You’re a Man, How Does Depression Feel?
I feel that as a man, writing about poor mental health is hugely important, sharing our experiences raises awareness, and could save someone's life. This article describes my lived experience of depression and how it happens for me.
Look out for everyone in your life. Keep talking.
I encourage anyone to share their own stories. Here’s mine.
This is how I experienced it. It's not this way for everyone; often, the most upbeat and cheerful people are the sufferers.
Everything is fine, it really is. I’m light, the world is clear and bright, I’m upbeat, positive, laughing, and joking.
I like being ‘this’ me. I’m good company, even if I do say so myself. I wish I could stay forever.
Just a hint of darkness to start with, out the corner of my eye, like the hint of a wisp of a suggestion of a shadow of a curtain swaying in the breeze through an open window. The wind picks up, distracting my mind, swathing my thoughts. Suddenly, there's more gloom than gleam. I try to imagine standing in a beautiful, clear blue sea, on a warm summer day, but it's futile; I’m trapped now. The imaginary camera, filming above my head, captures this internal struggle as the depression creeps in, begins its slow ascent.
As it climbs slowly higher, the clear, crisp water becomes darker, colder, and gone is the gentle rippling on the surface, now replaced by a rolling swell. The warm, white sandy shoreline, now far in the distance, as the true expanse of this dark ocean reveals itself, im just visible, centre screen. A huge wave crashes over, I’m submerged, and gone. Consumed.
Wait, what? How did this apathetic transition happen? Why do I never pay any attention to the triggers? This dark opulence, the stoic emptiness I’m experiencing, is frightening, and yet strangely comforting. As the world I know shrinks, and the app containing my emotions is uninstalled to save on power, breathing, and staying conscious are all I can manage.
I’m wrapped in an insidious blanket woven from asbestos. I’m comfortable, warm, and fireproof, yet hopeless, cold-hearted, lonely, and fully aware that just being here is dangerous. I’m desperate for a loving hand on my head, to soothe this physical pressure I feel behind my eyes, causing the worry lines to deepen. Or a voice in my ear, calling out in the dark to find me, guide me back to ‘me’. But, with spines protruding through these bleeding wounds in my painfully tight skin, how can anyone get close again?
As I enter the bathroom, I don't know why I’m here; it's not as if I’m going to shower or even brush my teeth. The depression takes even the basic self-care away. I catch myself in the mirror, a pale, drawn, hunched thing stares back, he looks a little like a guy I once knew, except this man appears older, smaller, thinner, possessed even. I put my fingers down my throat to see if my vomit is green, I try and spin my head 360 degrees, nope, ok, probably not possessed. Where is he? I liked him, it can't be him, can it?
I surmise that there is no point to me; I've outlived my usefulness to the world, and in the lives of others.
Am I a weighted soul by default, and buoyancy just an Idyll? I hope this is not the case, so I will cling to the opposite hypothesis.
Everything is not fine, it really isn’t. I’m dark, the world is heavy and dull, I’m diminished, negative, wondering if I will ever laugh again, or enjoy a joke.
I hate being ‘this’ me. I’m alone
Help.
Image copyright Sarita White Photography © 2025
