After being mugged, crime author Chris Whitaker found himself unable to cope with the trauma. Putting his thoughts down on paper helped – then disaster struck again
I’ve always struggled with the concept of asking for help. To me it seems like acknowledging a failure, raising a hand and declaring myself inadequate. Mental health is in the news every day; in theory it’s never been more acceptable to talk about it, yet I still feel nervous as I write this. On the surface I am eternally positive. I’m someone who likes making people laugh. I joke around a lot. That’s the me I like people to see, and to remember. But I also have the ability to self-destruct in spectacular style.
I work hard, but to the point where I become obsessive. Writing a book can feel like life or death. I was fanatical in my A-level revision and then, the night before my economics exam, I got so drunk I woke up in hospital. I didn’t go to university. I had no idea what I wanted to do. So I bounced from job to job. I worked in supermarkets, bars, sold electrical cabling. It was when I was out dropping leaflets that I was mugged.