"A Message the World Will Ignore, Because, What Good Is Awareness When No One Listens?”
Dear Readers,
A story, a truth, and a dying echo in the last days of Men’s Mental Health Month
I’m writing this at the end of Men’s Mental Health Month.
Not because I want to raise awareness. Not because I want likes. Not because I think you’ll care.
But because I can’t keep swallowing what’s eating me alive.
Every June, there’s a post. A blue ribbon. A quote. A suicide hotline pasted like a sticker on a bullet wound.
And then July rolls in, and the silence creeps back in.
Colder.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
You want the truth? Here’s one:
Nothing is going to change.
We say, “Speak up.”
But when men do?
They're mocked. Laughed at. Dismissed. Accused of weakness, or worse, told they're dangerous, unstable, manipulators, abusers in disguise.
Or
They are just craving for attention!!!
God forbid a man breaks down. God forbid he cries.
God forbid he says, “I’m not okay.”
Because no one’s really listening.
Because I, too, am a suicide attempt survivor.
I'm not here for sympathy.
I checked online once. Looked up the suicide prevention numbers.
Tried to believe in them.
Tried to imagine they might help.
But here's another truth:
They couldn’t help the ones who had already died.
They didn’t pull them back from the edge.
And worse, too many of them mocked the ones who called for help.
Mocked the broken.
Mocked the men who begged to be heard.
We call it a hotline. But it’s cold. A better coldline. Distant. Bureaucratic.
Some people found compassion. Many more found judgment. Or silence. Or apathy.
And we wonder why people stop reaching out?
You want more truth?
Look around.
The world is burning.
The war machines keep churning. Children, actual children, are being blown apart while politicians wear tailored suits and smile for cameras. Families are pushing families to the edge of suicide.
Parental alienation is still a thing. Good fathers lose their children and cry into silence while no court gives a damn.
Mothers scream into pillows, begging for mercy, while abusers win custody and society yawns.
Child abuse continues in locked rooms while neighbours scroll Instagram.
The climate is screaming, melting, dying, and we’re still debating it like it’s a boardroom strategy.
The rich build rockets while the poor jump off rooftops.
The Rich gift to the rich, while the poor always remain poor.
i remember writing in one article similar to this how a fucking asshole sat on the otherside of his phone and pushes the other side person to the edge.
Well why? becoz they just don’t fucking care…
And depression?
It doesn’t take a day off. It’s here to stay forever, till you are six feet under.
You think awareness months change that?
No. They don’t.
Because we forgot how to feel.
We forgot how to sit with pain and listen.
We forgot how to carry one another through the shadows.
Here’s my story.
I’m a man.
I’ve cried at night without anyone knowing.
I’ve thought about not being here anymore.
I’ve felt empty in rooms full of people.
I’ve smiled through hell.
I’ve said “I’m fine” so many damn times, it became a second name.
And you know what hurts the most?
Knowing that if I disappeared tomorrow, the world would just keep going.
Because that’s what it does.
It forgets.
Just like it will forget this month.
There’ll be no revolution for men’s minds.
No banners for the fathers who miss their kids.
No justice for boys raised with bruises instead of bedtime stories.
No change for men choking on the words they’ve never been allowed to say.
Because change requires listening. And no one’s listening.
This world? It’s sick. I’d rather die.
It worships fame. Power. Control.
It lets children die while billionaires buy yachts.
It throws the poor into prison and calls it order.
It leaves the mentally ill in alleyways, calls them junkies, and walks over their bodies.
This isn’t just about men. It’s also for the women. Women suffer too.
This is about all of us.
Screaming quietly in a planet-sized asylum, hoping for a hug, a hand, or at least someone to say:
“I hear you. I see you. You matter.”
But maybe that’s asking for too much now.
What can you do in a world like this?
You write.
You scream.
You bleed onto pages, hoping someone reads it and doesn't feel alone for five minutes.
You reach for people you love and tell them they matter, even if your own heart’s breaking.
You sit next to a friend who’s falling apart and don’t try to fix them. Just be there.
You be the change you’ll never get to see.
Even if it kills you.
To every man out there who feels invisible:
I see you.
I know it hurts.
You are not weak.
You are not alone.
You are not “less” for feeling deeply in a world that wants you to be numb.
Even if no one says it, your pain is real.
Even if no one posts about it, your life matters.
Even if nothing changes, your survival is an act of rebellion.
Keep breathing.
Not because the world deserves your kindness, but because someone, somewhere, still needs it.
Even if they never say it.
Even if they’re just a broken writer at the end of June, whispering into a storm:
“Don’t go. Not yet. You’re not done.”
Save Lives Please…
JacobM