My Mental Health
I feel the need to preface this piece with a short disclaimer. None of what I'm about to talk about is laced with any kind of hyperbole, and I've approached it this way deliberately. To me, language choices and phrasing are so, so important when it comes to talking about topics like mental health. The use of sensationalist language creates a very real risk of triggering someone that is also struggling. By the same token, I don't want anything to appear to be too dry or clinical; these are lived, human experiences after all, and what are we without our humanity?
Also, sections of this are not going to be easy to read. If you are reading this and you are struggling, approach with caution, and please, be safe. If you need help, there are myriad organisations out there that are readily contactable. Don't suffer in silence; it can feel like an insurmountable challenge to ask for help but I promise you, you won't regret it if you do.
2025 was, to put it mildly, a difficult year for me. The breakup of a decade plus relationship, the (unrelated) loss of someone from my life who I believed to be a very close friend, what I will describe as a tricky situation with another that resulted in them also disappearing from my life, the loss of my job as part of mass layoffs, as well as the severely deteriorating mental health of several people that I am very close to. Sincerely, after all that, I have wondered on occasion how I am even still here.
Before I continue, a little housekeeping. Whilst I asked The Everyday to publish this piece anonymously, for the sake of creating a sense of connection with you whilst you are reading this, call me H. I'm male, and I'm hovering perilously around middle age.
The toll all of this took on my mental health was, as I'm sure you can appreciate, rather high. I've had depression and anxiety for almost my entire adult life, but symptoms were mercifully rare. I was prone to self-harm (which can manifest itself in hundreds if not thousands of different ways, but in my case I am referring specifically to cutting myself), very mild OCD symptoms, as well as depressive episodes. I was almost entirely free of everything for a very, very long time. However, following the events of 2025 everything resurfaced with a venegeance.
I was left questioning almost everything. I found it almost impossible to trust anyone fully, my self confidence was left in tatters, and it was impossible to focus through the mental white noise. I spiralled, painting on a smile in social situations (there's quite a famous quote from Ricky Gervais' 'Afterlife' which I think sums it up best - " I remember what it was like to be normal, so I do an impression of that"). Behind closed doors, I was finding myself over analysing every minute detail of almost every interaction, scanning for malice or checking myself with everything I said. Had I revealed too much? Had I said something that would later come back to bite me in the rear end?
It was more than that, though. I put every single cell of what makes me who I am under a microscope. Was what I was feeling reasonable? Was I correct to be upset about a particular topic? Was I right to still believe that I was, fundamentally at least, a good person?
Not being able to fully trust even my own mind terrified me.
Somehow, I managed to get a grip on the self harm before it really took hold. I remember looking down at my arm after one particular relapse and feeling as if there was no way out. I felt defeated and thoroughly ashamed, I told myself out loud I was pathetic. I wasn't, I know that, and if I'm honest I knew that at the time (and if that resonated with anyone reading this, you aren't either). I needed a release, and that was, unfortunately, how it came out. After this specific relapse, I made a concious choice; it was time to stop. I still don't really know where it came from, but I found some determination from somewhere and somehow, it's stuck.
There have been a few key moments during recovery like that. This next one was pivotal, but it is probably the hardest to talk about. Having considered the alternative on more than one occasion, one night, I made the choice to stay. I made that choice for one person, someone who has experienced enough pain and enough loss in their life. Eventually, that choice also became about myself.
The lonelieness has probably been the single worst aspect of it all. I am, for the most part, absolutely fine in my own company, but there have been weeks where I haven't seen (or heard) from a soul. I've been through phases where getting out of bed in the morning has felt like a Herculean undertaking, and I have had to force myself to do it. Deep down, I know it's the best thing to do. Lying there doomscrolling or worse, drowning in a mess of thoughts and emotions, isn't conducive to recovery. It's easier said than done, of course.
It gets worse at night. When I get into bed, I either read, or watch absolute rubbish on YouTube until I can't keep my eyes open any more. I have to do that to drown out the merciless chaos that my internal monologue has become and to have any chance at sleep. Eeven when I do drift off I have been woken up on more than one occasion as the result of horiffic nightmares. A couple of which have recurred several times over the course of a month, maybe more. That one, I can't explain.
Fast forward to where we are now, mid 2026, and I can cautiously say that the urge to self-harm has vanished. I have managed to quash some of the more self-destructive routines I'd developed, and I am now beginning to see the wood for the trees.
It probably sounds trite, but focusing on positives, as well as the things you can control, really does help. I've spent a long time focusing on establishing routines, focusing on passions and hobbies, trying to be active, connecting with new people, and it's paid dividends. I'm not saying it's all smooth sailing, but life is beginning to feel better again.
Being honest with myself, I suspect not all of the ways in which I approach (or have been approaching) things will be beneficial long-term. I have got very good at putting up my armour when it comes to other people, for example, and I'm certain that my current tactic when it comes to trying to sleep isn't sustainable. I see both of these as akin to scaffolding on a house that's being repaired, though. Temporary measures: a means to a stronger reconstruction.
Speaking more generally for a moment, the narrative around mental health, and by extension, men's mental health, is one that is permeating the mainstream more and more. It's more widely understood, far more widely acknowledged, and that can only lead to good things. It's a tricky thing to comprehend for those of us that aren't sufferers – as are most illnesses – which is why it's important to continue to grow and develop discourse around the topic.
If you take just one thing from this piece, let it be this. No matter how impossible something may seem, or how long the road ahead looks, there is always hope. There is always a future. Even if it doesn't feel like it, and even if it isn't what you imagined.
Anonymously Written
