Volume I - Episode 77 Where: Melbourne, Australia When: 1 year, 2 months and 25 days before E-Day, 8:01 pm Call it what you will - depression, loneliness, mid-life crisis - whatever it was, it hit me like a tonne of bricks. It all started one January evening. It had been an ordinary workday, just like any other. I was standing on the train on the way home from work, when suddenly it hit me: I was alone, and things were never, ever going to get better. I was 38-years-old and I had been single for 13 years. I looked around the train at the sea of faces surrounding me - men, women, couples, a few attractive young ladies scattered here and there - and realised that I was completely and utterly isolated from all of them. I was alone on the train, going home to my empty house, to spend the weekend completely by myself. And suddenly I couldn't see the faces around me anymore, because my eyes had filled with tears. Every day after that was a nightmare. There was the time I burst into loud, sobbing tears during a meeting at work. And the time I cancelled my holiday plans because I was scared of hurting myself if I spent too much time by myself. And the countless days I lost, staring at my computer screen with blurry, tear-filled eyes. And the dozen or more kilos I lost from not being able to eat or sleep. And the endless cycle of illness after illness, too weak to get better and too unwilling to look after myself. And the friends I completely cut out of my life. But, most of all, there was that afternoon. Saturday the 2nd of May, 2009. One moment I was sitting on my couch trying to play video games, the next moment I was pulling a knife out of my kitchen drawer to slash my wrists with. Believe it or not, despite being clinically depressed for almost four months, the thought of suicide had never occurred to me until then. But on that fateful Saturday, something clicked. There was no long drawn-out period of wailing. There was no suicide note. No thoughts of cowardice or bravery or how much blood there would be. No venting my emotions on Facebook. All there was was a sudden, overwhelming impulse to end my suffering. I was in sheer, blinding, physical pain, and I wanted it to end. I took that knife into my hand the same way you might take a Panadol if you were suffering from a headache. I wasn't contemplating suicide, I was just going to do it. The only thing that stopped me was a sudden, blinding thought: next week is uncle John's birthday. John was the sole survivor from my dad's side of the family, and I knew he would be devastated to find out that I had killed myself a week before his birthday. It was a small thing, but it was enough. I put the knife down and closed the drawer. I walked back to my living room, shaking with fear. I had just come terrifying close to dying, and suddenly I was afraid. That, I knew, was a good sign. I wanted to live. The rest of that weekend was the longest day-and-a-half of my life. I wanted to get back to work, to be around people. Any people. I had nobody to call, nobody to spend time with. I went through the contact list on my phone, but I knew (or at least feared) that every single one of them would be too busy to listen to me sook about my private life. And I didn't want to trouble them. I should have gone to a counsellor. I should have gone on medication. What I did instead was place a personals ad on the Internet.

Single, lonely professional 38yo white male seeking platonic female company. You should be 18-30, attractive, fit and fun with a good sense of humour. Just looking for someone to watch DVD's with and talk to, and maybe go out to a movie with every now and then. No strings attached. NOT looking for sex. Paying $200 per visit. Please send a photo with your reply.

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