0 
0 By Jimmy
Looking at the life of a young footballer, an outsider would expect to see the glamorous life shown on TV, or more recently, on social media. In Non-League, this can be a far cry from the truth. Resources are often limited by club budgets, and players can struggle to get the help they need. Non-League football is progressing really well, with the facilities, the fans, and the football all on the up, but there’s still lots that needs to be done to support a young footballer’s battle with mental health in this environment. This was something I found out through my own experiences.
A young footballer’s battle with mental health
After returning from injury in February 2016, positivity was high. After a long injury layoff, the feeling of being back on a pitch, training, was amazing. I was enjoying playing, whilst building up my fitness and getting back into the routine of regular training. The season was coming to an end, and I’d recently celebrated my 22nd birthday.
Following on from my trip to Belvoir Drive only days earlier where I’d met my boyhood hero, Kasper SchmeicheI, I made the trip to Manchester, to see Leicester come within touching distance of being crowned Premier League champions. Things were looking positive for the new season. I was aiming to finish the 15/16 season well and get through with no more injuries, after missing so much of it through injury. I planned to finish my degree and then, like many players, have a short break, with the aim of beginning Pre-Season earlier than usual.
Just days later, in early May, things changed. Depression had crept up on me, and I was finding the simplest of things were becoming a challenge. On one day, I recall having 4 panic attacks in 30 minutes. I went out drinking 9 nights in a row without having a single meal, and this was just the beginning.
I was unable to have a conversation
I went a couple of months without eating a full day’s food, lost weight and was very weak. I would struggle through training sessions, only to come home and sleep on the sofa. The first two months were very difficult. It was literally like I was carrying around this numbing feeling, a weight of sadness, and I couldn’t shift it. It was all my mind was focusing on; anything else wouldn’t get my full attention.
During this time in early May, I was unable to even have a conversation. I walked into Solihull with a close friend, and I didn’t realise at the time, but she’s since said that nothing I said made any sense – it was just waffle. This was something I was completely unaware of at the time.
Drinking and self-harming
The summer arrived, and with it came pure difficulty. Suicidal thoughts were regular if not daily. The self-harming started. I first tried with a kitchen knife, and that didn’t really work, so days later I used a disposable razor. Most days I’d just struggle along with a low mood. On any particular day, should someone do something to cause me suffering, I’d self-harm. That was my way of dealing with it.
I’d often text my mates –any of them – asking them to meet me, knowing it was an excuse to go drinking. They’d often decline on the basis that it was a week night and they had work the next day. That didn’t stop me – I’d just go on my own, or go to the shop and get some beers. I’d say, overall, May was the hardest, as everything was raw. But the summer and autumn were no walk in the park either.
The summer brought new challenges, such as me returning to work and being given a bit more independence. Pre-season starting gave me something else to focus on, something to help me on the bad days (which were most days still). Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to prevent me from driving my car into the side of the road in early August.
I attempted suicide
At the start, things were so raw that I couldn’t think or make decisions, but by September I was able to do this. Although my thinking was still very irrational, I was making decisions. One of these decisions was that, seeing that I was feeling so low, I wanted it to end it all one Monday. That night I text some people, and the next day I got up and took an overdose.
As the ambulance arrived, I was very anxious. Luckily they were great; they helped calm me down, and I went to a clinic for help. The reaction was mixed. Most people showed lots of concern. They wanted to help, I wanted help. The trouble was, no one knew what to do to help me and I didn’t know either. On the other hand, I did get one message that was less sympathetic.
Progress is progress
For me, that was the low which I hope I’ll never reach again. Despite suicidal thoughts not leaving for good, that was my one and only attempt. Moving forward, whenever I had a suicidal thought but didn’t go ahead with it, I saw it as progress. Later, as the thoughts became less again, I saw this as progress. Recognised that even the smallest of steps, however small they may seem, progress is progress.
UNITED STATES
UNITED KINGDOM
