Leon McKenzie: ‘I cry a lot because of the pain and guilt I carry’

http://www.theguardian.com/sport/2015/feb/07/leon-mckenzie-norwich-city-footballer-boxer-depression

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Meeting Leon McKenzie for the first time, you would not think that depression has shaped his life. The footballer turned boxer appears confident, affable and speaks candidly, a warm and vibrant presence on a cold and mundane afternoon. Such can be the hallmarks of an illness that has, in fact, been a constant presence in McKenzie’s journey of great highs and chastening lows, a long road that has included time in prison, two divorces, the threat of bankruptcy and a failed suicide attempt.

“This morning I woke up, had a little moment to myself, I cried,” says McKenzie. “I cry a lot because of the pain and guilt that I carry with things that have happened in my life. I miss my children a lot. I don’t wake up with my kids. The challenges and battles that I go through … it can become a bit draining. When I was playing, naturally you hide quite a lot. It was only after I retired that I was free to speak.”

McKenzie, a 36-year-old from Croydon who began his career at Crystal Palace and played in the Premier League with Norwich City, is at the peak of physical fitness. Although he retired from football two years ago, next month he takes to the ring for a seventh professional fight at super-middleweight against the Croatian Ivan Stupalo for the International Masters title in London. He is undefeated after six bouts, trained by his father Clinton – the former British light-welterweight champion – and the nephew of the former world champion, Duke.

Yet mentally, McKenzie still has his demons. From football demigod to parcel courier in Dagenham, the transition from elite sportsman to relative normality has not been smooth. Most days he starts work at 7am, clocks off at 5pm and trains, before returning to a one-bedroom flat. “I’d like to think that I am doing as well as I can,” he says, with a humble smile and a flicker of black humour.

It may be a world away from the Saturday afternoons when thousands chanted his name, but McKenzie has a purpose again and, on the surface, exudes optimism. He speaks passionately about founding a centre to treat people struggling with mental and physical health, and is determined to pursue a career in counselling once the curtain closes on boxing.

It is football, in particular, that McKenzie believes exacerbated his depression. There were memorable moments for a striker who was once bought for £1m, but the game’s failure to broach issues of mental health often left him isolated and with nowhere to turn. It almost ended in a hotel room in Bexleyheath but McKenzie’s suicide attempt failed after he called his father to say goodbye in the last seconds of semi-consciousness. Clinton, in the area, rushed to his aid.

“I used to open the hotel door, shut the curtains and sleep,” McKenzie recalls of his time at Charlton Athletic in 2009, living away from his daughter and then wife. “I couldn’t cope any more and wanted to end it all, literally tried to. My family came to the hospital and to see them all crying with me in that state, it wasn’t nice for me. But the next day I went to training, I tried to forget about what happened and get on with being a footballer.”

McKenzie had pulled a hamstring the previous day, the latest injury in a series of setbacks that curtailed the latter stages of his career. He did not tell anyone at Charlton what had happened in that hotel room, confiding in almost no one, a trait programmed into him as a young player in an environment where vulnerability is perceived as weakness.

“No player wants to be left out of the team because they suffer from depression,” says McKenzie, whose sister Tracey took her own life aged 23. “If that jeopardises your position within the team, you’re naturally going to hide it. It’s down to clubs to provide that comfort, not to feel sorry for players, but to understand where it can go and the damage it can cause in the long run.

“We are trained to put any kind of doubt to the back of our minds. It’s all ‘come on, let’s focus’. When something creeps in that is negative we are not quick to go and share it. I’m not going to knock on my manager’s door and say: ‘I tried to take my own life last night.’ It’s not going to happen.”

Such are the barriers that McKenzie hopes will fade, a process he is trying to accelerate by telling his own story. His ups and downs have been more significant than most, but there remain many within the game who suffer in silence; be it the result of injury, loss of form, retirement or myriad other factors separate from sport.

In 2012 McKenzie was jailed for six months, admitting six charges of perverting the course of justice after sending letters to police – pretending to be from a fictional garage – to avoid paying speeding fines, during a particularly severe spell of depression.

In court he first met Clarke Carlisle, the former PFA chairman who last week revealed the dark details of his own suicide attempt before Christmas. Carlisle wrote the foreword to McKenzie’s autobiography two years ago – a poignant read anyway but heightened given recent events – and said: “Although Leon’s circumstances were completely different to mine, his thoughts and feelings were almost identical to when I was at my lowest.”

McKenzie says: “I was so scared. I went into an A-category prison with murderers, rapists and paedophiles. I’m sharing a cell with these people – you think, really? But it is what it is. I went in there for a reason. The funny thing is I had so much respect in there. As a footballer I had some of the baddest people coming in and talking to me. One guy said: ‘I murdered seven people. What did you do?’

“My head was cloudy and I made some mistakes with a driving situation. I’d never been in trouble with the law. I made a mistake, I was stupid. I’m sure a lot of people have done that. But because I was in a high-profile sport I was made an example of. When you are depressed you don’t always think straight. You’re in a deep, isolated place.

“There is a form of ignorance within some people. It can happen to anyone, whether you are a top athlete or you work in a nine-to-five job. Living with it or living with someone who suffers from it, then you begin to understand. It’s very hard for someone to understand if you don’t live with it daily or you don’t have it close to you – loved ones. We’ve all got a trigger.”

On Thursday the Football Association supported Time to Talk Day, a charity initiative by Time to Change that encouraged people to discuss mental health issues. The FA has highlighted mental health as a key part of its inclusion and anti-discrimination work, the governing body helping to fund the Sporting Chance rehabilitation clinic which has assisted Tony Adams, Joey Barton and many others.

McKenzie praised the PFA chief executive, Gordon Taylor, for personally assisting him during his troubles. However, he also questioned the level of structures in place to deal sufficiently with depression in the game, describing how players are often left to deal with problems alone. “It takes someone like Gary Speed’s profile and all of a sudden, the PFA included and the general public, started to listen. What about the people who aren’t high-profile and suffer just the same? What about them? Why has it got to take something high-profile for us to say: ‘OK, let’s do something now, let’s bring out pamphlets about depression.’

“Maybe money goes somewhere else, into places they feel is more sufficient and effective. There is a lot of money and there are a lot of people who earn a lot of money. I’m not saying they don’t do a good job but I do think they need to look at certain areas where it does save lives.

“I felt that when I called up the PFA and said: ‘What can I do to help players feel comfortable and come forward?’ it was just like passing the buck. The PFA have been fantastic with some of the things they have provided; Gordon Taylor himself has helped me out personally. That’s massive. But he can’t help everyone personally.”

For McKenzie, some days remain harder than others. He departs with a big fight at the forefront of his mind, one that provides routine, ambition and purpose. He will wrestle with a bigger fight for the rest of his life, an adversary that has dragged him to the depths, knocked him to the canvas, yet not beaten him.

“I’m a hell of a stronger person for knowing what I had and having it taken away. I go from scoring goals to scanning barcodes. Some mornings I come in and look around and go: ‘Wow,’ and sometimes I have a tear in my eye,” says McKenzie.

“But circumstances change. People say: ‘So you are all right now, Leon, because you’re doing well boxing-wise?’ I’m like ‘no’. I still suffer, but I have learned how to deal with it and how to recover. That’s the difference.”

• If you are suffering from depression, the Samaritans helpline on 08457 90 90 90 is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.