Men are willing to talk about almost anything—the size of their prostate glands, or how much Viagra they’re allowed to take—but they’re still not willing to be open about their mental health. If men want to live long, healthy, and productive lives, it’s absolutely crucial that we change the dialogue surrounding men’s mental health.
I lost my father, Douglas, to suicide in 2009. Douglas lost his father, Haakon, to suicide in 1966. Each suffered from undiagnosed mental health conditions and each suffered in silence because of the stigma surrounding men talking about and getting help for mental illness.
Haakon—a Norwegian man who served in the Royal Air Force (35th Squadron as a tail gunner) in World War II—killed himself in 1966 because of the overwhelming post-traumatic stress he suffered due to the war. Douglas, an American man who was chronically unhappy and abusive, may have been clinically depressed for a very long time, but my mother filing for divorce was a catalyst (not the cause) for his action in taking his own life.
There’s a relatively new case study in The Journal of Men’s Health that says that men are affected tremendously by divorce. They have higher rates of alcohol and drug abuse and depression and detach themselves from personal relationships and social support.
In 2011, I had several catalysts for my own near-suicide attempt: the dissolution of a relationship with a long-term girlfriend (similar to a divorce), a lack of work, and fallout from my mother’s betrayal. I was in terrible emotional pain and unknowingly suffering from clinical depression.
My thought life took a downward spiral pretty fast. How did I get to such a dismal place in my life so quickly, just a month shy of my 27th birthday? Coming out of secondary school and high on optimism, I thought by the time I reached my mid-twenties I would have it all together. After a couple of years singing on Broadway (yes, I’m a theater geek), I would have scored a few bit parts on Law & Order and transitioned seamlessly from having my own television show, A-Team 2.0 as Mr. T’s long-lost son, to being cast with Will Smith in the summer’s biggest blockbuster. After which, my getaway home in the south of France would be featured in Homes & Gardens and my face would grace the cover of the National Enquirer as Bigfoot’s not-so-secret lover. Not to mention, I’d have my perfect wife and perfect family by my side to share in my success.
But instead I somehow only managed to perform in an assortment of small professional theater gigs and on one embarrassing reality television show; and over the course of the previous 18 months my father killed himself, my mother betrayed me and sued me for my father’s inheritance, and my girlfriend of six years broke up with me.
This perfectly imperfect storm of calamity and crisis had ravaged my life … and I wasn’t talking about it to anyone. My silence led to crisis and poor decisions—to the extent that I was hanging out of a fourth-story window.
Those men who came before me, Haakon and Douglas, each of them suffered their pain in silence too because of stigma, and I felt that same stigma—like I’d be seen as “crazy” or “less of a man” if I talked about what I was going through.
Standing at the ledge of that fourth-floor window, I realized I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to end my inner torment and emotional pain. And I needed to break the familial cycle. So I came back inside, took a risk, and asked for help by calling my mother.
Over the next few months I continued to take more risks. I called old friends to tell them I needed their support. I got into therapy. And no one ever told me I was crazy, stupid, or a bad person. They told me they loved me and wanted to help me.
While recovering from clinical depression, I wanted to help youth and other men like me. So I produced my autobiographical book and one-man play, The Gospel According to Josh, about my foray into show business along with my father’s suicide and took it to high schools, colleges, and community centers all across the U.S., Canada, the U.K., and Australia. I use it to talk about the importance of mental health and suicide prevention. Most of my audiences were and still continue to be women. One of the things I’ve found is that most men (not just the Rivedal men) have a difficult time talking about and getting help for their mental health or if they’re feeling suicidal. There seems to be some societal pressure that says, “You’re not a true man if you don’t have it all together, all the time.”
But I have a message for men everywhere that’s simple yet profound: there’s always hope and help out there for you. As a man who has suffered from clinical depression, I can say from personal experience that this is not a character flaw or a weakness. It doesn’t make you any less of a man. In fact, by asking for help, it makes you a stronger man. It gives you a fighting chance to improve your life and become the person you want to be. Reach out to your family and friends and ask for help. Nip it in the bud before it turns into a crisis.
If you need a bit of help and don’t know where to turn, here is a list of resources for suicide prevention and mental health in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and around the world.
Additionally, for International Men’s Day on November 19, 2014, I’m having a live Google Hangout chat on male depression, suicide, and how and where to get help with MensLine Australia in Australia (details HERE), and MenBeyond50 in the United Kingdom (details HERE). We’ll be covering a lot, and you can ask questions, and it’s totally free.
