Black dogs and demons – not just footy mascots
Posted: Fri Mar 04, 2011 9:53 amBy Rob McLean
FOUR years ago today I received one of the worst phone calls of my life.
It was the phone call we all dread, the one where someone tells you that a family member or friend has died.
This time, it was my footy coach passing on the sad news.
Unbeknownst to myself and my team-mates, my friend was suffering depression.
He suffered it so badly that he could find only one way out.
We didn’t understand. We couldn’t pinpoint a reason. Why didn’t he talk to us?
For crying out loud, we bled together on the footy field. We’d stood with our backs to the wall, defending our ground.
We had celebrated like the young Turks that we were – fit and healthy blokes with our lives ahead of us.
Then came that phone call.
The death of our mate irrevocably changed things.
As a group of young men, we struggled with our friend’s decision, in some cases blaming ourselves for not being there.
We questioned whether our footy club was a good place.
We struggled through tough times and some of us visited very dark places as we worked through our grief.
Eventually, the fog cleared and we realised that our friend had made his choice.
Our friend didn’t end his life to hurt us. He did it to end his pain.
To this day, we still cannot understand the demons that drove him to his final destination.
We still miss him and mourn his loss and wonder about what could have been.
The male of the species is a secretive beast, we don’t share our thoughts or our feelings as much as we sometimes should.
But as team-mates, we are often in as good a place as any to spot when someone is doing it tough.
We can take note of the indicators and we can at least ask our mates, “are you okay?”
Just because we play sport and are fit and healthy, it doesn’t mean we are immune to the bastard black dog – it can visit anyone.
A word at the right time can make a difference.
For more information, visit beyondblue.org.au
FOUR years ago today I received one of the worst phone calls of my life.
It was the phone call we all dread, the one where someone tells you that a family member or friend has died.
This time, it was my footy coach passing on the sad news.
Unbeknownst to myself and my team-mates, my friend was suffering depression.
He suffered it so badly that he could find only one way out.
We didn’t understand. We couldn’t pinpoint a reason. Why didn’t he talk to us?
For crying out loud, we bled together on the footy field. We’d stood with our backs to the wall, defending our ground.
We had celebrated like the young Turks that we were – fit and healthy blokes with our lives ahead of us.
Then came that phone call.
The death of our mate irrevocably changed things.
As a group of young men, we struggled with our friend’s decision, in some cases blaming ourselves for not being there.
We questioned whether our footy club was a good place.
We struggled through tough times and some of us visited very dark places as we worked through our grief.
Eventually, the fog cleared and we realised that our friend had made his choice.
Our friend didn’t end his life to hurt us. He did it to end his pain.
To this day, we still cannot understand the demons that drove him to his final destination.
We still miss him and mourn his loss and wonder about what could have been.
The male of the species is a secretive beast, we don’t share our thoughts or our feelings as much as we sometimes should.
But as team-mates, we are often in as good a place as any to spot when someone is doing it tough.
We can take note of the indicators and we can at least ask our mates, “are you okay?”
Just because we play sport and are fit and healthy, it doesn’t mean we are immune to the bastard black dog – it can visit anyone.
A word at the right time can make a difference.
For more information, visit beyondblue.org.au
