I'm celebrating my first Father's Day – after a suicide attempt, I never thought I would get here

All my life, I wanted to be a dad. But despite wanting nothing more, despite my heart aching for it, when going through my depression, I just couldn’t imagine it

Father's Day is celebrated on the 19th June this year

I didn’t ever think I would be someone who suffered from depression, I certainly didn’t ever imagine I would be someone who would attempt to commit suicide, but depression got me out of nowhere. It crept up and pulled me apart bit by bit, slowly and devastatingly.

There were many reasons for my struggle, some rational, some irrational, and some completely out of my control. I have used my experiences to speak publicly about mental health, to campaign for a better understanding, better support and have created a national charity to give hope to others.

And although I make a point of speaking openly and honestly about my battle, I have never really spoken in depth about a particular issue I struggled with as part of the personal battle I fought every day. However, three years after my suicide attempt, and as part of Men’s Health Week, I feel as though I am able to properly open up.

My depression mainly surrounded one thing; the expectations of being a man. I, quite simply, did not feel I was able to fit the model of being a man and everything I thought that meant.

I didn’t feel strong, I didn’t feel capable. I wasn’t tall, I wasn’t muscly, I couldn’t even grow a beard – still can’t. I didn’t feel as though I would be able to protect myself, my family or girlfriend. If anyone was to start a fight or an argument, how would I defend myself? I would walk in a bar and feel dwarfed by every man around me. I was claiming jobseekers allowance, I’d never been to a gym and I’d barely watched an episode of Top Gear.

I felt like a boy in a man’s world and there was nothing I could do about it.

Apart from drink. Drink could help me prove myself as a man. The more I drank, the stronger I felt, confident that I could take anyone on. Drink made me recklessly bold, happy to confront, happy to throw a punch, even, sometimes, happy to be punched. Drunk me was fearless, despite sober me being petrified of life.

I struggled with the expectations because they are as irrelevant as they are impossible.

Men don’t have to be strong or in control; tough, emotionless machines, unable to talk, or drop their guard in fear of being seen as weak.

We can’t be bottlenecked into one type; a generic ideology that makes absolutely no sense. Trying to live up to the impossible can only lead to us suppressing who we really are, how we really feel. As a result, we lie, we compete, we hurt ourselves and others around us.

A life of pretence is no life at all and contributes to the fact that suicide kills more men in this country under the age of 45 than anything else.

I know that now. I didn’t know it then.

All my life, I wanted to be a dad. I wanted nothing more than to bring a baby into this world, to love them, protect them, raise them and teach them to be happy. That is what I had always dreamt of.

But despite wanting nothing more, despite my heart aching for it, when going through my depression, I just couldn’t imagine it. I couldn’t imagine myself being capable of looking after a child, holding it, protecting it. I couldn’t imagine my child looking up to me, admiring me, feeling safe with me as the head of the family. I couldn’t imagine being able to provide for them, feeding them, keeping them fit, healthy and warm.

I struggled everyday with the idea that the one thing I always wanted just wouldn’t be possible because I would never be up to the task. It cut me deep. I was so convinced that I was incapable, I even went as far as having fertility tests. I needed proof and hope that there was a chance. I thought getting that would give me a light at the end of a tunnel, a promise that it would be ok. But, even when they came back positive, the tunnel seemed as dark as ever.

It was the one thing I thought about every single day and it was the last thought in my head before I tried to end my life. As I sat alone in my car, trying to cut deep enough, that thought remained in my head.

Until I was found. Stopped. Saved.

Now, three years on, I am preparing to celebrate Father’s Day, my first I will as a father to a beautiful six month old baby. A happy, healthy, warm, fed and protected baby who looks at me with eyes that fill me with a feeling of complete and utter gratitude; gratitude for what I have, gratitude for what I almost gave up.

His face is a face of hope and an example that, no matter how bad things can be, you should never give up. You will get through it, there is another side. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, a light that can be dulled at times, sometimes seemingly blown out, but it is a light that will always exist as long as you exist.

I didn’t ever think or believe I would be the person I am today. I didn’t think being happy could be a possibility again. I didn’t think I could achieve my dream, I didn’t think I deserved to. But I did.

Whatever you are feeling, somebody else has felt it too. Whatever you are going through, somebody else has been there too. There is help available, there is experience available. You are not alone and you never will be.

Jake Mills is the founder of Chasing the Stigma