From Everest to Mariana

In my own weird way, I've started to enjoy writing these blogs. I've written down my feelings and history before, but I've never published them and nobody outside my circle of trust has ever read them.

There's a massive stigma surrounding mental illness, yet most of us have either suffered from, or has seen someone suffer from some form of mental illness in their life. Since I went public with this on Sunday, I have heard stories from people I've known for a short time, or even people I've known for the best part of two decades who fall into this category. Either they themselves have suffered, a loved one has, or even both. What I want though is for people to feel confident enough to not just tell me things in private, but to put it in the public eye themselves.

I'm more than willing to help of course, feel free to come to me with any problems you have, either on here, Twitter, Facebook, phone, front door, whichever is easier for you. But the more people who know and understand your plight, the bigger your potential support network could be.

I finished off yesterdays catch up with a hint of the very highs and very lows of the 2009/2010 period and I'll pick up where I left off.

Everything seemed to go from bad to good in such a short space of time. Of course, everything was linked. Positive thought leads to positive action leads to positive thought. It's the good end of the scale to be at and when you know a downer is coming, you make the most of it while you can.

It started in the most obvious of places; the rugby. Specifically, a cup semi final in Widnes. It couldn't have been set up any better. I wasn't even supposed to be there. I had promised my friends I would babysit their kids while they went to the game. I couldn't afford both a semi and a final, so I chose to miss out on the semi against Wigan.

But then came a conversation with a friend who had not only a spare ticket, but was willing to part with it for free. All I had to do then was help find a replacement babysitter. As luck would have it, it wasn't long before one was found and it was game on. With that came another issue, getting to the game. The plan was quick and it was to bike it to Widnes, then home again. The morning of the game I was at a friends house, who also wanted to go, as did his father. Luckily, again, my friend had another spare ticket and in exchange for that, I was able to get a lift to and from the game. Like I say, everything just fell into place.

For the first time in years, I went into the game not thinking about the result. I was going to enjoy the game and celebrate when the result was certain. It turned out to be a good call, because we were given a scare.

After going behind early, we raced ahead and with 50 minutes gone, the game looked like a foregone conclusion. After 15 years of supporting Warrington, you know things just aren't going to be that simple and I was glad I hadn't started celebrating with half an hour left. Wigan came to within 6 points of us before Lee Briers popped over a trademark drop goal with 7 minutes left on the clock. I celebrated the extra point, but the game wasn't over yet.

Two minutes later it was though and to this day, the single best moment of my life can be pinpointed. A poor kick was caught by Briers, who flicked a quick pass to Chris Hicks. Hicks ran through 3 tired tacklers and then the exact moment he broke though......that was it. From my viewpoint behind the sticks, my peripheral vision confirmed no tackler would catch him and it was a certain try. That moment he broke the line, that was when I started celebrating like a man possessed. There's still a video of me floating about from moments after that score, face painted, topless and bouncing around the back of the stand.

It was an emotionally sapping moment for lots of us. We shed a tear of happiness and didn't stop smiling all day. Sadly, the poor spoilsports wouldn't let me get some much needed kip in the pub garden of the Cricketers Arms after the game.

When I got home, there was two days of pure panic. Not only did I have to buy tickets for the cup final, I had to come up with the funds for those tickets and funds for travel too. I used to like saying that I was the king of the freebie, I could get anything I really wanted and rarely had to pay.

I had to get the funds for 3 tickets. Me and my married best friends. Anxiety was in overdrive, I feared that I wouldn't get to Wembley. Thanks to some wheeling and dealing though and with the certainty of birthday money the week before the final, I was able to secure the funds, the tickets and the coach travel.

The lucky streak and “obvious it was going to happen” moments continued throughout August. The tickets arrived in the post on the morning of my birthday. But on the mat at the front door with them was something I didn't expect. A birthday card from Dad, written out by Amanda, as was always the case growing up. Tucked into the card was birthday money and two pictures. I still have the two pictures, but I can't bring myself to look at them now. They are of my Dad in a nursing home, in his current condition. It's far too confusing and heartbreaking to look at. It was a touching thought though and I appreciated the sentiment from Amanda at the time, even though we had already cut our ties with each other by then.

Another “obvious it was going to happen” moment was the final itself. For 15 years, Dad had promised me that had the Wire reached the cup final, we'd go together. Cup final weekend coincided with both our birthday weeks aswell. So when do Warrington choose to finally break their cup hoodoo? You guessed it, the first year he wasn't going to able to go. You just couldn't write this script.

It was one hell of a weekend which started at 5pm on the Friday with a visit to the house of Fletch for a bevvie or two. Then a trip to the couple I'd be going to Wembley with for a bevvie or five more. I slept for an hour on their sofa that night, there was no hope of me getting any more. It was a daft early start and although we weren't allowed to take the drum into Wembley, I still took it with me on the coach. I was glad I did on the way there, not so much on the way back.

The drinking started pretty much as soon as the coaches set off at half past 8 on the morning of the final. It was a pretty calm atmosphere until we stopped at Toddington services near Luton. There, we spotted a car of Wigan fans and the drum came out and we started to make some noise in the car park. Back on the coach and the atmosphere soon turned to that of a normal matchday. Everyone was singing, I was walking up and down the coach with the drum, rousing the troops and we all went entirely off our rocker once Wembley came into view.

Despite the lack of sleep and the fair few bevvies I had on the coach, the adrenalin was keeping me going. Stood outside Wembley, you could tell just how close the rugby league family is. Folks were happily drinking in front of the smattering of policemen in view, who were quite happy to let us enjoy ourselves. Fans of all clubs would mingle, friends would meet, as would strangers.

We finally made our way into the stadium. What a stadium it is too. I'd never been to a stadium so big that it needed escalators to get to my seat. The game itself was intense, but not quite as intense as the hangover that hit with 20 minutes left on the clock. I pushed through it though, I was going to enjoy the next half hour or so. I was being patient again, like I had been at the semi final and it was a strange set of circumstances on the field that led to what happened next.

Huddersfield scored. It's very strange when you realise you've won a game after the other team has scored. But I looked at the scoreboard and realised we were 7 points ahead and with the way the game had been played, Huddersfield weren't going to be able to catch up.

I don't know who started crying first. But when I looked at the husband of the couple, we both had tears ruining our primrose and blue painted faces.

I wasn't just crying in victory though. I was crying for Dad. He was there with me, in my head and I know he would have shed tears aswell at that moment. If I thought the cup semi final was emotionally draining, then I was about to get a big shock. I honestly don't know how long I cried for, my face was a mess though. Not that I cared.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality was no more than 45 minutes after the hooter went, we slowly made our way out of the ground and into the car park to find our coach. As soon as I was stood next to it, down I went, on the floor, totally drained, laying on what turned out to be an exit lane from the car park, eyes closed. I only noticed this after about 5 minutes when I looked up to see a queue of Huddersfield fans' coaches wanting to get past. I didn't rush to get up and eventually went to find a space to kip on the back seat of the coach.

I'll never understand how children have so much energy. The kids on the coach wanted the drum banging, all I wanted to do was sleep. I wasn't letting go of the drum though, but kid after kid came up trying to get hold of it. I knew most of the adults had no energy to listen to songs and I held my ground, while trying to sleep.

I slept well that night though on the sofa. I was first up, bright eyed and fluffy tailed and while the rest of Warrington nursed their hangovers, I was off to another friend in preparation for the homecoming later on the Sunday.

The homecoming was something else. Everything seemed to click into place and I never failed to have a can of beer in my hand. I only stopped drinking on the Monday at 5pm, a full 72 hours after I had started at the house of Fletch. Coincidentally, that's where the drinking ended too.

In the week preceding the cup final, a lad I had come to know from one of the rugby league messageboards posted a status on Facebook advertising for a job vacancy where he worked. I told him I was up for it, but a few hours later, he told me someone else had got in before me. I wasn't too down about it and following the cup final, he sent me a private message offering me the same job. I took it with open arms. It was only supposed to be for two days work, but it turned into a full time permanent job.

The job was ok. It was challenging when it was busy, boring when it wasn't. I had to commute and I made use of the buses at first. I'd also managed to swag myself a new place to live. In the house of Fletch as it turned out. It was perfect for me, living with fellow Wire fans, a room of my own and with my life resembling normality, it was the perfect opportunity to get my life going in the right direction, once and for all.

I'd been worried about the comedown from such highs for a good couple of months before it happened. I'd pushed and pushed and pushed for a permanent contract and finally, just before we had 2 weeks off over the Xmas period, I was told the job was mine. If you need reminding what happened in the winter of 2009, what I say next will jog your memory.

The first snow was unexpected. We didn't get snow in Warrington, it certainly didn't stay for long. But it snowed, and it stayed, then it froze and stayed for over a week. I struggled through it all, using the buses that were a mess in the traffic. It cleared off over the weekend before Xmas and I was looking forward to a new start, in a new gaff, with a new job, in the new year. I stayed at the house of Fletch on the Sunday night, so I could see how long cycling to work would take. The snow had cleared off completely by then and it had actually warmed up a tad.

It all changed between me leaving work and getting home though. Cycling down the Birchwood Expressway, I spotted a small patch of frozen snow, all that was left of the previous weeks cold weather. But then I looked ahead of me again and there was the start of another snow shower. Well, it turned out to be a full on snow storm, but I didn't find that out until the following morning when I woke up ready to go to work and looked out to see 2 or 3 feet of snow outside.

I attribute this snow fall as the turning point. Struggling to work through all of that, which stayed for 2 whole weeks, frozen on the ground, making commuting 5 miles each way a day intolerable for the strongest of people. I had no chance and into the new year, despite moving into the house of Fletch, my get up and go, got up and fucked right off out the door and possibly onto a plane to warmer climes.

I started taking days off, not getting much work done when I did go in and eventually, the boss had had enough and told me so in a text one Friday afternoon in January. This hit me hard and I sent out a major message on the the following Sunday, a message to both myself and my so-called group of friends.

I'd always wanted to do it, cycle to Northampton from Warrington. I worked it out that it would take about 16 hours to do on a normal mountain bike. The thing is, on this occasion, I actually set off to do it. I sat down with the girlfriend of my housemate and listened to her problems, advised her on what to do, then poured my heart out to her. She knew what was going on, yet afterwards, she turned against me harder than the rest.

The plan was to get to Northampton and say goodbye to my Dad, say goodbye to my new “adopted” family and then head off on a one way bike ride to Beachy Head and ride off the edge of the cliff without even stopping to admire the view. Fate meant I wouldn't get to Beachy Head, in fact, I didn't even get to Northampton. It was one hell of a night though.