Mental fitness has always been a topic I found deeply interesting. I wanted my feet planted in it. And yet, for years, it was the one conversation I kept walking around — mostly because of the taboo.
A grown-ass man should just deal with it. He shouldn't be a cry-baby. That's the script most of us were handed.
Living as an international student is what finally made me say: enough is actually enough. I'm done avoiding this conversation.
Because there was a time in my life when I had to completely reassess everything and find my own way to navigate a system that had left me with no path forward. So I carved my own path. And out of the hundreds of stories I could tell you, I want to share just one — the one sitting right at the top of my mind.
It's about how important it is to pick up a phone call.
I mean it. It saved my life once.
When home turns against you
Back in 2020, I started a long-distance relationship with a woman I genuinely believed I could build a life with. Long distance is hard enough on its own — but we were working things out. We were okay.
Until my family's belief in astrology decided we were not meant to continue.
For those who don't know how seriously astrology can shape a life, ask a Sri Lankan. Well — I am Sri Lankan. So let me tell you: it is deadly serious. To this day I haven't asked my family what the astrologer told them after reading our birth charts for compatibility. I only know the calls started coming, crying. I refused to break up.
Time passed. The crying became threats. I was told that if I didn't end the relationship, it could cost a life. And nearly every morning, at 9:00 AM Australian time, the phone would ring with the same crying, the same plea.
By the time the clock crept toward 9:00, my body already knew what was coming. I would look at the phone lighting up and feel pure terror.
And the rest of my family couldn't stand the thought that I was "choosing" her over them. So it felt like everyone I loved had declared war on me at once.
It was real. It was heavy. And I was completely alone with it on the other side of the world.
What I know — because I've lived it
I know what it is to feel your body remember trauma before your mind catches up.
I know the guilt of realising you're starting to lean on alcohol.
I know how easy it is to mask everything — to become the "most social person in the room" precisely because you're terrified of being alone with your own thoughts.
I know how loud it can get inside your own head.
And I know what it feels like to finally want to give up.
One of my college lecturers said something during a mental health lecture that has never left me: it can take only fifteen minutes to lose yourself and end your own life. I believe her. Because I came close enough to know she was right.
The darkest evening
One evening, I was trying to study. I had just finished a one-hour free counselling session — supposedly the thing that was meant to help.
Then my phone rang. It was my family. They never call me out of the blue like this. I knew, instantly, that this would not be good.
I ignored it. I ignored it again. And again. Until I couldn't anymore, and I picked up.
I was right. It wasn't good. It ended with me yelling down the phone at my own family.
And then everything in me went quiet in the worst possible way. My body went ice cold. My mind went completely foggy — a fog I had never felt before in my life. I reached a point I had never reached, and in that moment I was not afraid. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and I knew I was about to do it.
But somewhere underneath all that noise, one small, surviving thought spoke up:
What if?
What if this too shall pass? What if this passes — and a good day comes after it?
So I called a friend. A friend I knew never picks up the phone.
He's from my university back in Sri Lanka, and he lives in Melbourne now. He never answers on the first ring. But that night, he picked up before the second ring had even finished. I could hear his vacuum cleaner running in the background — he must have been on his night shift cleaning the clinics in Frankston.
I said only one thing: "Stay on the phone with me for a minute."
I didn't have to explain. He just knew. There was no judgement. He didn't interrogate me. To this day, he has never once brought it up again. Maybe he's forgotten. I don't think he has. But it doesn't matter.
We talked for hours, all the way until his shift ended. And slowly, the coldness in my body melted away. The fog lifted. I knew the danger had passed.
That phone call is the reason I'm here to write this.
This is not a sob story
Let me be clear, dear reader: this is not a sob story. People who know me know I don't do sob stories.
If I had let the darkness win, I would have become a statistic in Australia. I've heard before of Sri Lankan international students who took their own lives here. It made the news. It became a number. And then — that's all it was. News. A stat.
Every time it happens, people say, "We'll do better for people like this."
I say no.
Every single day, we all need to do less.
Less of the things that push people closer to that edge. Fewer cruel words. Fewer racist thoughts. Less negativity. And in their place — more love.
Because only when we change what's inside us will we ever change the system around us.
If you are fighting your own battle right now
I wrote this for you.
If you're in the middle of your own fight, I need you to hear me: a better day is real, and it can be closer than it feels. I am living proof that the worst night does not have to be the last one.
The first step toward a different ending is the bravest move there is — and it isn't weakness. It's asking for help.
So pick up the phone. Reach out. We are here. You are not alone in this.
Free mental health crisis lines in Australia — available to international students
Common questions
Can I call a crisis line as an international student in Australia?
Yes. Lifeline (13 11 14), Beyond Blue (1300 22 4636) and the Suicide Call Back Service (1300 659 467) are free and available to everyone in Australia, including international students. You don't need Medicare, a referral, or a "good enough" reason to call. If English isn't your first language, call TIS National on 131 450 and ask them to connect you to any of these services in your language.
What do I say when I call a mental health crisis line?
You don't need a script — the counsellor will guide you. You can simply say: "I'm having a hard time and I need to talk to someone." You don't have to be in immediate danger to call. Feeling overwhelmed, isolated, or unable to cope is reason enough. Calls are confidential and free.
Does my university in Australia offer free counselling for international students?
Most Australian universities offer free, confidential counselling to enrolled students, including international students. Search your university's website for "student counselling" or "student wellbeing," and book through the student services portal. Sessions are usually available within a few days.