Do You Know What?

by Andrew Flintoff

  The night before, we’d watched David Beckham play football for LA Galaxy and ended up going out with him afterwards, because he was a friend of one of the lads in the crew. So Beckham phones up and invites us round for a bite to eat at his beach house in Malibu, which, it turns out, he’s renting from Stephen Spielberg. So we’re lounging about, his missus asks if we’re hungry, and half an hour later we’re in the cinema room – Stephen Spielberg’s cinema room! – watching football and eating pizza. I should probably clarify: Beckham doesn’t have depression (at least, it didn’t look like he did) and we probably shouldn’t have accepted his invitation. Just don’t tell the BBC…

  I think I’ve always had depression but didn’t know it. I can identify behaviour as a child that could be seen as depressive. I isolated myself; things were never good enough. Now, when I come down with a bout, I feel like I’m surrounded by a grey fuzz. I can’t engage in life. I want to get involved in a chat, but when I move my mouth nothing comes out. I can’t even look people in the eye. I feel lethargic and nothing matters. I feel guilty, and guilty for feeling guilty. Rock bottom was not being able to get out of bed and just wanting to be asleep. The smallest thing might trigger it. Someone might say something, the shutters will come down and I’ll sit in my pants watching Storage Wars, a programme about people bidding on the contents of a unpaid storage locker, for two weeks solid. That was a dark period in my life, my equivalent of Alan Partridge gorging on Toblerone and driving to Dundee in his bare feet.

  But being told by a therapist that I was clinically depressed was a massive breakthrough and a huge relief. I remember filling in the questionnaire – ‘Do you enjoy doing things as much as you used to? Do you lack energy and feel tired all the time? Do you not want to talk to people?’ – handing it to this fella, him reading it and telling me I was depressed. I thought, ‘No fucking shit! I could have told you that, it’s why I’ve come to see you!’ But at least now I categorically knew it was ‘something’, and that ‘something’ had a name. Before, I’d tried to self-medicate by drinking or eating too much. Now I knew what it was, I felt better equipped to deal with it.

  Although I get depressed, it’s not all doom and gloom. It’s not the funniest of subjects, and it’s difficult to normalise, because it’s the strangest feeling. But I have to find some humour in it, otherwise it would do me in. There aren’t many perks to having a mental illness. You can’t get a blue badge and park closer to the door at Asda. Maybe they should have a look at that? Actually, it might cause problems. I was at Sports Direct recently, parked my car and had to walk miles. As I was walking in, this bloke pulled into a disabled spot, jumped out of his car, ran up to me and asked for a photo. I said to him, ‘That’s a bit out of order, mate, parking in a disabled spot, when you can run.’

  This bloke looked at me in astonishment, pulled up his shirt and said, ‘Mate, I’ve got a colostomy bag.’

  ‘Oh. Shall we do this picture then…’

  Imagine people trying to prove they’re depressed? That might not end well. The only perk I can think of is that you can use it as an excuse for some questionable behaviour. Oh, and you’re allowed to take a comfort dog on a flight. I reckon I must qualify. It’s not even as if I’ve missed any work through mental illness, I’ve always been able to get out of bed, put on a face and plough on through it.

  Another thing that amuses me about mental illness is the competitive element. You’ll read the comments under an article about depression and there will be people talking about their experiences almost as if it’s a sport: ‘Oh, you’re not as bad as me. When I get depressed it’s ten times worse…’ It’s the same with recovering alcoholics. You’ll speak to some of them and it will be like Top Trumps, or that Monty Python Four Yorkshireman sketch: ‘I used to drink 15 pints every night and a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘That’s nothing. I used to drink 20 pints every night and two bottles of whisky.’

  ‘You were lucky. I used to drink 50 pints every night, five bottles of whisky, three bottles of vodka, all from a rolled-up newspaper. And I got woken up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over me…’

  It’s not always plain-sailing, but I’m winning. I went through a few counsellors, because there’s no point if you don’t get on with them. I’m on medication, but that doesn’t bother me. If I had a headache, I’d take an aspirin. If I cut myself, I’d put a plaster on it. It’s not like the pills make me see unicorns and rainbows, they just make me feel normal.

  I’ve upset mates because they thought I was being rude when, at the time, just making eye contact with someone felt like the hardest thing to do. There have been others who haven’t been able to accept how I am. It’s not that I don’t like people, but I can be awkward to be around. It wasn’t their fault. I didn’t even know, so how were they supposed to?

  Some people are able to put a face on, turn up to work and play the crowd before going home and curling up into a ball. I’d known Marcus Trescothick since I was 16. I’d toured with him all over the world and he was a good friend, but I didn’t have a clue. People talk about team unity, but nobody knew about Marcus. Then, when he left the tour of India, he said he had a virus, because he didn’t want anyone to know he had a mental illness.

  A producer on A League of Their Own took his own life, and nobody had a clue he was struggling. You have a laugh and a crack with your mates and take the mickey out of each other, but you don’t know how they’re feeling or what they’re going through. Not long ago, I was having a bout of depression and Robbie Savage noticed it. He kept sending me text messages. When you’re feeling low, just a small thing like that can make a difference. Robbie is a very good mate.

  Now I’ve got a better grip on it, I don’t mind talking about it. That’s not to say I wasn’t worried about admitting it publicly. People had bought into this persona I’d built up over the years, and now I was telling them that it wasn’t actually the real me. So when the documentary came out I was glued to Twitter, because I was so nervous about the reaction. I needn’t have worried, because people thought it was brilliant. I had people coming up to me in the street and congratulating me, friends telling me that they had struggled as well. It was completely unexpected.

  I hate the word ‘stigma’ when applied to mental illness. It’s bandied around so much, but when people say, ‘We need to overcome or break down the stigma’, you’re conceding there’s a stigma in the first place. I don’t think the stigma is anywhere near as great as it was, things have got so much better in recent years. I talked about injuries during my cricket career, and people talk openly about illnesses such as diabetes or cancer. Depression is no different.

  If you’re reading this and you have an inkling that something is not quite right, you don’t enjoy things like they used to or you’re having moods you can’t explain, go to your doctor. When you’re telling someone how you feel for the first time, you can feel the weight falling from your shoulders.

  People hear sportspeople and actors and musicians talking about mental illness and think, ‘What’s he depressed about? He had a great career, he’s rich, he’s got everything.’ But mental illness isn’t selective, it can affect anyone, whether you’re poor and anonymous or rich and famous. And famous people aren’t coming out and talking about mental illness to get sympathy, they’re speaking out to try to make a change. It’s not easy to talk about it but sharing your story and experiences can have such a massive effect.

  If I had been aware of it in my early teens, maybe life would have been easier. Then again, I’ve never wanted an easy life. If something is given to me, I’ve got very little interest in it. That’s one of the biggest ironies of celebrity: the more famous and comfortable you become, the more people want to give you things for free. There are people sleeping on the streets with absolutely nothing, and companies are chucking clothes and bikes and all sorts at me. But only if you’ve earned something do you truly appreciate its worth. The things that are the hardest to achieve
are the most rewarding. I’ve always wanted challenges, something to overcome. Depression is just another one of those challenges. It’s horrible, and it can crush people, but it’s made me who and what I am.

  CHAPTER 8

  WHY AM I HERE?

  The mysteries of life

  I love a conspiracy theory. I love watching programmes and reading books about them. Did the Moon landings happen? I’m undecided. Genuinely. I can’t tell you either way, that’s the thing about conspiracy theories, nobody really knows. I need hard and fast evidence. Show me, explain it to me. People say to me, ‘They’ve got evidence, they’ve got film and photographs.’ Have they heck. They could have been taken anywhere. Have you seen what they can do with cameras nowadays? What about the flag flickering, when there’s supposed to be no atmosphere, and all that bouncing around? That filming was done in Nevada somewhere, in the middle of the desert.

  They reckon they first went in 1969, but how the hell did they know they could get there? How did they know they could get back? Computers were so basic, and they were doing all the calculations on the back of envelopes with a pencil, compass and a ruler. And why have they not been back? People say it’s because they’ve decided nothing’s there. Really? People still go to Burnley and there’s nowt there either. Other people say it’s because it’s too expensive, but they spend their money on loads of other rubbish, like Sheffield. You’re telling me that nobody has thought, in the last 50 years, ‘You know what, why don’t we have another look? Maybe we missed something?’

  Some people say the astronauts got warned off by aliens. There’s a documentary called Structures on the Moon, which shows what look like buildings on the surface, so another theory is that Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and the rest of the lads got spooked. But I don’t think they went in the first place. I wouldn’t mind going to the Moon, and if I did, I think I’d be the first. Imagine having the Moon to yourself. I’d stay a couple of hours, float around a bit, do a couple of selfies, then come home again.

  I listen to a programme called The Flat Earth Podcast, and they’ll have you believing the Earth is flat and can’t possibly be round. I’m not saying the world is flat – but it could be. Flat earthers say the Earth is like a disc, not completely flat, but bulbous underneath. While scientists believe the Sun is 149.6m km from the Earth, flat earthers believe it’s only 4,000 miles above us, and the Sun and the Moon have the same dimensions, both with a diameter of 32 miles. The North Pole is in the middle of the Earth, and around the outside is the South Pole, which is like a big wall of ice. This is why all governments now have got bases on the South Pole.

  People say, ‘But we’ve got photos and film of the Earth, taken from space, and it’s quite clearly round.’ But how do we know those pictures weren’t doctored by NASA? If the world is round, why if you hover in a helicopter does your destination not come to you? Why, if we’re hurtling through space, do lakes and seas stay relatively still? Why are they not wobbling all over the place? What about lasers? If the world was round, and therefore curved, if you fired a laser, why wouldn’t it disappear at some point?

  To be fair, I discussed this with Matthew Syed on our podcast, and he explained it in about 30 seconds. He said it was about the theory of relativity, something about travelling in an aeroplane and throwing a tennis ball in the air. That’s the problem with educated people, they ruin everything. Even Robbie Savage thought I was being weird, which made me question myself, I have to admit. He was coming back with stuff about Aristotle seeing curved shadows on the Moon. And when Robbie tricked me into saying that the Earth might be shaped like a turnip, that’s when I knew I might be on shaky ground.

  One thing I don’t understand about conspiracy theories is that, if there is any truth to them, there must be literally thousands of people in on them, and surely someone would blab. But what difference does it make if the Earth is round or flat? What does it matter? If it is actually round, why wouldn’t the Flat Earth people say, ‘You know what, we got it wrong, the world is round. But that’s fine, let’s all just have a cup of tea’? But you listen to them and they seem utterly convinced. When I brought this up on our podcast, everyone thought I was bonkers and a few of the papers wrote articles about me. Now, I’m not saying for one minute that the Earth is flat. Or round. It could be either. I’ve not been to space, so how can I say it is or it isn’t with any degree of certainty?

  There are 12 million people in the United States who believe that interstellar aliens in human suits are roaming the country. I’m not having that. I’m not going to go all David Icke on you and claim there are lizards walking about the place in human suits, just as I don’t think I’m the son of God. But I do think there are aliens among us. Why wouldn’t there be, when they reckon there are about 100 billion stars in our galaxy alone? I think it’s more likely that there are aliens on Earth than aren’t. I don’t think they’re like the aliens in Men in Black, blokes with ballbags hanging off their chins, or the fellas in Star Wars, with bums as faces. But for all we know, Burnley might be riddled with them. Half the staff at Greggs might be aliens. We just don’t know.

  And what about the pyramids in Egypt? There’s no proper explanation for them, not even Egyptologists know how they were built. You’re telling me they can’t work out how the pyramids were built but they figured out a way to get to the Moon, 50 years ago? And there are pyramids all over the world – Africa, Central America, Asia, even a couple in the Antarctic. Man didn’t build them, aliens did. Look at all the hieroglyphics and you’ll notice the big boss in Egypt had a massive head. He’s an alien. Then there are all these pictures of aliens with computers and spaceships. Some of the hieroglyphics depict lightbulbs and electricity, and this was 4,000 years ago, which fits in with another theory doing the rounds, that these aliens were so far advanced, right up until the point a meteorite hit them, when they had to start all over again.

  There’s also the conspiracy theory that time travel has already taken place. There’s a photograph from the 1940s, from Canada, that shows a fella in a crowd of people wearing a printed T-shirt and wraparound sunglasses, surrounded by all these people who look like they should be from the period. It’s not like it says ‘Frankie Says Relax’ on the T-shirt, but it’s definitely a printed T-shirt. There’s a painting from the 1930s that depicts a Native American scrolling through a smartphone in the 1600s. Apparently, there are theories in quantum physics that suggest it’s possible to travel back in time, a bit like with Back to the Future and the flux capacitor.

  I went through a period of lying on my back in the garden, staring at the sky and thinking, ‘What is all this? I don’t get it.’ I sometimes think none of it exists. I’ll be drinking a brew, thinking, ‘Me, the tea I’m drinking, is this all just my reality? Or maybe I’m not really here?’ It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense in the world. I’ll look at the kids doing their homework and think, ‘Why have you spent all week learning about Henry VIII’s wives? None of it matters, we’re all wasting our time. And it’s on the internet anyway.’

  How can I be sat here, writing a book, knowing that there are people down the road living on the streets? How can it be that some people – including myself – sit around in luxury when other people have nothing? It’s not that I’m happy that other people have nothing, it’s just that I get on with my life without letting it affect me. How can it be that your dog gets fed twice a day and kids are dying because they haven’t got anything to eat? I’ll see someone walking along with a dog and think, ‘How weird is that? Walking around with an animal on a string? Why are people so nice to dogs and not to other humans? Why do we teach them to shit outside? Why don’t we just let them hang about with other dogs?’

  Talking of dogs, I used to have two boxer puppies, and one day I was walking them down the river and let them off their leads. Off they went, bouncing down the path, and when I started shouting at them, they wouldn’t come back. Suddenly, I realised they were chasing this little brown dog, who was
barking its head off, before jumping into its owner’s arms. When I arrived, my dogs were jumping all over this bloke, I was grabbing them by their collars, trying to pull them off, and I looked up and saw Roy Keane’s very angry face looking back at me. I don’t know if he recognised me, but I made my excuses and left sharpish. Maybe Roy was looking at me and my dogs and thinking, ‘Is this all just my reality? Maybe I’m not really here?’ Or maybe he was thinking, ‘This bloke’s a fucking idiot.’

  I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on, it’s like some massive free-form experiment. If you brought a Martian down and said, ‘Mate, have a look at this place, what do you reckon?’, they’d be completely baffled. Imagine if the Martian asked to be taken to your leader, because they wanted to see how things got done. You’d have to take them to the House of Commons and say, ‘Right, that person over there is our prime minister, this lot over here, who are all shouting and screaming at each other, are going to ask her some questions, she’ll do her best not to answer them, and once that’s all wrapped up they’ll all go home for tea.’ You’ve got a fella in charge of the most powerful country in the world who loads of people think is a complete muppet and whose head looks like a Weetabix. The Martian would have a quick look around and request to be beamed back up again.

  The pyramids or the Moon or the shape of the Earth are just the tip of the iceberg. If there is a universe, what’s at the end of it? It can’t just stop and then there’s nothing. How did everything start? Scientists talk about a Big Bang, but from what? A single molecule? How big was this molecule? What was before the molecule? And what happens when it all ends? There has to be life after death, there can’t just be nothing. There’s no such thing as nothing, nothing doesn’t exist, so when we die, it can’t just go dark and that’s it. And even if it does go dark, darkness is still something.