When you’re feeling down and depressed, you think every door has closed and that everyone has forgotten you. But as I found out, people were there for me. People I didn’t expect to care for me, turned out to care deeply. They wanted to help me. They just had no idea how bad I was feeling. How could they?

I didn’t really want to die. I thought I did at the time, but really I just wanted to end the pain that was tormenting me every minute of the day. I was in a constant state of high anxiety. My heart was racing, my skin felt like it was crawling. I couldn’t even touch myself on the arm without feeling like I’d hit an exposed nerve. I felt raw, like my whole body was a wound that wouldn’t heal. I couldn’t find a place that felt safe. And I felt so alone.

I couldn’t live like this for the rest of my life – if you could even call it ‘living’. It was like I was half-dead anyway, so killing myself seemed like a logical solution.

It was weird, but the moment I decided to kill myself I felt this overwhelming peace and calm, like I was in control again. Even my mind felt clearer. Yes, this must be the right thing to do because I feel so much better.

I locked myself in my room with a knife. How hard could it be? All I had to do was make a cut in my wrists and wait for them to bleed, right? I picked up the knife and held it near my wrists and all my certainty dissolved. I felt sick and sad and confused. I realised I couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t know how to live. I think I was in shock that I could have actually tried this. I don’t remember clearly what happened next, but I must have called an ambulance because Mum was a bit freaked when they turned up. I just said, ‘Mum, I think I need help.’ She nodded and hugged me. We went to the hospital together and even though I wasn’t physically hurt or anything, I spent the first night there. That was the first time I knew I might be able to find that safe place again. Mum stayed with me all night.

If you’re reading this and you think you’d be better off dead, please believe me when I say that you don’t really want to kill yourself. I know it sounds strange, but wanting to be dead and wanting to kill yourself are very different, as I found out. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop.

I know everyone else seems so together and so preoccupied with busy lives that you don’t feel you can bother anyone with your misery. But you should bother them. They want to be bothered. They want to help you. But people can’t help you unless they know you need them. They’re not mind readers. You have to tell them.

I’m so glad I reached out. It’s been five years since my attempt but it feels longer. I had treatment for my depression and I joined a group of suicide survivors: this helped me a lot because I realised that I wasn’t weak or stupid for not being able to cope. I found it really helpful to go to a place where nobody would judge or comment on my experience. They just understood. But they weren’t the only ones. My family turned out to be really understanding, once they realised how bad the depression was.

If I can do it, so can you. Don’t ever think life has left you behind or you’ve been forgotten. There is a whole world of kindness and understanding out there and it’s there for you. Please, tell someone.