Marcus Trescothick - Coming back to me: the autobiography

That sadness swept over me. The thingI had feared most was happening and,if my previous experiences were anything togo by, the process was as unstoppableas a domino chain.

I n the good times, the times before the long days and longer nights when depressive illness turned stretches of my life into a slow death, I had occasionally caught a glimpse of the perfect end to my career as an England cricketer; at The Oval, pausing on my way back to the dressing-room to acknowledge the applause celebrating the Test century with which I had just secured Englands latest Ashes victory.

That was what I saw in my sunlit daydreams. That was how it was supposed to happen.

The reality? Hunched-up, sobbing, distraught, slumped in a corner of Dixons electrical store at Heathrows Terminal 3, unable to board the 9 p.m. Virgin Airways Flight VS400 to Dubai for which I had checked in alongside my Somerset CCC team-mates on the evening of Friday 14 March 2008; but which I was now in no physical, mental or earthly state to take, hanging on for the pain and terror with which I had become so familiar during the previous two years to subside, and let me breathe.

I almost made it. I got almost as far as it is possible to get without actually walking through the door onto the plane and I had wanted to so much. Until the very eve of our departure, in the weeks leading up to it, I never seriously thought that I would have a problem going on the 12-day pre-2008-season tournament also featuring Lancashire, Sussex and Essex. I was well in myself and I was cautiously optimistic about what getting through the trip might mean in terms of my hopes of a future with England, even though my last appearance for them was now 18 months behind me. Englands players, selectors, management, coaches and captains had all stated that, while they had no desire to put me under undue pressure to return, when I felt I was ready, so would they be. This was a real chance to find out if I was. The tournament was to be pretty low-key though Andrew Flintoff would be there to continue his recovery programme following his latest ankle operation back at home, with relatively little of the intense media coverage I had always found so discomforting.

All things considered I was looking forward to the test and what a successful outcome might mean, even though I knew failure would end all hope and all argument. After two aborted overseas tours with England, to India in 2006 and Australia the same winter, I knew it would be strike three youre out.

I had spoken to my wife Hayley, who had given birth to our second child, Millie, a sister to two-year-old Ellie, on 19 January, and, mindful that separation from family, friends and the familiar had been at the root of my problems, she had said all the right things: Twelve days? Youll be fine.

The day before I left I talked with the Somerset coach Andy Sarge Hurry, a former marine turned PT instructor, about what might lay in store. He had asked, What can we do to make this easier for you? and had already arranged with the rest of the staff and players that, once I got to Dubai, I was going to be kept fully occupied. With no time to wander, my mind might just be able to stay away from the thoughts that had, on occasions, made existence seem unbearable and that way, perhaps, the illness could be kept at bay. Busy days playing, training and practising would have been followed by lengthy team planning and selection meetings and I was never, ever, to be allowed to dine on my own unless it was my choice. Not that they were going to ask me for my belt and shoelaces, just that they wanted to create a comfortable environment in which I could relax and remain calm.

I had told Andy: Look, I really think Im going to be fine then added, as long as nothing out-of-the-ordinary happens.

After six weeks of disturbed sleep following Millies arrival, a part of me was also looking forward to the shut-eye I was going to be enjoying in Dubai.

Maybe I should have taken more notice of the slight twinge of anxiety I had felt that day, but I had known all along that this was not going to be straightforward. In any case the feeling was nothing like as intense as that warning sign which usually preceded a full-blown crisis; some people might describe it as a shiver down the spine, for me it was more like a progressive freezing, vertebra by vertebra from top to bottom.

And I wasnt too alarmed because, in general, I had been feeling fine for a while now and the medication which had helped to stabilize me through the darkest times was, I was pretty convinced, something to turn to only in dire emergency.

True, I had hit a snag the previous summer, when I first made myself available for Englands World Twenty20 squad, then pulled out after a lengthy telephone conversation with the coach Peter Moores. While never presenting me with an ultimatum as such, he made it clear he wanted me to make myself available not just for the World Twenty20 in South Africa, a tournament I firmly believed at that stage I could manage, but also the one-day series in Sri Lanka that followed, something which, at that stage, I could not in all conscience commit to.

Nevertheless, again freed at least temporarily from having to consider the question of my future with England, I finished the 2007 domestic season with Somerset on a series of huge highs, topping Division Two of the Championship, winning promotion to Division One of the Pro 40, with my personal contribution being stacks of runs, including my career-best 284 at Northampton. And the celebration ale tasted sensational.

During the winter I had deliberately refrained from making any statements to the media or doing any significant interviews about my future plans. And I loved the anonymity of that. I had made one public appearance, as part of my benefit year, at a Question & Answer session in the Herefordshire town of Leominster, conducted by a journalist friend of mine, Peter Hayter of the Mail on Sunday, who lives locally. Brian Viner, of the Independent, another locally-based newspaper columnist wrote: Trescothick talked about the emotional illness that appears to have scuppered his England career with engaging candour. And even I was quite surprised how much I enjoyed the experience and how easy I found it to talk openly in front of strangers, as indicated by the following exchanges:

PH: I think even now people are still somewhat confused aboutwhat happened to you and what you were suffering from, your illnessand the effects of it. Can you explain what the past 18 monthshave been like for you, what youve gone through?

MT: At different stages I have had totally different feelings really.Over the last, say, now nearly a year, I would say its been prettygood, just being away from the environment of the England setupand the pressure that comes with playing for England and themedia attention that you have to deal with. Yeah, Im moving alongvery nicely. Thequestionsobviously always going to arise aboutwhat happens next and at this stage Im not too sure, I want todrive it on from hereon in, but looking back to India, the first time,it was a really tough place and a tough situation to go throughbecause I literally didnt know what was happening. I genuinelythought I had an illness that was going to see me off and, notknowing, at that point what to do. After I came back it got worsefor a while, then it got better, then it got worse again. Youre beingfollowed by media people around your home town and they werewaiting on your doorstep when you walk out the house. There