Men’s Health Blog

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Since I turned twenty-six, just over a month ago now, I’ve found myself self-indulgently worrying about getting old. Or, I should say, worrying about getting older without having much to really show for it.

This time last year I had just completed a degree, was working at a job that I still thought was a reasonably good option for me and had my own flat – or at least one I was sharing with a flatmate. While this was rapidly becoming a less attractive option than it had first seemed, the image of independence was one that I could somewhat enjoy, even as things went downhill.

Fast-forward to this year, and I’m in much the same position except I’ve had a year out of university, working almost full-time, have produced one unenthusiastically received novel, moved back home largely to get closer to work and avoid building a dislike of said flatmate, and come to the realisation that my job is actually a fairly horrible one when the boss is in one of her moods.

So it’s a case of not really going that far at all. I have friends who are marrying and already have kids, PhDs and jobs travelling the world, whereas I’m back in the same bedroom I grew up in, grumbling about the noise everyone else is making, largely failing to do anything that I really consider to be going anywhere. Add to this that the only proper relationship I’ve had ended over three years ago now, and I’m still mulling it over and unable to move on, even though it was with someone I know I never really loved.

I’ve been thinking a lot about ageing and death lately. This could be because of the death of my much-loved and long-serving companion, my dog Robbie, earlier this year. It could also have something to do with the numerous grey hairs I’ve started finding on myself in the past few months. Or perhaps it could be something completely ridiculous, like the fact that my workplace adjoins an enormous, sprawling cemetery and I walk past it every day, sometimes using their facilities after eating my lunch.

And all this talk of ageing and feeling conversely older and yet still stuck in the same place I was a child brings me to the most interesting thing that happened to me today, which is that one of my best friends told me that he was going to kill himself.

He did this while on the phone to me from Phillip Island, several hours’ drive away. He’s there for a rock festival thing that spans over New Years, one of those ones where people camp and bogans congregate and which I’ve always managed to avoid. One day at the Big Day Out, however good the acts are – and this year’s line up was fantastic, and the best one I’ve ever been to – is more than enough for me, with the veneer of the festival only stretching so far before you realise it’s a lot of drunken wankers and pushy teenagers.

When he rung me he’d just lost his tent due to the characteristically insane winds at Phillip Island. He was alone, because no one else shared his enthusiasm for the festival, and it must have hit him just how alone when he realised he might not actually have anywhere to sleep. So he rang me, sounding rather down as he screamed over fireworks and blaring music, and told me that he thought he was going to kill himself.

This is a pretty shocking thing to hear at the best of times, but particularly when you’re on one end of a dodgy mobile signal that keeps momentarily dropping out, and too far away to do anything. We’d briefly talked about suicide a few months earlier – I’d always considered it as the way I’d go out, but could imagine doing it more out of annoyance than of a long-standing depression. Whereas he has, this year, suffered the breakdown of a long-term relationship and not really bounced back, despite his general cheeriness and seeming joy at many aspects of life.

As I tried to come up with some sort of reply to this, I was struck by just how little I could do if he actually decided to do it. I couldn’t get there in time to stop him – even if I could drive, which I can’t, it’s still hours away. I’m remarkably unqualified to talk someone down from suicide, because it’s an option I’ve often considered and in fact still do think about on a fairly regular basis. I often find life pretty bleak and empty, and I don’t really think there’s any shame or stigma in simply deciding that it’s not for you. If he were really depressed the only real skill I can offer is that of a sympathetic ear, albeit one hampered by the fact that he was almost unintelligible in parts due to interference, noise pollution and the constant thrashing of the wind.

In the end I asked him where he was, and he said the car park, and I started to joke about how I imagined there were few places more depressing than a car park, and at least we could always be grateful that we didn’t work in one and could always leave. He laughed, and this defused the situation a bit, and he went off amid crackles and explosions of fireworks to try and find somewhere to sleep for the night. He still sounded pretty terrible, and I was worried.

I sent off an SMS a bit later, and didn’t get any response for about three hours, whereupon he rang me, now sounding a lot happier. He had managed to fix his tent somehow, and was adamant that he wouldn’t come to a thing like the festival again by himself. He even asked me if I’d come to the next one with him, to which I agreed somewhat reluctantly.  I didn’t want to go, solely due to my dislike of communal camping and ongoing rock festivals in general, but it was heartening because it showed that he was at least planning on being around in a year’s time.

This was the best ending I could hope for after spending many tense hours imagining everything from delivering the eulogy at his funeral to explaining myself to his distraught and angry parents. Because what I’d realised, in this period of anxious reflection, was that all I could do in the event that he did break off and go to try and kill himself, would be to call people – the police, his parents, my mum, anyone. It’s a particularly stinging type of impotence to realise that all you can do is call for help that won’t do any good.

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