The Loss of the Safety Net

This week has been very difficult indeed. Eight days ago, as I've already mentioned in these pages, I took the last remaining quetiapine tablets I had with the intention of not renewing the prescription. After nine months of slowly reducing my sertraline intake followed by slowly reducing the quetiapine, I have now been medication free for eight days. For the first time in seven years.

I'm not a psychiatrist, or indeed a physician, but I can imagine what my body must be thinking after comfort eating on "happy pills" for seven years before it all got taken away. Even after nine months of slowly giving it subtle warnings that I won't be taking them, my body has reacted like a three year old who's favourite toy has been thrown in the bin.

In retaliation, it has offered nausea, headaches, stomach cramps and is acting like a three year old by refusing to go to sleep. These eight days have been beyond exhausting and despite my best efforts in telling myself it will eventually pass, I grow weary of how long these side effects are lasting. I feel a tad low because of it all, hence the increased activity in this blog, but I'm determined that I can fight past this and get back to normal. I can deal with headaches and what not, but the lack of sleep really is getting to me. I also feel like parts of my personality have changed, as if the quetiapine almost relaxed me to such a degree that nothing annoyed me. Now that I'm quetiapine-less, everything is annoying me. I'm having to make a conscious effort to not snap at people, and even then I have failed a couple of times.

Also, one of the side effects of taking anti-depressants in the first place is the absence of a libido. Now I'm not taking them, I feel like a horny sixteen  year old who wants to fuck everything with a heartbeat. I've not given into those temptations though, as Grindr looms large on my Samsung S6. The last thing I need at the moment is chlamydia.

But seriously, it's 01:30 at the moment and I feel exhausted but unable to switch off. I have two cricket matches in two days coming up and although it'll probably be fine when I get into it, the idea of waking up and going to these games is making me feel a bit sick. Our game tomorrow is an odd one, as our opposition includes players from our Sunday side and indeed our groundsman, so it's always a bit of a grudge match. There's always some sledging that goes on, (the art of mind games) which I know will all be a bit of harmless fun, but with my head in the mode it's in at the moment, I can't imagine I'll be enjoying it too much. The other game is a promotion clash, which will no doubt be high pressure, despite the lowly division we play in.

I just don't think I need it right now.

But I'll end up going anyway, and who knows, it may turn out alright. The loss of the safety net however is a loss that I never expected to be so severe. I gave up the sertraline entirely about six weeks ago and there were literally no side effects. I was expecting the same with the quetiapine but the polar opposite has happened.

I've also thought about my writing. My half-finished novel and the exciting second idea I have come up with, plus the accumulation of poems that I feel are becoming of better quality. I wish I had the energy and the motivation to be able to work towards my dream of becoming a published author, but I don't. So much for a dream. Yet I remind myself not to put too much pressure on these shoulders, that have had a lot of weight to carry recently, and hope things work out.

They always do, right?

What Happened in Australia?

I'm always rather open in this blog of mine but one topic I haven't touched on since it happened was the poisoned chalice of my trek to Australia...

If you look back into the archives here you'll see me agonising over a decision on whether or not to go to Australia on a six month cricket contract. In most people's worlds, it's a no brainer. Back in September 2013, at the meagre age of 22, I got an email out of the blue asking me to go to a Victorian suburb called Lysterfield, to play cricket and generally enjoy the trip of a lifetime. One month on from winning my own club's best 1st XI batsman award, I would be going to another country to start again. Not only that, but the flights were free and I had somewhere to stay for the entirety.

At a time when my life was drifting and I was struggling to work out a route, this opportunity just arose from nowhere. It was a dream come true.

I still had a decision to make though, as I knew it wasn't going to be easy. My brain was still fragile and travelling to the other side of the world on my own was never going to be plain sailing regardless of how amazing it sounded. However, after much persuasion, I went. 

Late September 2013, I travelled to Heathrow Airport at 5 in the morning to catch a flight to Abu Dhabi and then on to Melbourne. Even the flight was a new experience for me, but the excitement of what lay ahead got me through the gruelling 24 hour flight.

Eventually I landed. Going through Australian border control took a lifetime, but as I walked into the main lounge of the airport I noticed two guys holding a photo of me. I recognised them from their social media profiles.

I was here.

They asked me if I was nervous and I merely scoffed and said, "Of course not!" I was trying to put on a front, presuming they'd be hard hitting, banter throwing Australian lads.

In reality, I was bricking it.

It was a 45 minute drive across Melbourne and into the suburbs as we reached Lysterfield Cricket Club, a few blocks away from the set of Australian soap, Neighbours. I got out the car, banging my head on the boot lid as I did so, and walked into the clubhouse where there was a ring of members all waiting to greet me. As I went around the group, shaking hands, I noticed Dan, the guy I'd be staying with, along with his parents Greg and Diane. Everyone was so nice. We shared a few drinks before we drove the short journey to Dan's house.

It was your classic Aussie abode. A huge single storey house, with a pool and a well kept garden and a dog who's name slips my mind. I didn't last long before crashing to my sleep. It had been a long couple of days.

I came round at some point in the afternoon, weary from the jet lag as I was shown around the town by Dan. There wasn't a lot to it. Mostly fields, the cricket club of course, a 7/11 and a mall. Most of the Aussie lads were in AFL Grand Final mode, the showpiece Aussie Rules football event. The day after, we rocked up at someone's house to watch the game and sink as many drinks as we could.

That was the first and only time I would get drunk in Australia.

A couple of days later was the first training session with the squad I would be playing with. I got the impression everyone was expecting me to bat like the next Kevin Pietersen, but in the match practice, I got out three times in the space of two overs. It was a little bit embarrassing, but I put it down to the jet lag and moved on.

Except from that point, I never did move on. I'd been in Melbourne, (or at least 40 minutes away from it) for four days now and the inevitable feelings of homesickness had kicked in. Everyone gets homesick so far away from home on their own, but my complete lack of knowledge and coping skills left me completely high and dry. I had to force myself to leave the comfort of my bedroom and all the feelings of depression had come flooding back. I had panic attacks in the middle of the night and spent most of my waking hours nervously looking over my shoulder, talking to myself and experiencing the worst anxiety attacks I've experienced to date.

At first I tried to fight it. I knew this would happen, as I read and re-read the letter I'd written myself before I left.

"You will feel homesick but this will pass."

"You may feel anxious but give yourself time."

"You may feel depressed but talk to someone."

All of it became impossible. I was on my own, 10,000 miles away with no-one to turn to. I could barely talk to my own Mum at home about my feelings, how on Earth would I be able to talk to a no nonsense Aussie who I barely know? I was way out of my depth.

It all went downhill drastically. I went out for a walk to try and clear my head, not stopping until I realised I had no idea where I was. At complete breaking point, I spent the remainder of the Australian dollars in my wallet to hail down a cab to take me to the nearest hospital where I broke down completely.

I would never go back to Lysterfield.

After a night of calming down and soul searching, I decided the only thing I could do was go home. I asked Diane to bring my belongings to the hospital and then take me to the airport. She was very understanding and I almost thought that I should have told her everything from the start, but I was in too deep now. I never said goodbye to Dan or any of the cricket guys.

I simply bought the first ticket available to London, in tears after what I considered to be another failure, and fled. Another 24 hour flight later, this time via Dubai, and I was back on my doorstep. It was about midday as I knocked on the door and could see my Mum approaching it. I never told them I was returning.

Her face was full of sadness and disappointment and I had this horrendous feeling that I had let her down. But that was nothing compared to the absolute fire and rage that came from Dad as he walked in from work that evening. I had never seen him so apoplectic with rage before and I can comfortably say that I haven't since. I could understand if he was disappointed like Mum, but his sheer and unbridled anger made me literally wee myself. He didn't speak to me for days.

Do I regret going? That week was one of the worst and extreme weeks of my life but I don't regret going one bit. I often think back to those days and wonder what would go through my head now if I never went in the first place. I'm not sure I could have handled the regret in saying no. Getting a six month cricket contract in Australia at the height of summer was something I never thought would happen to me. It was beyond my wildest dreams. You know when you sleep at night, scenarios go through your mind like stopping a mass murderer and becoming a national hero or winning the lottery. Crazy things that'll never happen. This trip never even made those thoughts. That's how special it was.

I resent the illness that caused that trip to come to an abrupt and ugly end. A couple of friends have done the same trip since. To Sydney and Perth and have enjoyed a complete and fulfilling journey and part of me is jealous. Jealous that the only memories I can share are hideous. Yet part of me takes that experience and learns from it. Part of me thinks it made me a better man.

For weeks after I got home, I received threats from the players at the club who wanted to be reimbursed for leaving them after a week. I could understand where they were coming from, but I began to ignore them after they got nasty and personal and eventually they went quiet. In that time, it reminded me how very far away they all are and that I was in no danger whatsoever.

Very. Far. Away.

Who Knows What The Future Holds

I struggle to remember a lot about my childhood. Memories of course don't start to stick until you're about 5 or 6, maybe later, but even then I don't remember much.

Racing around a perfectly circular mini go-kart track in Woolacombe, looking at the video camera instead of where I was going and crashing into the barrier. I remember that.

Running down the street in sheer delight as Ole Gunnar Solskjaer poked home a 93rd minute winner in the 1999 Champions League Final. I remember that.

Driving past the junction of Putnoe Street and Bowhill, as my Dad told me to enjoy life while you can because soon all you'll be doing is working and paying bills. I remember that oddly well.

It's extraordinary how much things can change in the blink of an eye. For better or for worse, we simply don't know what tomorrow holds. Last Thursday, I swallowed the last remaining quetiapine tablets I had, knowing that I wouldn't be getting any more. After seven years of taking medication, tomorrow would the first med-free day in over 2,000 days. Tomorrow would be different. I anticipated a difficult weekend as the promised side effects came in, but they never did. Not until Sunday anyway.

Since then, I haven't slept, my stomach has attempted to tear itself away from the rest of my body and even the slightest hint of any food a bit heavy would result in ... Undesired circumstances... Only now am I feeling as if I MAY be on the way back up. It's been brutal.

It was only 17 years ago I was running up that street without a care in the world. Now I've been through what may or may not be the most challenging stage of my life. Yet I still feel like that 8 year old kid, adrenaline fuelled and careless. I know more challenges await, because it wouldn't be life without them. If only I had the presence of mind I have now back in 99... How amazing would that be...

Witnessing a Standard Night Out

The last time I reported from this club, I was running a social experiment about hitting on guys in "straight" clubs. Tonight, I return to the same place to report on what really happens in the murkiness of a club smoking area and the cesspit of a nightclub dance floor.

It's 1am and I'm out in the smoking area. I'm on my own, probably looking like a complete loner but I'm here to tell you what really happens. The club is half full; the smoking area outside full with males trying to chat up women, one of whom has been successful. My initial reaction was one of disgust and amazement at how women can put up with this caveman attitude. Alcohol does amazing things.

One couple seem genuinely together, but the others at the moment look like men trying to coerce women into acts they're not comfortable with. It's highly uncomfortable to witness.

There are of course some "lads" stumbling around acting as if they're Casanova but instead accidentally head butting the metal poles that protrude from the ceiling. A more embarrassing act than me standing on my own in the corner. It's incredible to think that I used to stand by and watch my friends do the same thing.

The club continues to fill.

I walk from the smoking section towards the dance floor but on the way I notice a group of four lads, actively attempting to grope a group of ladies, who aren't even looking. I struggle to understand how this is acceptable. Can you imagine that happening in a shopping centre at midday? Why is it acceptable in a nightclub?

I have a full view of the dance floor now, looking extremely cool strapped to my phone as I type, as if I'm expecting to find a rare Pokémon at the bar. It's 01:30 and most of the guys in my vicinity are staring idly at girls, trying to get their attention. Some of them are pulling off extreme dance moves to try and gain attention.

Whether this was the norm in the 90s and before I do not know, but the main impression I get is that guys no longer come out for a good night. To drink, dance and enjoy.

They exclusively come out to pull.

I for one don't understand this attitude. Even when I go to gay bars, I don't look to pull. Why would you? It merely proves that this world we live in is sex driven. And it saddens me.

It's 01:45 now and I'm walking home. Still relatively early for the hardcore party goers whose night continues. What I have said above is merely the tip of the iceberg. Men will continue to prey on women through the night, as alcohol flows and everyone becomes that bit more open; guys assessing those who are vulnerable through excess alcohol.

Call me a grumpy old man if you will, but it's only in the past year that I've began to appreciate how horrible this must be. I used to be the hardcore 18 year old. Chasing girls to try and prove my masculinity, (of course that's a whole different story). But... Why don't girls just slap the guys who give them unwanted attention?

I actually feel awful at contributing to this problem. However small my contribution may have been.

I'm sorry, but from an hours worth of genuine observation tonight, I've figured that the dangers for women on a night out are profuse and considerably dangerous. It's shocking. Even walking home, men on street corners offer a proposal to passing ladies. What do they expect them to say?

This has turned into a rant. A shame, but what I've seen tonight has angered me. I'll buy a burger and get a good night's sleep.

Has 'Pokemon Go' Made Us Healthier?

For those of you who have been living under a rock for the past few weeks, there has been a reinvention of one of the most iconic games of recent times. Pokémon. It's been difficult to avoid the furore that this new game has created. Some people wonder what on Earth all the fuss is about. Well...

In the mid 1990's, Pokémon hit our shops, first with playing cards followed by the video game on the Gameboy. It was a massive hit in the UK, with schoolchildren batting on the playgrounds of schools across the country. The basic objective of the game was to catch creatures to battle for you as you make your way up the Pokémon hierarchy. Since the introduction of the game, a lot of versions have come out but popularity waned. A decade later, the game had almost vanished. Until now.

'Pokémon Go' is the latest instalment from creators Nitanic; a smartphone app that allows you to catch Pokémon from places you know yourself. That church at the end of your road? You can catch Pokémon in there. The local park? Swimming in Pokémon. Town centre? You can catch a Pikachu in Costa. Millions of people have downloaded this game, increasing company shares ten fold in the process, but unlike most video games, can we argue that this one is contributing to a healthier world?

As a Pokémon trainer, you can catch creatures in real life locations

to fight for you against other trainers.

The game was officially released in the UK today, although many had already downloaded it via other routes. In the original game, it was all on a small handheld screen. You didn't have to leave your sofa. In this one, you cannot do well in the game unless you physically leave your house. This means people young and old are walking more miles than they ever have done, with the sole objective of catching rare Pokémon. The modern world has evolved from a culture of British Bulldog and playing any game outside in the sun, to one that is strapped exclusively to their smartphones.

But Pokémon Go has managed to merge the two.

The game rewards you by gaining eggs from public places, (parks, retail parks, churches etc.) and you can only hatch them by walking a certain amount. All the hallmarks of the original game, (battles, trades etc.) are still there, along with the more popular original characters, providing the perfect level of nostalgia to the game.

By far the most remarkable thing however, is the impact on our health. Nitanic have managed, deliberately or not, to get people outside and exercising. The impact on our physical health will be huge, especially if the game can develop and move with the impending demands that will come. The impact on people's mental health is considerable as well, with many people reporting that the game has forced them to get outside and exercise; a proven method in easing the symptoms of mental illness. The game is on the verge of making a major breakthrough in systemically improving health, with players walking miles and miles to win. Even my friend admitted to walking a longer route to our training session simply to try and find more Pokémon.

However. It's not all good news for the app. There have been some horror stories, including a young boy finding a dead body in Wyoming, USA after going on the hunt for Pokémon. Another man, who's house had been converted from a church a few years ago, found people infiltrating his back garden as the GPS signals on player's phones still recognised his house as a public place. There have also been reports of criminals luring people into dangerous situations using the game.

But all in all, the affect on the world has been monumental and it's done it in a matter of weeks. There has never been an app that merges the modern world of video gaming with the old-fashioned "get outside" attitude. Whether it was on purpose or not, a game from the 1990's has revolutionised a world that was on the verge of a major health crisis.

And you can't help but stand up and applaud that.

A Day at the Test Match

I am just on the train home from what has been quintessentially one of the most British days of my life.

The 1st day of the 1st Test match between England and Pakistan is a majestic occasion. Lord's Cricket Ground, situated in NW1 of London, (practically posh central) was the destination. After a fairly simple journey, we arrived, about 40 minutes before the start of play to find we had pretty much perfect seats in blissful sunshine.

For a cricketer and a big cricket fan... A big tick off the bucket list.

Surrounded by Eton graduates and Hooray Henry's bottle of champers, Chris and I enjoyed a day of test match cricket. I have never felt more common in an environment, walking round in a t-shirt, jeans and trainers with a pint of cider. However, we weren't going to be overawed by the members' attire of ghastly red and yellow ties and strikingly bright suit jackets.

You see, the thing about Lord's is that there is almost no point in me talking about the cricket. Not that you'd want to hear about that anyway. The action is a mere sideshow of the social event. Every single ticket had been sold yet there was always a smattering of empty seats all around. That's because many people spent the whole day outside the ground, drinking beer and discussing the stock market in their tweed jackets.

They sold champagne by the bottle, costing upwards of £400 each. A gin & tonic was £13. Even the burgers were a tenner a pop. The whole place reeked of pure, disgusting, unadulterated wealth.

Even directly outside the ground, there was a gaggle of people huddled around a futuristic looking BMW, which Chris & I estimated was worth about half a million quid.

It's not a bad thing. Frankly, I'd be the same if I was a millionaire. But the atmosphere was like nothing I've experienced before. Sophisticated. Toff like. Over the top posh. List them up and experience Britain at its most stereotypical.

It was a fantastic day though. The opportunity had presented itself late last night when a friend of a friend said that two tickets were available. At 10pm, I decided on a whim to take them. £180 lighter at gone midnight, I was in possession of two tickets to a Lord's test match.

Dream come true.

Was it worth it? Most definitely. Would I do it again? Probably not. The advantage of buying the tickets a day beforehand was that I knew it was going to be sunny all day and we'd get our monies worth. I'm not sure I could manage the anxiety of watching the weather forecasts if I bought the tickets well in advance like everyone else. £90 to watch rain fall is a hell of an investment.** All in all, the day cost me near £200, (although that does include the purchase of a replica ODI shirt for £50). I'm not really in the position to be doing that a lot.

I'd place this in the once in a lifetime category.

So I'm on my way home, having experienced another one of the long list of things to do before I die, and I've had a wonderful time. I always wanted to do new things on my fortnight off work and I'm pleased I am making the most of it.

I only have three full days left, so I will try and do all I can. Another cricket match and the Bedford River Festival looms large...

** You do get a refund if there is no play, but as soon as 15 overs is reached, (That's 90 balls bowled for those of you not with the lingo), then your money is secured in the back pockets of the pressed trousers of the general secretary. Trust me, it's a very frustrating feeling.

All Those Little Things

So I'm over halfway my fortnight off work and I have to say, first things first, I'm delighted I took that second week. Not only did I feel like I didn't have enough time to recuperate inside a week, I know I will be ready for the hard-hitting nature of the job by Monday morning.

It's currently 1am on Wednesday morning and I have decided I hate British politics. If you're, for some odd reason, reading this from the USA, the UK has gone bat shit crazy. And you thought Trump was bad...

The UK voted to leave the EU, leaving us less economically stable, less safe, more racist with minorities left open to attack and indeed, alone. I'm not going to go into that argument in too much detail as I'm sick to death of the whole thing but that result has led to utter carnage in the bubble of Westminster.

Prime Minister David Cameron has resigned with Theresa May due to take over, (that's due to happen today in fact). They had a leadership contest where May's opponent dropped out after a matter of days leaving a free run at the top job for Cruella Da Ville.

Anyway. The perfect time for the opposition to scrutinise but no, Labour
decide to fight among themselves. A woman called Angela Eagle has challenged current Leader of the Opposition, Jeremy Corbyn to a fight and because of the stupid Labour rules, the members get to decide who wins. Although in this country, it costs a mere £3 to join Labour, meaning effectively anyone can vote.

I have since learnt that new members can't vote but the point still stands.

"While Labour struggle and fiddle with their zip, the Tories are enjoying a post-coital cigar after removing their massive Johnson."

Cracking Boris reference.

In other news, I've seemingly forgotten how to hold a cricket bat, I've got a new idea for a book and I've stopped taking my sertraline which is a big step in the right direction for a med-free future. Although I am still taking Quetiapine at night because it helps me sleep...

... He says at 1:15am...