Many of these men rely on their other halves to fill in the gaps which is why when marriages crumble a break down is often close behind. The friend I used for the book broke down when his wife left him, and – with his concentration shot to pieces – he lost his job as an accountant. The whole scaffolding went from under him. None of us knew because he kept on smiling, but inside he was feeling increasingly unconnected.
Dennis Potter used a phrase to describe the effects of debilitating illness: "The wind was in my house," he said. That's what it feels like, I think, when you lose all sense of your own worth, and realise the ones you were meant to grow old with have had other ideas. You can't get the doors and windows closed, and your papers are everywhere.
My friend simply got slower, taking longer and longer to make a fresh pot of coffee: he no longer had a schedule, and all he wanted was to stay in the warm. His rhythm of speech slowed down, too, and at first we thought he was getting more thoughtful. Actually, the thoughts were flickering at an ever-decreasing wattage, and it got to the point where simple tasks were becoming impossible. He got a job delivering leaflets, but even the act of folding them became too much.
He craved a mission, an institution or a person to say, 'You are essential: don't go.' Eventually, we lost touch: he disappeared, but I still remember his smiling face and wish I'd been more patient. All he needed was a role, after all, whether that be scorer for the village cricket-team or the man to whom people turn when they're not sure what glue to use. Where do you go when you have no use or purpose? As for the man I knew who stepped in front of the train, his decision terrified us all. What can drive you to that? What sustains you as you climb over the fence, and throw everything away? You leave the driver traumatised, and your last gift to the world is the long silence of agonised reflection: did we do enough?
I'm of a generation of men that was trained to conceal feelings, and I'll avoid talking to people now for fear of being asked to do or give something. I avoid talking politics, for fear of seeming foolish, and I avoid talking about the book I'm working on in case I become a braggart or a bore. Conversation with strangers sometimes puts you into that club you're never sure you want to join – I am more scared than ever of seeming intrusive, or confrontational, or dumb, so I have honed my own conversation back to the most anodyne and pointless.
We're constructs of the day, a lot of us. We're a brittle composition of small successes and small defeats, and we're carrying that candle of hope which can be so easily extinguished. Train Man is my attempt to capture this kind of loneliness, which so many men feel but struggle to openly acknowledge. It's still the worst taunt at school: "You've got no friends." Most of us worry that we haven't – not real ones, anyway - and for many of us there is nothing more scary than being alone in a room full of people. That feeling of being outside the action, failing to solve life's puzzle – wondering is this it and where you took the wrong turn? Feeling like this is much more common that we think.
Fear and dismay can overwhelm any one of us: we all reach that period of life when we're noticing that the fairground ride is slowing down and will finally come to an end. You got on, and soon you'll be getting off: you always knew, but now you really know. Of course, we can live on in our children, if we took a moment to have any, and if we haven't become estranged.
'How did I become this person?' you wonder, gaping at the stranger in the store-front window who's turned out to be yourself. For my hero Michael - on his journey to end it all - people keep getting in his way. Some talk over him, and some talk at him. Some slam doors, while others throw them open, and there does come a point when he stops talking about nothing, and reveals something worth revealing. What you hope when that happens is that there will be someone there to listen.
Here's what our readers say...
@Matthew Westbury
"Isn't this just about finding a hobby and then a club/group to enjoy it with?
"I'm early 40s and will be working for plenty of years yet - health permitting. Since I was a kid I've always been in sports clubs and found it a really important dimension to my life. It's not a 'purpose' - just something I enjoy."
"I don't believe society is set up against middle aged men - it's our responsibility to find what we want to do with our lives - same as anyone else."
@Roy Baines
"I always brushed off the seemingly quaint notion of "community". Thought it was kind of for those who were no hopers and below me. Then, without much warning, I lost my place, long term partner, much of my family, job (a good one at that) and partly my health.
"Rebuilding that is hard when the connections around you are weak. More and more men lose their sense of purpose because it is entwined in their wife and family. When that goes what's left is a shell. We live in a crisis of community. A world in which fewer and fewer people make eye contact, talk politely to strangers, all go to the pub at the end of the day, work with a genuine spirit of collaboration.
"As society becomes more individualistic, the bonds that attach us to each other fray and nowhere is it more apparent than in our young people. People need a sense of "home", and that is where the heart is. When the heart is gone or taken, home disappears and then it doesn't matter how much money you have. You can't buy a home. What a world we create for ourselves."
@H Barnes
"As an 85 year old I am extremely fortunate in having two good sons and their families to be in contact with. Having lost my wife early this year after looking after her one to one for six years and years previously due to dementia I am in the same boat.
"I have a couple of friends but only distant as you don't live in their pockets.I keep thinking I must get out there and socialise but men are not as good as women at this as mentioned so why bother being in strangers company if uncomfortable.
"One's circumstances have much bearing on ones outlook on life but there is no doubt that lonely men are vulnerable. What is the answer? There isn't one really is there, it's just the attitude of men."
@Marcus Aurelius
"How nice that you tacitly acknowledge that not everybody is the same. Some, like me, are introverts who find solitude energising and company tiring.
"My wife was recently back in the UK visiting her family for three weeks, leaving me at home with the dogs and other animals. Aside from occasional interactions in shops and speaking to my wife, I had 3 weeks of blessed solitude. I also work alone from home.
"I accept that I am unusual, however, and that for most people that isn't a state of normality. Here in New Zealand, suicide rates are among the highest in the world. I've no idea why, but I've a feeling the tyranny of distance is behind it at least in part.
"I also think the needs of men have been drowned out by a very gynocentric press and political situation for the last 20 years. All we hear about is women."
@Al Murt
"The older I get the more I value life. I don't have many friends because I don't really need them. I still think of hierarchy and status but much less so than when I was younger - death is the leveller - the opinions of others matters very little.
"There is a peace in knowing that no matter how bad things get they will end.
"Maybe I'm weird but I don't equate not having friends with loneliness or growing older with unhappiness. I'm just glad to be alive."
WHERE TO GET HELP:
If you are worried about your or someone else's mental health, the best place to get help is your GP or local mental health provider. However, if you or someone else is in danger or endangering others, call police immediately on 111.
OR IF YOU NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE ELSE:
• 0800 543 354 (0800 LIFELINE) or free text 4357 (HELP) (available 24/7)
• https://www.lifeline.org.nz/services/suicide-crisis-helpline
• YOUTHLINE: 0800 376 633
• NEED TO TALK? Free call or text 1737 (available 24/7)
• KIDSLINE: 0800 543 754 (available 24/7)
• WHATSUP: 0800 942 8787 (1pm to 11pm)
• DEPRESSION HELPLINE: 0800 111 757 or TEXT 4202
