What drives a person? What makes people act the way they do, talk the way they do, or behave the way they do? For some, it’s a need for achievement. For others’, it’s a need for affiliation. And for some people, it’s a need for power. But these can come at a price. Oftentimes, because of past experiences; be it in familial, platonic, or romantic relationships, these factors can be taken out of hand and pushed to extremes. For me personally, I think it’s a need for affiliation.

I left St Andrews last year, and I took a leave of absence. To put it simply, I was struggling. Years of behavioral and emotional engineering had pushed me to the edge, and I couldn’t cope with it anymore. I was tired, emotionally and physically, and everything that had once brought me joy lost its appeal. I couldn’t socialize, I couldn’t do my work, and I couldn’t leave my bed. I lost 20kg in 3 months and subsequently gained it all back. My bedroom became a brewing pot of dirty clothes, leftover food, and boxes left unpacked from the beginning of the year. But the thing is… nobody knew.

Statistics show that 1 out of 6 men experience depression every year. 1 out of 4 women experience depression just the same. However, men are far less likely to talk about it. Because of this, we see that male deaths represent 79% of all suicides, equating to roughly 100 men a day and over 36,000 annually. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, the suicide rate among men was nearly 4 times higher than that of females. Suicide is never the answer, whatever the case, men or women, but many people don’t realise how much the men in their lives labour. You see, Society programs men to be the strong ones. To build up others in their lives, and to swallow down that which pains them. If you cry, it’s emasculating, and if you show any form of weakness, well, you’re not a real man.

So, naturally, I didn’t let it show. I flipped the switch. That inner button that everyone has to power through and push down what’s really bothering you. Basically invalidating your own feelings. In the few times I'd force myself out, I'd play the same character. Energetic, charming, (sometimes) funny - I'd run into friends on the street and make plans I knew I'd never attend and when I’d be asked “How’re your classes? How’s life?” I'd give the same answer we all do: “It’s great.” In reality though - it sucked. I’d come home and get into bed after my day of pretending, and just feel numb. I’d smoke or drink to mask what was really happening, and I'd lose myself in what other people thought of me, cause naturally that had to be correct, and I'd deny myself the opportunity to confront the man I saw staring back at me in the mirror. And in those numb moments, late at night and alone with my thoughts, I would feel my eyes fill with tears, but I never knew what caused them because I couldn’t - I shouldn’t - have been feeling that way.

Well ultimately, I reached my breaking point. Calling my parents, and telling them what I was really going through, was one of the hardest things I’d had to do at that point in my life. What’s worse than that however, was not telling those closest to me. To my friends, I should’ve had the strength to say what was really going on, but I didn’t. I told them I had a family emergency and I had to leave, and if I had to go into detail then I made something up. My flight was booked and not 3 days later I was flying out of Edinburgh and on my way back home.

Well some good news came from that. Now I won’t go into detail on everything that had made me that way up until that point, but I wasn’t happy to go home. The thing was, I wasn’t happy away from home either, and it felt like there was no way out. It was needed though.

I started therapy. I never thought that would be something I’d be doing, but I did. What I hope you understand, is that I looked down on it. Even today, where millions of more people are in therapy and far more open about mental health than ever before, I still looked down on it. I mean how much does talking to somebody really help? I’ve seen family and friends go and be all the better for it, but that couldn't happen for me, right? Not with what I was experiencing?

Well, needless to say, I was wrong. At first I had the wrong therapist. See it’s not always a perfect fit right away, and it depends as much on the people as it does the services provided. I learned it was up to me, and nobody else could fix what I thought was broken. Still, I was ashamed, and I’d feel guilty when people would ask me why I'm home, and not studying. I couldn’t be perceived as what, in my mind, was shameful. And then I found the right therapist, recommended by a family friend. Far sooner than I expected, a couple months down the line, I was starting to feel better. Slowly. It slowly got easier to get out of bed, I started cooking again, and I started making some time to see friends. And then I called them. The friends here who I couldn’t tell what was going on. The friends who I didn’t want to see me as weak, or vulnerable, or lesser because of what I’d been going through and how it pushed me to a leave of absence.

And so I told them. I told them I was doing better, I was even in therapy, but it was still a journey.

But fast forward a year and here I am now. Back in St Andrews, and staying on top of my work like never before. I haven’t smoked in 10 months, and I don’t drink nearly as much as before (although I do still enjoy the occasional pint). I’m open now to people who ask, and I’m not ashamed to be in therapy. I’m also not ashamed to admit that writing this is really hard. I’m exposing myself, but that doesn’t mean I'm weaker for it. See this is not something that should go unspoken. In the UK, only 36% of referrals to the United Kingdom National Health Service for talk therapy are for men, and suicide is the largest cause of death for men under the age of 50. With Movember coming up, just remember to check in. There’s no shame in struggling. I’m still working at it, and I'm still going.