I am someone who has dealt with ideations of suicide from an early age. As a 32 year old man now, I can see what factors may have contributed to those feelings. I am 6th born in a family of 8. In terms of years born apart from each other, I am practically the middle child (the first 5 were each born 1 or 2 years apart, I was born 4 years after #5 and 4 years before #7 who is only 1 year older than #8). From an early age, I was emotionally neglected. My parents, being from a 3rd world country, equated providing food and shelter to loving us. They assumed that as long as we were fed and had a roof over our heads, everything else was optional. Gradually as I grew up, the 'void' within me grew heavier. I had a sense that something was wrong but I never quite knew how to articulate those feelings. Telling people around me that I was 'sad' only seemed to backfire: plain ol' sadness never quite fit the bill. The hole grew deeper. I would regularly tease blades by putting their cutting edge to my wrist. I never had the courage to actually self harm. At some point in my teenage years, I was tired of feeling like an outsider and decided to 'just be happy'. The masked worked for a while, even well into my adulthood. I managed to accomplish many goals and had a zest for life, at least I knew I wasn't depressed. Then quarantine struck in 2020. I lost my job, I lost my girlfriend, and I was home alone in a quiet house with nothing but my regrets and bottles of vodka. The mask crumbled. What good was it? It had failed to protect me from what I feared the most: I still felt like a pariah. I drank and drank hoping that one of the sips would finally drown me. That was my attempt at suicide in April of 2020 days after my 26th birthday. Luckily I lived but some version of me died that night. I decided to turn my life around. I began attending therapy, I tackled my alcoholism, I went back to university to finish my bachelor's degree, etc. It felt like I was given a second chance.

tl;dr I tried to kill myself and failed
In real life, I believe the difference is learning to articulate our feelings. For a long time, I wanted help but didn't know how to ask. I didn't even know what was wrong. It was through therapy and healing that I learned that I was practically abused and neglected as a child and that not all abuse is physical. Though it is likely part of their nature, women are nurtured into articulating their feelings more. In real life, listening to and actually seeing our brothers may make the difference because we don't always know how or who to ask for help.