"Have you thought of harming yourself in the last few weeks?"
The lady's voice on the other end of the phone is calm, reassuring.

No, I repeat, my voice a whisper.

She asks me a few more questions, and I answer as truthfully as I can. My hands are shaking, my mind feels as if it is ready to overflow. I sit down on a bench, will my beating heart its steady pace.

I felt this episode, knew this one was coming, knew this one wasn't going to be pleasant. My thoughts racing from the time I woke up, an overwhelming sense of urgency to be anything other than what I am. Boredom, mania, spontaneous bursts of happiness followed so closely by an overwhelming sense of dread.

Trying to keep my voice steady, to stop from crying. Switching into auto pilot, answering yes and no.

"Okay," she continues, "I will make a referral for you with a doctor specialising in CBT, he will be in touch within 24 hours to arrange an appointment."

I clench my fists, hold my head in my hands, stare at speckled pavement.

I am vowing to beat this, this time.