Physical and emotional pain: Ian Thorpe. Credit:Tom Jenkins What if you wake in fright? You'll count down silently, from 100 to 1. What if that doesn't work? You'll dare not sleep but wander around. Wait for light.

Matthew Reilly: his wife Natalie died. Credit:Steven Siewert What if it doesn't come soon enough? You'll self-medicate next time. What if you can't keep hiding? Ian Thorpe and his struggle with physical and mental pain, that's what.

Matthew Reilly and his grief, Adam Boland and his TV problems, Jonathan Trott and his cricketing woes, that's what. Dave Bloggs and his domineering father, Shirley Thingo and her abusive hubby, me and my First World problems, that's what. Mostly we have ups and downs and find a way through. But what if it looks so much harder next time? Philip Seymour Hoffman and his cocktail of heroin/Fentanyl and anxiety/blood pressure meds, that's what.

And what if every year more than 2500 Australians aren't strong enough to go on? A tragedy of national proportions, that's what. My guess is that Monday was a very tough day for the world's greatest catastrophisers: sufferers of clinical depression. Waking to news of Hoffman's death, then Thorpe's hospitalisation then, at 8pm, Reilly spoke on Australian Story about his grief after his wife, Natalie, lost her battle with anorexia and depression. "Suddenly I'd have days where I'd look at the clock and it'd be quarter past one in the afternoon and I'd think, 'I've got 10 hours 'til I'm going to go to bed," Reilly told us.

After Reilly's story, I went to bed. It was 8.45pm - no booze this time - and I hoped the nightmares would not come. They did. I counted down from 100. Three times. It worked. But at 6am I didn't want to wake. Still, I put on a brave face and, like countless others, and immersed myself in routine.

Only 10 hours 'til I'm going to bed again. And in the meantime, this story. Yes, yet another overblown tale of a bloke struggling to man up every day and just get on with it. I understand the risk of 'depression story' fatigue among sceptics who have never suffered or cared for someone who does. Consider this: almost twice as many Australians die from suicide each year than die in traffic accidents. Countless more struggle daily with their self-medication and prescribed treatment for mental illness.

Sometimes it's the littlest things that make it harder to pull back from the edge. On Monday it was more than Hoffman, Thorpe and Reilly's grief; just a throwaway line from someone who should know better when discussing mental illness. "Life's pretty tough in Ethiopia," he told me. "They don't even bother teaching doctors psychiatry in India." For Thorpe, the littlest thing might have been huge to him: a relationship problem or the bung shoulder that cost him a last shot a recapturing glory. The publicity last week about his being in rehab wouldn't have helped. More likely it was the mix of pain, painkillers, depression and anti-depressants. An Australian Medical Journal article in 2012 makes clear the link between chronic pain and depression, and how that reduces the effectiveness of treatment for both.

For Hoffman, it might have been the split from his partner or a dud concoction of painkillers and smack. Then again, he struggled with artistic ambition: "Wanting it is easy, but trying to be great — well, that's absolutely torturous.” At least one positive can emerge from these stories. People near the brink might be encouraged to seek more help, knowing great lives have been wasted. What's more, Ian Thorpe is safe.

His superhuman legacy is assured. It should grow even a little larger, now he's being human enough to get help. Such is life … Lifeline 13 11 14

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