How I Stopped Self-Destructing and Built a Support System After My Divorce

Rock bottom is real — but staying there is optional.

You already know what rock bottom looks like.

For me, it’s a warm February afternoon. I’m outside the office, chain-smoking through another break.

The stale taste of the ashtray makes me gag, but I take another drag anyway. I wasn’t a smoker before divorce — I was a Muay Thai fighter, training 10 hours a week.

Now, I’m lighting up every hour. Smoko breaks are the highlight of my day — because everything else is shit. I can’t focus. Too angry. Too numb. Too close to tears.

As I lift the cigarette to my lips, a wave of self-loathing hits.
This can’t continue…

Then, like Gollum arguing with himself, another voice sneers:
“Don’t fight it. Your life is ashes now — you might as well look the part.”

It was a compelling argument. Giving up would be easy. But something snapped me out of it.

“Fuck this — I need to talk to someone. But who?”

Why do men suck at this?

As a bloke, it’s so easy to isolate yourself after separation.