AUCKLAND, 2012

I am alone in the darkness. With my eyes squeezed shut I scream.

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

It comes straight from the darkest depths of my soul. My heart is pounding. I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. I move around the room, slowly at first but gathering speed. Every night it’s the same thing.

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

The sound is stronger. Louder and higher. Bang! I slam my fist into the wall, leaving indentations of my knuckles. Bang! I hit it again.

‘Pleeeeeeeeeeeease Pleeeeeeassssse he-elp meeeeeeeeeee!’

It spews from deep inside of me, tearing at my throat on its way out of my body and into the room. A room that is dirty with graffiti scrawled across the walls.

It’s a call that only those who really know me understand. Even they don’t know why I go through this every night. I feel like I am expelling the poison from deep inside of me, out of my system. I have to purge myself of all the toxic energy that is in my way, blocking me. I look into the mirror that is covered in condensation. I can see the shadow of the man I once was looking back at me, asking the same questions every night.

‘Can I get through this? Will I survive tonight? Am I good enough?’

The door flies open and a blinding light fills the room. The muffled noise I have been hearing in the background has turned to a roar. It’s the same thing every night. The same ritual, every single night before I go on stage. ‘Good Evening, New Zealand!’

ON TOUR: Jimmy announces ‘an evening of stories and songs’

Bang! The band kicks in like a freight train, unstoppable and relentless. Just like my life. It rolls down the track way too fast and the only thing holding it down is the speed at which I’m travelling. With every song, we take it up in tempo, in volume and in intensity. My world is spinning out of control but up here I can still find myself. All that matters is them and me. The connection that is formed every night on stage between me and the audience. By the end of the set it sounds like a hurricane tearing through each town that we visit. And then it grinds to a screaming halt.

‘Thank you.’

The crowd is screaming for more but we have given enough. I walk off stage. The booze that I poured down my throat while on stage has taken me beyond reach. As we leave the venue people thump the car, begging us to stop and talk. Girls in short skirts and high heels, guys with wild eyes and bulging pockets. I’ve seen them all before and probably have taken them up on their offers. I can’t remember. EXCLUSIVE: Barnesy’s trip back from the brink

Unable to talk to me anymore, my wife Jane sits in the car saying nothing. We drive in silence to the hotel. We have booked a big suite. Maybe it will be big enough so that we won’t have to talk anymore. We are both sick of talking. Talking and nothing ever changing. Jane has tried everything to reach me. Everything to help me. But I am beyond help. I stare at the road, wishing the car would travel faster so we could get there and I could consume every drug that I have hidden in my bag. We get to the room and lock the door. The quiet is good for a minute and then I turn on the television to break the deafening silence. We take all that we have as quickly as we can. Trying hard not to say anything that would start a fight, I pace the room from end to end. Trying to wear myself out and stop myself from walking away. Jane falls into bed and I follow a little later, trying not to wake her up.

On the bedside table I have placed everything I could find in the minibar. I am in the process of pouring it all down my throat as fast and as quietly as I can. I am gagging as I wash down as many sleeping tablets as I can. This is how I get to sleep these days. In the haze I think about it all ending. Not waking up. Never having to face myself again. I pull an eye mask over my eyes and pray for peace.

I wake to the sound of Jane in the next room, sending empty bottles out the door with the room service girl. Ten o’clock. I walk into the lounge. Jane is trying to be upbeat and happy. I can see by the red rings around her eyes she’s been crying again but she smiles at me anyway.

‘Let’s eat something and then go for a walk and get some fresh air.’ Jane starts every day trying to be positive but I can tell it’s getting harder. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore. Can we just start again, please?’

I nod my head and try to smile. ‘Sure baby, let’s do that.’

I head to the dressing room to get some clothes. I pick up my jeans from the floor and pull them on and then I see it.

The end of last night suddenly runs through my head like an old newsreel. Scratchy and unclear. I remember drinking the minibar but I don’t remember getting back up. But I know I did. I can see the evidence right there in front of my eyes. Tied around the clothes rail is the dressing gown cord, just where I must have left it. It all comes flooding back. The rail, the cord and me with the cord around my neck waiting to die. But I didn’t. It’s not that easy to die, apparently.

I quickly take the cord down and place it back with the dressing gown. No one must ever know about this. I don’t want to remember this. This will never happen again.

Working Class Man by Jimmy Barnes, published by Harper Collins, available from October 23.

If you or someone you know is in need of crisis or suicide prevention support, please call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or visit www.lifeline.org.au/gethelp