There was a time when depression became a hot topic within our cliques. Those days, getting deep down and under this was always perceived as a lady-problem, an X-chromosomal issue. Just as some lady friends complained about having difficulties coping with life, there were constant rebuttals as to how one could get so easily depressed over trivial matters. For the same reason, men who suffer the same fate of “contracting” depression get thrown into an abyss, abandoned.

Just for the record, I’m not on an emotional roller coaster. I’m not frequently getting in and out of relationships; my relationship status on Facebook still remains single. My family is doing well now, after the recent epidemic virus plague that Qian Hui brought upon us. But then again, I’m not exactly feeling very happy either.

Recall there was a recent survey / research checking up on how the euphoria bug had caught up with Singaporeans? I felt that I had contributed a great deal to the statistics by fitting the profile of an unhappy Singaporean over the past year.

One of the harsh facts of life is, men don’t express emotions as freely as the female species. As a matter of fact, doing so further accentuates the weakness of being a man, and that disrupts the man’s anatomy entirely. By encouraging any man for a consultation with the shrink is akin to emasculation. “Aw, that stench of male chauvinism.” you may say.

Another downside is, confiding does not come by as a readily available option. Sometimes not even a viable one. I’m clueless about how other guys feel on this issue, but there’s always an invisible blanket shrouding us males from one another, I reckoned so. It’s as though each of us are operating under a different alias for every phase of our lives. That said, having a guy confiding in another man would mean exposing his flaws and details of incompetence, which in logical sense, does more damage than keeping mum.

Soon enough, the fear of letting our dirty secrets exposed elicits greater problems when nothing good progresses in our lives. Greater problems evolved, and amongst many things – inferiority complex.

A friend of mine got pre-diagnosed with mild depression, but sadly, hardly of his male counterparts seemed to give a hoot about his well-being. Further probes didn’t get the conversation anywhere. He’s still reluctant to talk despite expressing interest earlier on. The greatest fear of such anti-social reactions is its byproduct consequence: the tendency of getting masochistic, that is, to find pleasure in self-denial. As sick as it may sound, many of us tend to do exactly that, don’t we?

For me, I could remember the melancholic moments I used to drown myself in, amusing I must say. I would think that the entire world was against me and that everything I had done was in a way or another, very wrong and imperfect. Self pity is all that interests us when the world comes crumbling down. A part of us wanted so much attention, while the other half seeks to seal the world, dead bolting it behind us.

It is unfair of us to equate the crisis people face with our past triumphs over depression because it’s never the same thing to begin with.

Prozac and other antidepressant may assist a little, to ease the tension and to induce a bit of sleep. Still, to get back to that all sunshine and spiffy state once again, we need more than just an occasional “how are things getting on”, more than a convenient nudge.

Have you ever be in such a similar state before?