The mind of a man.
Straight forward isn’t it? You kill
an animal, drag it home, skin and gut it, then give it to the woman to prepare a
lovely meal.
That’s what blokes do – provide.
Safety, shelter, security, protection. Nothing stops them, nothing phases them,
they take on anyone and anything.
No. In recent years there’s been
some startling revelations about men’s mental health. Prince Harry, Simon
Thomas, have made some fantastic public views about their journeys. But I’m not
5th in line to the throne, or on Sky Sports. I’m just a bloke,
struggling to deal with shit. And that’s an admission, I struggle to deal with
shit. But that’s a new sensation, it’s never happened before.
Sitting on the end of my bed,
shaking and crying uncontrollably. Alone, wondering how the fuck it came to
this. Not even wanting to feel this way, but strangely not being able to change
that feeling.
It’s mental, literally.
How did it get to this? Years of
heartache, one thing and another, and telling nobody, keeping it stored up
there, assuming it might one day miraculously go away. Because that’s what men
do, right? Don’t worry anyone else with your problems, they’re just that. Your
problems, nobody else’s. You own them, you deal with it.
Wrong. It’s an old saying ‘A
problem shared is a problem halved’ or something like that. When my girlfriend escorted
me to see a doctor, it was a weight lifted from my shoulders. The doctor was
amazing. ‘It’s ok not to be ok’ he said. A phrase I repeat to myself regularly.
So, I spent a year visiting my GP
on a regular basis, adamant I wasn’t going to take medication. I knew I could
deal with this, I’m a man after all. But I couldn’t. I found myself shaking,
crying, without a clue about what was going on.
What did I do? I sent out a text
to really close mates, as best as I could whilst shaking and crying, asking for
a call. And they called. And I told them. And they listened. And they
understood. And my girlfriend understands too. She knows I’m still that man,
who provides and protects, but who also has a sensitive side.
I’m almost out of it now, I think.
But were it not for the admission and the request for help, the support of
people around me, I dread to think where this may have ended up.
It’s ok not to be ok.
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