Every day, an average of 5 people commit suicide in Australia. That might not seem like a huge number, but add that up over a year, and that's an average of 1,835 people per year. If that many people died in one disaster, it would make news headlines and be

If you think the number of suicides in Australia are high, bare in mind that a more people try to commit suicide, but fail. I was one of them. Most are young. Most are male. Most live in rural areas. But anyone can end up in a desperate situation whereby they attempt it - including you, your partner, or your children. This advice was actually inspired by a friend of mine who seriously considered slashing his wrists open - and he was the last person I ever thought would think of doing that - he always thought that way as well until he was in that situation.

There are warning signs. Giving away personal posessions, contacting loved ones just to say "I love you", things like that. Some people don't give out such signs as their decision may be very spur of the moment. Some plan it out very carefully for months. Every case is different. Every case is tragic. Every case hurts those that are left behind wondering why. Some succeed, some don't. Some end up worse off than dead.

I'm not going to go into the reasons, the signs, or the ways to stop or avoid this. I'm not going to make this a long laborious explaination as to what drove me to attempt it, or how I came to be that way. I will simply explain what happened as a result, and hope that if someone that reads this is considering suicide, they might think again. There are some things worse than death, and the biggest problem with suicide is that if you stuff it up, it can really stuff you up.

I was 19 years old. I lived alone and was far from my dearest friends and family. I was in a desperate situation and after having lived through hell in a nutshell, to find myself in the situation I was in was just too much. So, I decided to end it once and for all. I won't go into details as to how I tried this as I don't want to give anyone any bright ideas, but although I didn't succeed, I came close and did a good job of messing myself up really well.

Apparently, days after, so I was later told, I was found on my loungeroom floor. I was covered in cockroaches, blood, menstrual blood from a miscarriage (I was pregnant at the time), vomit, urine, and faeces. When you are dead or close to it, your body has a tendancy to release any and all non-essential fluids. Apparently I woke up at that time, but it didn't last long and I slept for another few days after.

I can't remember much after that. I know I ended up being looked after by some recently found friends, who eventually sent me home (or maybe I chose to go, I don't know) to my home town after a couple of months of not knowing what to do with me. I have fleeting memories of events. I could tell you snippets of things I did and events that happened over the next couple of years. One thing that I can say is that at some point I remember waking up in a bed at the home of an old friend, and finding that I was living there and I had a relationship with a guy I previously hadn't known... to my knowledge anyway. I went along with that, not knowing what else to do at the time. My memory started to function a little better at this point. I could remember up to an hour at a time by this stage.

Somewhere along the line I vaguely remember that I tried going back to school, but that didn't work. My only memories of that are sitting in a French language class wondering where on earth I was and what I was doing there; and a vague memory of smoking a ciggie in the little hiding area where the teachers and other mature age students went for a nic fix. I only remember that because I recall standing there with one of my dearest friends. Someone once told me I worked a job in a deli for a little while, but I lost the job after a week or two because I kept not turning up - I wonder why that happened!  Apparently I was also inclined to go for long walks to no where, turn up to events days late if I got there at all, repeat things I'd already said, and zone out into my own little world. I was also very easily influenced by anyone and everyone around me. If someone had told me to walk around town naked, I probably would have done it. It's quite scary really. I'm grateful that I had good friends to stop me doing anything really stupid at that time or I could have really ended up in serious trouble.

For a time my short term memory span was literally minutes. I would find myself wondering what I was doing, I'd look at the situation, having no idea how long I'd been doing it, I'd either continue from the point I was at, or give up - depending on what it was. If I was reading, I might spend an hour reading the same page over and over - but it remained interesting each time. Putting together a jigsaw puzzle was easy as I'd find a piece, put it in, forget what I was doing, realise a puzzle was in front of me, find a piece, put it in, forget... As time went on my short term memory span grew. I could recall what I did an hour ago, but not what happened this morning. If I could remember what happened this morning, I could tell you all about it, but I couldn't say whether it was this morning, last week, or 10 years ago.

My long term memory was somewhat shot for a long time as well. I couldn't remember things that had happened 5 years before, or if I could, I couldn't say when it was. Eventually my memory improved. Minutes became hours, then days, weeks, months, and finally I could remember years. I'm still getting back some memories of things that happened, that I'd previously forgotten all about, from years ago. It is horribly embarassing when an old friend you haven't seen for a long time is talking about something, you have no idea what they are on about, and they say, "You were there, remember this..." and you can only look at them with a blank expression and say, "No, I can't remember anything about that. Or you. Who are you?"

Somewhere along the line, about a year or so after I woke up on that loungeroom floor, I ended up in a little flat with the new guy I was in a relationship with. I was pregnant. I had a daughter. I couldn't look after her and that is where my memory starts to come back properly... slowly. I can remember surrending custody of my daughter, but not every little event and detail of it. I can remember why I did it - because by then I was at least well enough to be aware of the fact that I was not well. From that time on I started to recover much more rapidly, but it still took another couple of years to really get on track. All in all, my memory was shot up until the time I was about 23. I've got a lot of those memories back now, but many are still vague. Sometimes it just requires an old friend to relay a story to me and I start to remember. Sometimes a memory will be triggered by a sound, smell, or the sight of an object or photograph. Some things I may never remember.

Because my memory was so bad, for a long time I couldn't even remember that I'd attempted suicide. I didn't know what was wrong with me, in fact most of the time I couldn't remember anything well enough to think there might be something wrong with me. I was also good at covering up any embarassment and hiding the issue as well. "Oh, yeah, sorry, I completely forgot about that." is something that, strangely enough, people will accept over and over again. I don't know if anyone even realised anything was seriously wrong with me at the time. Getting simple things done, like paying a bill, wasn't too hard to manage with some organization and determination. Hold it in my hand. Do not put it down until I have a receipt in my hand attached to the bill. I would forget. What's this in my hand? Phone bill that needs to be paid. Best go do that now. Start walking to post office. Forget. What's this in my hand... repeat until receipt is attached. Having an electronic calendar is handy so you don't have to remember to cross off the days (or you will cross off today seven times and find yourself living in next week, like I did many times.)

It might be amusing to read about, and there are many comedy movies about amnesia, but to live through it is absolutely horrible. When I joke about not knowing what day it is half the time, well, now days it is usually a joke. 15 years ago it wasn't a joke, I was completely serious.

Most people can agree that there are some things worse than death. Ending up spending the rest of your existance (because we couldn't really call it a life) in a vegetative state in a nursing home or hospital is not something anyone I know would call better than death. No one wants to end up like that. Anyone that contemplates suicide needs to consider what the other results might be. Sure, you might end up dead, but you also might survive - and you may not have a choice in that matter. If you survive, what kind of state will you be left in if you do? Is what you are going through right now really worse than that? I think not.

Whether you have thought of it yourself, or you know someone that might, think about this and talk about it with others. If you can make just one person in a bad situation stop and think twice, you may save a life. Our children are not totally safe from this. Puberty can really take it's toll, add in depression, a desperate desire for attention, and circumstance, and you have a cocktail for disaster. Many young people have attempted suicide and some do it just as a desperate means of seeking attention - and accidently succeeded. Many parents have buried their children because of suicide; and some parents are nursing their now adult children, feeding them, bathing them, and caring for them around the clock, as you read this, all because their child didn't think that this could be the result.