I'd be able to move on. Throughout this month, with the usual major downs and moments of complete alienation that are related to my incidents, I have reached a sobering conclusion. I don't think I can bounce back from this one.
I once imagined I'd have a successful life. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that I think my definition of "successful" differs from most other people's. I want to be someone. I don't want to be a nobody. You can summon up all the crap you like about "everyone being somebody", but I've never believed that to be true. People drift through their life without anything happening to them. The same routine day after day, month after month. No change. Nothing. I can't let that happen to me. The idea of living a grey life, with grey surroundings, grey food and no activity fills me with absolute dread. The idea of doing the opposite - any idea - fills me with anxiety and unnerving uncertainty.
"Sure", people say. "But you can change that. Go out and explore the world". I tried that. My own head beat me.
Other people say, "You can be whoever you want to be". Wise words I'm sure, but what if you haven't got a clue where to start?
"Meeting new people can lead to wondrous new ventures". Meeting new people makes me so anxious these days that we reach the same conclusions as everything else I try.
Everything I can do to fix this leads to a negative outcome. Everything I have tried to fix this leads to insult, silence or a desperate attempt from people who know about me to comfort my thoughts. My own brain is killing me. And as far as I can see, I can't change that. I honestly gave up trying to fix it about a year ago. I gave up trying to fix what was going on and instead chose to self-destruct. Live manically now and deal with the consequences in your own unique way later. Admittedly, "exploring the world" didn't cross my mind as a viable option back then. When Australia cropped up out of nowhere, I genuinely thought that was my escape route. I honestly thought I could start again on the other side of the world. I naively thought that the only thing I live for these days, cricket, was indeed enough to simply forget to be me. Yet, I was beaten again. After that, I went back to self-destruct mode. I went back to Plan Z.
Of course, we've been here before. Oh, we most certainly have. Running away from home when I was still at school, completely folding in important exams due to this, that and everything going on inside my own head. Quitting my first job out of pure and immeasurable fear of my own boss' reaction to a mistake. The complete and utter depression of the 'night-shift phase', which allowed for a young man to trek the UK on rare time off and hospitalise himself with alcohol misuse, before dealing with the inevitable depression that follows excessive use of drink as a deterrant to thoughts of failure. Followed by the complete nerve destroying experience of learning all about financial services. I kept myself going through that particular "new job stage" telling myself that, once I had worked it out, I would have found myself settled down, and in a respectable job. Except, ultimately, it never worked out that way. After each example, apart from the last, I had something to blame. An illness so deep in its ruthlessness that most people sympathised. I fought back each time, telling myself that it will subside, at least for long enough to be able to get back on my feet and battle on. The first couple of times, I was again naive enough to think these events were merely a blip in life's tapestry and all will get better. For a couple of years, I came to accept that I go through a cycle, usually seasonal. But when it got to New Years Eve 2012, I gave up completely.
It feels like everything I have ever experienced goes in a downward spiral. I'm now finding myself in the same spiral for life itself. I'm yo-yo'ing from stages of defiance to some of the worst thoughts that have ever gone through my head. And I can tell you, they're pretty bad. I gave up everything on New Years Eve 2012 except for mere existence. It was at that point I turned to self-destruct. Live the high life in any means possible because the consequences won't matter. I came to that conclusion based on a mindset of fear and the complete lack of a thirst for life.
I had a good enough winter period, as good as can be expected anyway, except I can't help but wonder that it was because of my self-destruction "plan". We're just under a month from the cricket pre-season tour to Cardiff and happiness is just around the corner. At least it should be. Instead, I find myself at the beginning of another rebuilding session, genuinely questioning if I have the stomach or the fortitude to start all over again. There is a major difference this time round than other times. Other times, it was my own head doing the damage. This time, its my own fault. I cannot possibly sit here and claim that my obvious troubles led me to do what I did. I made a major, major mistake, and its led me to lose a lot. It has the potential to lose me everything. And I have nothing or no one to blame it on, and I'm terrified. What's more, is I knew this was coming.
For its true. I've been racking my brains for this whole month, trying to find reasons as to why this is happening to me. Not just the events of the past month, but all of it. Its obvious I have problems with anxiety and depression, but what caused them? Why me? And this is the point where I go back to my first paragraph. I simply cannot live this mundane life that is promised. The obvious conclusion to come to if one doesn't know what to do with their life is to merely trudge along, no? How can one enjoy his hobbies, when they are largely non-existent? How can one enjoy their career if they can't find an enjoyable path hence hate going to to work? How can one enjoy another's love if they cannot even love themselves or those closest to them? Its the last question that scares me the most. The realisation that the vast majority of my friendships are not real friendships. I appreciate friends, and I care for them, but love? I appreciate my family, and I am lucky to have them but do I love them? I don't know if I do. I don't think I know how to love.
I don't think I belong in this world. Its a competitive world, full of hard-working, confident, aspirational people and I can't compete. My mum would say that this is fine, and not everyone can be ambitious and full of life, but its not fine. Not one bit. I cannot see the positives of going to work every day, in a job that doesn't excite you, (not knowing what to do will lead to any job doing this), coming home to nothing, (because all the money you have is spent on being independent), and going round and round in circles. That is not okay. Changing that pattern is impossible because I don't know when I'm next going to turn into my monster. I could literally sit here for hours and complain about everything. Literally, everything. Every little thing about this world irritates me to kingdom come, but I cannot complain because, especially now, I would merely be another hypocrite.
"Why do people talk to me sometimes as if I'm a patient on the edge?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why aren't I working in the city, or in the midst of building a career?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why am I sitting in a flat I can't afford eating a ready meal out of a box?!" .... Oh yeah....
This huge, ever-increasing ball of knots sits in my brain like a tumour. Becoming increasingly more difficult to untangle or digest. I just don't know where to turn to any more. Because of all of this, the oh so basic things in life become pointless. Before we get to the point where there is no point even getting out of bed. Right now, I am at that point. I'm even contemplating a summer without cricket, or socialising or friendship because I fear I will grind to a halt. I'm scared the very few things I have left will get sucked into the black hole, because I made one damned mistake. That is my ultimate fear.
I don't know what I want. I don't know where I want to be. I don't know where I am. And the worst one of all... I don't even know who I am anymore. I am completely lost.
Ultimately, and soberingly, I am no one. And there is nothing I despise more than that.
Wednesday 26 March 2014
Sunday 16 March 2014
Confessions of an Amateur Cricketer
First it was football, going up through the ranks. School 1st team, followed by captaining an all-winning youth side followed by Luton Town School of Excellence before I lost interest. Then it was tennis. Member of one of the nations top clubs, Under 17 County doubles champion at the age of 15, going places. Before I lost interest. Golf intertwined with my tennis commitments, being a member of the local club and becoming Junior Club Champion, coming from 6 shots behind on the final day to poach it by a single putt. Before I lost interest.
Cricket is different though. I started playing when I was 16, and the anticipation for each new season grows and grows each year. Interest is not waning, but increasing. This is the story of my brief time out in the middle...
I was still at school when I played in my first team. Aspen CC, created by a bunch of friends who used to play on the playing fields of Aspen Avenue in Bedford. A lot of them were established players with Bedford CC, which would be the club that would hold a place in my heart in the future. For the time being though, I was a complete novice. Sure, I could hold a bat correctly, but I wasn't much cop with it. We played in a midweek league, 16 overs per side, akin to the shorter formats you might see on the TV nowadays. The midweek game was, and still is, a game for the wily bowler and the boom boom big-hitters, and bearing in mind I am neither even now, I most certainly wasn't back then. When I got my opportunity to play, I was stuck down the order, batting at 8 or 9 and fielded in fairly uninspiring fielding positions. Even so, with the knowledge that I was playing on a Wednesday evening, I would sit at school and daydream about what the evening held. Praying that it wasn't going to rain. I distinctly remember sitting in an IT class one day, and it started raining. Proper, match-ending rain, and I felt devastated. This was the start of an obsession.
When I did get to play though, it was magnificent. My memories of my first season was reaching double figures for the first time, and taking an outrageous one-handed catch at square leg from behind the umpire. From then on, I had discovered an unflappable talent for solid catching, and had acquired a nickname. From then on, I wasn't Tom. But Mitten. Welcome to the life of Mitten! These days, the majority of my friends, especially in the sporting world, have made sure that stuck. Just like the majority of my catches.
It was a couple of years later, after slowly getting more and more opportunities in the midweek game, that I was introduced to players at Bedford Cricket Club. Their 1st team were flying high in the midst of a purple patch and doing well in the Northamptonshire Premier Division, and the 2nd team was a team made up of everyone else. I occasionally got the chance to appear for the 2nd XI when they were short of players, but once again, my unproven ability left me down the batting order and not doing much at all. I think all players go through this stage of being on the fringes when they first start playing the game. These days, we'd be labelled as the 'TFC'. The 'Thanks For Coming'. Making up the numbers. Its a case of sticking it out and waiting for your chance.
One day, playing for the 2nd XI on a horrendous pitch in Roxton, I got that chance. I was asked to bat at number 3, and I could feel my nerves jangling. They were even worse when our opening batsman got out in the 2nd over, so there I was, walking to the crease with my hideously over-oiled Kookaburra Ice bat in hand. I took my guard, (although I still had not worked out what the point of doing it was - I was just copying other people), and faced up to their opening bowler. I was nervous. So nervous, that I ended up poking at the first ball I faced and skied the easiest of return catches to the bowler, and a golden duck to my name. Our team got cleaned up for just 36, and we were home by 3pm. My first foray into the dizzy heights of the batting order had ended in hideous failure.
But from then on, I got more and more opportunities, just like the Aspen days. Filling in for absentees, batting wherever I needed to fill in the space. Sometimes it was 9, sometimes it was 4. I can't recall ever scoring a decent amount of runs, although I do remember being happy with reaching my first quarter-century, with a solid 26 over at Mowsbury Park. I was merely happy to be out there though, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sport and having a laugh, attempting to take any opportunity that came my way. Another of which came at The Bury, our home ground, and an inquiry for me to open the batting. Why not. What's more, I made a new high score of 34 before ideas of a maiden half-century got to my head and I missed a straight ball that clattered into my stumps.
Throughout this initial period of finding my feet at Bedford Cricket Club, I still had this amazing ability to catch any ball that came towards me. Flying one-handers, insane reflexes, and quick thinking were all my forte. I had gathered a bit of a reputation, so I began to be put in the slip cordon, snaffling any edges that came flying in my direction. A reputation that was cemented in an extraordinary game at Bedford Athletic stadium. We had been bowled out for 110, and the opposition were coasting at 81-0 before collapsing. They needed another 10 or so runs with just two wickets remaining when a batsman skied one high into the air. It was left to me to sprint back, looking at the ball drop over my shoulder, and hold on to a very tough chance. Two balls later, the number 11 batsman had edged another one, straight at me at 2nd slip, and we had won from an impossible situation. We all went mental. That was a good day.
It wasn't until the season after however where I started to reach personal milestones with the bat. I reached my first half-century against Aryans at Mowsbury Park, before playing all around the next ball I faced to depart for 50. I was batting with Walter Schlehmeyer at the time, a brilliant and comical South African man, who congratulated me profusely when he could see I was absolutely delighted with a 50. He then had a go at me when I got out next ball! That was my only score of note for the whole of that season, which was my first full season playing for Bedford CC. At the end of that season though, things at Bedford CC took a turn for the worse, with a mass exodus of players all unhappy with the management. Pretty much the whole of the 1st team went elsewhere, leaving us with just one team and not many members. We had to drop down a few divisions to be able to compete, but we set about working our way back up. For the next season, I was a solid squad member who occasionally contributed to the batting score but had also started to bowl. I bowled dibbly-dobbly medium pacers, that were hard to get away, before batsmen lost patience and gifted me wickets. In only my second ever spell as a bowler, I returned figures of 10-4-21-5 (5 wickets for 21 runs in 10 overs), which remain my best ever figures, and probably will do forever. From then on, I had found myself a regular fixture at the top of the order and opening the batting with our Saturday captain and best batsman by far, Andy Collins. We got on well, and we forged a good enough opening partnership with my defensive style complimented by Andy's pure class. We managed to set good platforms for our team mates to build on. We started to set good scores and winning games as we won our Saturday division and narrowly missed out on promotion in our first Sunday season as this new setup.
After Andy moved on to further his promising career, and Sunday captain, competitive South African, Andrew Montieth had decided to step back, I was left with a choice. Captain the sides they had left or follow Andy out. I had started to build confidence in the past year, contributing with a couple of 50s and the usual moment of fielding madness. I remember one specific game, at home vs Ampthill, where I was completely knackered from the exertions of working a night shift the night before. I scored 64 opening the batting, and then stood at 3rd slip, nearly falling asleep, before snaffling two outrageous one-handed catches. Those were strange times. I decided to stay on and captain both sides, two roles I still hold to this day. From then on, I felt an added responsibility to play well and came on leaps and bounds, securing my maiden century in a home game against Cople. Chasing just 164, I set about uncharacteristically bludgeoning the bowling attack. After I had pinged my hamstring, I ended up sitting in my crease and trying to hit everything out of the park. After pulling another short ball to the boundary, my 21st boundary, I heard a cheer and massive applause from the boundaries edge, and held my bat aloft to celebrate my first 100. I now have 4 centuries to my name, with that score of 102 not out, complimented by 119, 124 not out and 153 not out.
With Season 2014 just around the corner, and more immediate personal troubles on the horizon, (apologies for my lack of posts... Long story...), I am longing for it to begin. I miss the long weekends of sun, jokes, and the application of batting. The responsibility of bowling changes and field settings and personal milestones. The mixture of competition and pure enjoyment. This season, we have a pre-season tour to Cardiff over the Easter weekend which involves two one-day games and a Twenty20 surrounded by usual tour antics. I am quite literally counting down the days.
The season proper begins on Saturday 4th May. I can't really put into words how excited I am.
....
In 124 innings in my career, I've hit 2474 runs at an average of 24.25. They include all of my innings from back in the day when I could barely get a run! Last season, I scored 915 runs at an average of 30.88, but at the end of May, I had an average of 1.5. So not too bad! I will be aiming to better that this season, and help Bedford get promoted! Bring it on!
Cricket is different though. I started playing when I was 16, and the anticipation for each new season grows and grows each year. Interest is not waning, but increasing. This is the story of my brief time out in the middle...
I was still at school when I played in my first team. Aspen CC, created by a bunch of friends who used to play on the playing fields of Aspen Avenue in Bedford. A lot of them were established players with Bedford CC, which would be the club that would hold a place in my heart in the future. For the time being though, I was a complete novice. Sure, I could hold a bat correctly, but I wasn't much cop with it. We played in a midweek league, 16 overs per side, akin to the shorter formats you might see on the TV nowadays. The midweek game was, and still is, a game for the wily bowler and the boom boom big-hitters, and bearing in mind I am neither even now, I most certainly wasn't back then. When I got my opportunity to play, I was stuck down the order, batting at 8 or 9 and fielded in fairly uninspiring fielding positions. Even so, with the knowledge that I was playing on a Wednesday evening, I would sit at school and daydream about what the evening held. Praying that it wasn't going to rain. I distinctly remember sitting in an IT class one day, and it started raining. Proper, match-ending rain, and I felt devastated. This was the start of an obsession.
When I did get to play though, it was magnificent. My memories of my first season was reaching double figures for the first time, and taking an outrageous one-handed catch at square leg from behind the umpire. From then on, I had discovered an unflappable talent for solid catching, and had acquired a nickname. From then on, I wasn't Tom. But Mitten. Welcome to the life of Mitten! These days, the majority of my friends, especially in the sporting world, have made sure that stuck. Just like the majority of my catches.
It was a couple of years later, after slowly getting more and more opportunities in the midweek game, that I was introduced to players at Bedford Cricket Club. Their 1st team were flying high in the midst of a purple patch and doing well in the Northamptonshire Premier Division, and the 2nd team was a team made up of everyone else. I occasionally got the chance to appear for the 2nd XI when they were short of players, but once again, my unproven ability left me down the batting order and not doing much at all. I think all players go through this stage of being on the fringes when they first start playing the game. These days, we'd be labelled as the 'TFC'. The 'Thanks For Coming'. Making up the numbers. Its a case of sticking it out and waiting for your chance.
One day, playing for the 2nd XI on a horrendous pitch in Roxton, I got that chance. I was asked to bat at number 3, and I could feel my nerves jangling. They were even worse when our opening batsman got out in the 2nd over, so there I was, walking to the crease with my hideously over-oiled Kookaburra Ice bat in hand. I took my guard, (although I still had not worked out what the point of doing it was - I was just copying other people), and faced up to their opening bowler. I was nervous. So nervous, that I ended up poking at the first ball I faced and skied the easiest of return catches to the bowler, and a golden duck to my name. Our team got cleaned up for just 36, and we were home by 3pm. My first foray into the dizzy heights of the batting order had ended in hideous failure.
But from then on, I got more and more opportunities, just like the Aspen days. Filling in for absentees, batting wherever I needed to fill in the space. Sometimes it was 9, sometimes it was 4. I can't recall ever scoring a decent amount of runs, although I do remember being happy with reaching my first quarter-century, with a solid 26 over at Mowsbury Park. I was merely happy to be out there though, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sport and having a laugh, attempting to take any opportunity that came my way. Another of which came at The Bury, our home ground, and an inquiry for me to open the batting. Why not. What's more, I made a new high score of 34 before ideas of a maiden half-century got to my head and I missed a straight ball that clattered into my stumps.
Throughout this initial period of finding my feet at Bedford Cricket Club, I still had this amazing ability to catch any ball that came towards me. Flying one-handers, insane reflexes, and quick thinking were all my forte. I had gathered a bit of a reputation, so I began to be put in the slip cordon, snaffling any edges that came flying in my direction. A reputation that was cemented in an extraordinary game at Bedford Athletic stadium. We had been bowled out for 110, and the opposition were coasting at 81-0 before collapsing. They needed another 10 or so runs with just two wickets remaining when a batsman skied one high into the air. It was left to me to sprint back, looking at the ball drop over my shoulder, and hold on to a very tough chance. Two balls later, the number 11 batsman had edged another one, straight at me at 2nd slip, and we had won from an impossible situation. We all went mental. That was a good day.
It wasn't until the season after however where I started to reach personal milestones with the bat. I reached my first half-century against Aryans at Mowsbury Park, before playing all around the next ball I faced to depart for 50. I was batting with Walter Schlehmeyer at the time, a brilliant and comical South African man, who congratulated me profusely when he could see I was absolutely delighted with a 50. He then had a go at me when I got out next ball! That was my only score of note for the whole of that season, which was my first full season playing for Bedford CC. At the end of that season though, things at Bedford CC took a turn for the worse, with a mass exodus of players all unhappy with the management. Pretty much the whole of the 1st team went elsewhere, leaving us with just one team and not many members. We had to drop down a few divisions to be able to compete, but we set about working our way back up. For the next season, I was a solid squad member who occasionally contributed to the batting score but had also started to bowl. I bowled dibbly-dobbly medium pacers, that were hard to get away, before batsmen lost patience and gifted me wickets. In only my second ever spell as a bowler, I returned figures of 10-4-21-5 (5 wickets for 21 runs in 10 overs), which remain my best ever figures, and probably will do forever. From then on, I had found myself a regular fixture at the top of the order and opening the batting with our Saturday captain and best batsman by far, Andy Collins. We got on well, and we forged a good enough opening partnership with my defensive style complimented by Andy's pure class. We managed to set good platforms for our team mates to build on. We started to set good scores and winning games as we won our Saturday division and narrowly missed out on promotion in our first Sunday season as this new setup.
After Andy moved on to further his promising career, and Sunday captain, competitive South African, Andrew Montieth had decided to step back, I was left with a choice. Captain the sides they had left or follow Andy out. I had started to build confidence in the past year, contributing with a couple of 50s and the usual moment of fielding madness. I remember one specific game, at home vs Ampthill, where I was completely knackered from the exertions of working a night shift the night before. I scored 64 opening the batting, and then stood at 3rd slip, nearly falling asleep, before snaffling two outrageous one-handed catches. Those were strange times. I decided to stay on and captain both sides, two roles I still hold to this day. From then on, I felt an added responsibility to play well and came on leaps and bounds, securing my maiden century in a home game against Cople. Chasing just 164, I set about uncharacteristically bludgeoning the bowling attack. After I had pinged my hamstring, I ended up sitting in my crease and trying to hit everything out of the park. After pulling another short ball to the boundary, my 21st boundary, I heard a cheer and massive applause from the boundaries edge, and held my bat aloft to celebrate my first 100. I now have 4 centuries to my name, with that score of 102 not out, complimented by 119, 124 not out and 153 not out.
With Season 2014 just around the corner, and more immediate personal troubles on the horizon, (apologies for my lack of posts... Long story...), I am longing for it to begin. I miss the long weekends of sun, jokes, and the application of batting. The responsibility of bowling changes and field settings and personal milestones. The mixture of competition and pure enjoyment. This season, we have a pre-season tour to Cardiff over the Easter weekend which involves two one-day games and a Twenty20 surrounded by usual tour antics. I am quite literally counting down the days.
The season proper begins on Saturday 4th May. I can't really put into words how excited I am.
....
In 124 innings in my career, I've hit 2474 runs at an average of 24.25. They include all of my innings from back in the day when I could barely get a run! Last season, I scored 915 runs at an average of 30.88, but at the end of May, I had an average of 1.5. So not too bad! I will be aiming to better that this season, and help Bedford get promoted! Bring it on!
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