08 Mar 2016

I was on my way home a few months ago when the announcer’s voice rang out over the intercom.

“Sorry folks, we’ve been delayed.”

The word flew around pretty quickly that someone had attempted suicide on the tracks at St. Leonard’s station.

Why would someone try to end it all on a Friday? was my initial thought. It’s the weekend! There is so much to do, so many different ways bad thoughts can be reversed, so many people available to see and seek support from. On today of all days, how could anyone think they had no hope at all?

The crowd of commuters let out a collective sigh of relief when following announcement echoed through the carriages:  “The individual had been unsuccessful in their attempts”.

Every three hours, someone commits suicide in Australia. On Sunday night, a 10 year old girl took her life in Western Australia. How on Earth have we allowed this to foster in our communities, in our own streets? Why does it take something this horrific for the media to wake up and for the Government to feel pressure to instigate real change? Australia, it’s embarrassing. We need to do something.

The discussion about mental health in the education system is still one that takes place in hushed voices behind closed doors. We can talk about the mental health of individuals who commit mass shootings in high schools and of suicide bombers who take out news stations, but it shrouds the equally important task of talking about depression at the early stage. Talking about our struggles must be normalised and accepted in our societies in order to prevent suicide.

Growing up is the same for all of us: at 15, we start to think about who we are and where we belong. At 16, we begin to feel the pressure of our peers. By 17, we are forced to define ourselves by a numbers game in school. And then, at 18 and 19 – before we’ve even managed to form a full understanding of ourselves as individuals, separate from school, friends and family – we have to head out into the real world. We’re underdeveloped, unprepared, and therefore totally susceptible to the deluge of self-doubt.

Some of us push through, a lot of us fall down. For athletes, this is a particularly delicate time as it’s the age when training, getting noticed, and either making it or breaking it plagues the mind. Over the past 18 months there have been a spate of young athletes who haven’t been able to deal with those pressures, who believed in their own self-doubt enough to think that there was no other option than to commit suicide. Last May, two young, promising NRL players committed suicide within a few days of each other – before they got the chance to reach their full potential. We live in a country infatuated with sport. We live and breath it, and this is the toll it takes.

Be successful, make millions, get on TV, be stronger, be better. Never admit you might need to take a break. Take a breath. Take a seat.

Success isn’t measurable. I don’t care what anyone says, it isn’t. Natural human instinct creates this constant drive for more, for betterment, always, every time. It’s never enough. One more rep. One more push. One more goal. You can sleep when you’re dead.

How ironic.

In this country, we’re faced with these pressures everyday at school, in the work place, at home. But there exists a disproportionate lack of support and education about what happens when those pressures become too much to bear. And that’s something that needs to change. With more knowledge and less taboo, we will all be more willing to talk about our problems and seek the support we need.

My mum once said suicide is the most selfish act a person can commit. But I think that sometimes this hollowness forms like a pit in the gut. It’s a hollowness that we don’t understand, one that terrifies us more than anything and pushes us to the point where we no longer know what to do. We become afraid to admit that maybe we’re experiencing something beyond the average bout of the blues because depression is something that’s too often swept under the rug or looked upon as weakness. We start to wake up in the morning and it’s not that we don’t want to get out of bed, it’s that we can’t.

Well, let me tell you this: it isn’t failure. It’s actually the first step to recovery. Recognising that this is real, and resolving to do something about it is the best thing you can do. Always remember that you aren’t alone, no matter how it might seem, and that things are going to get easier. One day, you’re going to be okay.

Don’t be ashamed, be brave. Ask for help. You have a whole network of people that are there for you. Don’t shrug it off, face it head-on.

And if all else fails, come back and remind yourself you are one of a million and not worth losing a battle you weren’t properly armed for.

Readers seeking support should contact Lifeline — 13 11 14 and or Beyond Blue