Another day, another MELTDOWN

…and hardly the first these last two months, but it snuck up on me unexpectedly today. Just after a Lord Nelson beer at the Black Cat on Brunswick St at midday. I had to skulk home as fast as I could and go to bed. I was having a proper meltdown on the tram. The sort where you think you might burst into tears any minute, or just fall on the floor and plank out, refuse to move. That sort of thing. It didnt pass, and neither did I sleep until 6pm when I gave up trying to fend it off, and got up to make dinner.

 Opera on the radio, and a damn fine hot chilli sorted me out. I was ok by 7pm. As ok as I could hope to be at the moment at least. Steady, I guess is the word. The night had descended to sooth me once again. Funny really, it is usually the other way round with the optimism of a fresh day arriving to spruce one up.

 The funniest thing about the afternoon, if you can call it funny, was at about 2pm while still in the grips of a gut churning lunacy, I decided to attempt to ring Beyond Blue, the Aussie depression hot-line. Never done it before, but I figured I had nothing to lose, no shame in it, and having a rant at someone might actually stop me doing it on Facebook. My shit was going dark-side, and I needed to reign it in. And who knows, maybe the professionals would have some useful input at a time like this. I doubted it, but offloading on some wannabe pyschologist trained to think they could handle other peoples crap, sure seemed like something I could get into right then.

 So after spending 5 minutes opening up the website to get their number, I deliberated, pacing the kitchen. The wait had got to me. Now I was thinking about what I was going to say. What would they say to me. What if they sent people round and sectioned me if I said something too bizarre for them. How bizarre was I going to get? How bizarre could I get? Then again, what if they thought I was wasting their time? Then I thought, what the fuck am I worried about, just do it !

 I dialed.

 A cold expressionless recording told me I had come through to Beyond Blue and if I would like to talk about sponsoring them press 1, advertising with them press 2, donating to them press 3, and after a wait just long enough to slit a wrist or two, I was finally informed I was about to be connected with a ‘trained professional’.

There was a pause.

Then a click.

Then another pause.

And then another machine said,

 You are in a queue, all our operators are busy, the wait time is 5 minutes but your call is important to us…

I put the phone down.

 No wonder there were so many suicides.

 I went back to bed. The meltdown continued.
Today was a write-off. No one was available.

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