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Today’s post is by an “everyday” guy who battles depression, Sašo Merkač.
Please note: description of a suicide attempt and suicidality are included in this post.
I have battled with what I now know is depression for the better part of a decade – since my teenage years. At the time, I didn’t see it as depression, it was simply a part of who I was. What my parents once considered to be nothing more than bouts of teenage angst, was something much more sinister. A while back I learned (in therapy) that most of my energy went into keeping me “above the surface.” Fighting like this really is a draining experience. It drained me emotionally, as well as physically.
Throughout high school, I had periods in which I felt completely helpless and simply didn’t see any silver lining in life. I found myself in a state of despair without any reason. I became trapped inside what I can only describe as a shroud of unwavering misery. During these difficult times, the thought of merely getting out of bed was unfathomable.
I still remember how often I told my so called friends to push me off a bridge, how often I thought about jumping in front of a bus
Most of this was laughed off as a joke, but I did get quite close to ending it all twice.
When I was 17 or 18, I was home alone for the weekend. I couldn’t really take it – being alone with my mind and all the thoughts was too much. I helped myself to the pills in our medicine cabinet along with some very strong alcohol. I woke up a day later, covered in my own vomit, the right half of my body paralyzed. It took me a while to realise what I’ve done.
First, I started laughing, since that was a new experience for me. But then it also hit me like a truck: What if my mom and my brother find me like this? Would they blame themselves? How could I be so selfish?
I got myself together for a while, but I still avoided most of my friends, telling them that I was too busy to see them, that I had “things” to do.
I didn’t.
I hid away, enveloped in the dark of my bedroom, thinking about what I could do, what I should do and what I should have done.
I didn’t say a word to my family.I wouldn’t want them to think that I’m crazy, would I?
I was crying for help, without any intention of accepting it. I skipped classes often and acted like an idiot frequently. To make matters even worse, I worried my family and all too regularly hurt the feelings of those who tried to offer me help.
I was both sad and self-destructive, and could not work out why. The idea that it was just a phase and that it would pass kept me going.
During these episodes, I think the worst part was the sense of complete and utter hopelessness associated with the belief that it would never get better, that it would forever be with me, waiting to pounce at the opportune moment.
The second wake-up call was a close call with an oncoming train. At that point, at 2:00 in the morning, it seemed like a quick and effective idea to end this cycle. I was sitting on the tracks, waiting to “catch my train,” while the voices in my head were shouting – arguing really – about all the reasons for and against dying.
One side clearly won the argument. I admitted defeat at that time – I admitted to myself that I was not strong enough and that it’s perfectly okay to ask for help.And so I did; later that morning, I opened my heart to the person I trusted most.
To be honest with you, for a very long time I didn’t fully understand what was going on. All I knew was that I was unhappy, and that I believed that I would never escape this overwhelming sense of sadness without any help.
Fortunately, I did get help.
The depression subsided and I was happy that it had left me for the time being. I also felt ashamed that I had acted like such an arsehole. I was wracked with guilt for treating the people I love with such disdain.
Since that time, I have suffered bouts of depression of varying intensity on a yearly basis. I can now recognise it for what it is.
I now have much better coping mechanisms set in place to help me manage my depression and this makes a world of difference. My friends are aware and understanding, and my family can only be described as a godsend.
Although the openness I now show regarding my own battles with depression has left some scars on those around me. My parents likely blame themselves – something that is both ridiculous and very sad, as I know that my battle with depression stems from something deep within my biology, something inherent and mostly unchangeable.
I want those around me to understand this completely so they acknowledge I don’t need them to try and fix me, but to simply be there for me in my times of need.
So, if you take anything from my experiences, please take this: depression is individual, damaging, and in some ways, unchangeable. If you want to help, then offer your support and your understanding, and simply be there for us without judgement.
I’m 32 now. I have my ways of coping with depression that
If you are feeling you may hurt yourself or someone else, dial 9-1-1 immediately. If you need help resources, please see here.
Sašo Merkač is an everyday guy with a love for foreign languages, animals and all things digital He’s traveled a long way in life and has seen many of the up and downs. Some of his goals are traveling the world more, living life to the fullest and owning an animal sanctuary on top of a hill somewhere. Some of the things helping him fight his demons so far are yoga, TMS therapy and pushing his own boundaries. One step at a time. Find Sašo on LinkedIn.
Banner image by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash.
Inset image by LoboStudio Hamburg on Unsplash.
Natasha Tracy is an award-winning writer, speaker, advocate, and consultant from the Pacific Northwest. She has been living with bipolar disorder for 26 years and has written more than 2000 articles on the subject.
Find more of Natasha’s work in her acclaimed book: "Lost Marbles: Insights into My Life with Depression & Bipolar" on Amazon.
Connect with Natasha at the social media links below.
Shopping for someone with a mental illness can feel tricky—you want a gift that actually helps, not just more clutter. This guide walks you through 15 thoughtful, low-pressure mental health gifts that offer real comfort, reduce stress, and say, “I see you and I’m here,” during the holidays and all year.
I’m never going to call bipolar pain a “gift.” Most days, I just want it to stop. But emotional and even physical pain aren’t always random torture—they’re often trying to tell us something. This piece digs into what your pain might be saying, how to listen, and how that can make living with it just a little easier.
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Men are FAR more likely to commit suicide, and even more likely to do it successfully.
Men are expected to suppress so many emotions, both by patriarchal pressures as well as feminist pressures. We cannot win, we have no subscription where we can just be ourselves unless we give the world the finger. The patriarchy says we have to be strong no matter what, hold the weight of others emotions without showing our own. Feminism says our natural emotions are possessive or abusive. We’re not allowed anywhere until we decide to live by our own rules and fuck the rest.
This doesn’t take away from the plight of women but I think the suicide stat and society of emotional suppression are important to recognize in a world where we are (rightly) more concerned with sexual and emotional abuse toward women, and largely ignore or invalidate what men go through. Life is hard, for everyone. Don’t invalidate anyone. Don’t invalidate me. I’ve been to the lowest places and I won’t let anyone get away with invalidating me anymore.
I want to follow up with this by saying that I’m a highly empathic person. I love to make my lover or partner feel loved, cherished, and heard. It’s what we all yearn for and deserve, so I give it, and hope to receive it. But the problem is that so many expect what I mentioned above and that’s when I have zero tolerance for being invalidated, and I’ll defend myself with no apology.
I’m not anything remotely close to a red-piller or anything like that. I am just a very emotional person who likes to express it romantically and plutonically, but I live in a society that on all sides asks me to suppress it so I am expressing that frustration.
I am writing this under a different name than usual to protect my husband’s identity. He suffers from anxiety and depression. It came to a head when he was 40, he became suicidal. He wisely asked me to hide his guns. I have suffered with suicidal issues all my life so it shouldn’t have been so terrifying to me, but it was…he was my rock and we were switching roles.. He started drinking to cope and then i gave him an ultimatum…stop immaturely self-medicating and get help or I will have no choice but to leave with the kids. He was being cruel in his depression, spending hours every night crying and and telling me how our marriage ruined his llfe. It was difficult for all of us, he also moved out of our bedroom, accused me of cheating (I wasn’t.) and yelled constantly at the kids, who were baffled by this person who wasmt daddy..I did not recognize it as depression at first, men’s depression manifests differently than women’s… I just didn’t know this person who had replaced my husband. Once I recognized the depression, I stopped fighting him and started coaxing him to get help. After all I been through with bipolar…he KNEW he needed help, he just didn’t want to go. He accused me of wanting to drug him up to control him. However he scheduled an appointment with my therapist and psych and got on the road to wellness. He stopped his meds once and it went badly, so he now takes his meds faithfully.. It took about a year and a half for him to recover and he does have mild breakthrough episodes.
I reread and realize i wrote this from my own viewpoint, which is still a bit bitter. His view was that for ten years he had taken care of me…I was severely ill for 6 of those years. We had an autistic child and another one with severe anxiety. I became disabled. He lost it when my mom died of cancer.JUst too many bad things happening for too long. The stress on my husband was tremendous. Anyone would have cracked under the stress load he had, and he was already suffering from untreated anxiety and depression. From my view, he abandoned me as I was grieving, but it couldn’t be helped…he just couldnt deal with it anymore. You can’t choose when your mind will say,”Enough already!”