Unspoken

I’ve just finished reading ‘Gary Speed Unspoken’ by John Richardson and Louise Speed. It’s the story, as told by his widow and his friends, about the life and tragic death by suicide of the footballer Gary Speed. On 27th November 2011, Speed’s wife Louise found him hanged in his garage. She was the person who cut him down. To this day, no one has been unable to find why he ended his life, aged just 42. He seemed to have everything a man could want but somehow it was not enough.

Most contributors to the book speculate that Speed must have had some form of mental illness, probably depression. Men are notoriously bad at talking about their health and still there is a stigma around mental illness. Did he have demons in his head which he never talked about?

I found it a desperately compelling, though extremely tough, read. There were times when I had to stop reading altogether, put the book down and regather my senses. And on every page there were stories, anecdotes, that reduced me to tears.

Years ago, before I became a semi-retired deadbeat, I would not have admitted how the book affected me any more than I would have willingly confessed my own demons. What would others think? That I was mad? That I was a danger to them? That I could not be relied upon? All these and more.

Unlike Speed, I did not possess anything like his movie star looks or that exceptional athletic talent combined with drive and determination. I not reached the pinnacles he had, excelling at everything he put his mind to. But I always sought to conceal my demons. I wonder if he did, too? Perhaps it was even harder for Speed, living in the limelight, idolised by millions, to reveal anything bad that was going on in the back of his head.

His friends, especially his former footballing colleagues, talk about his continuing presence, that when they are playing and managing, they sense he is with them. Of course, he isn’t really because there are no ghosts, no spirit worlds, because they exist only in our wild imaginings, yet I get what they mean. It’s more to do with the legacy he left behind, the examples that he set, the person he was. Although the person is no longer with us, the memories remain.

I suppose I read the book hoping I would find an answer to the question of why he took his own life. God knows the many contributors did their best, but there is no conclusion. And there never will be.