Susan Roll will never forget the moment her son called her and declared he was either “going to prison, or I’m going to die tonight”.
While having a child end up behind bars would be many parents’ worst nightmare, for Ms Roll – a health worker in the woefully under-resourced small border town of Portland – jail was the first time her son was able to access appropriate mental health services.
“My son went to the hospital on eight occasions and was only seen to on one,” she told news.com.au.
“On that occasion, he’d packed his backpack full of rocks and walked into the ocean.”
Such stories and desperate acts are devastatingly common in the small seaside town that sits between the Victorian and South Australian border, and many others like it.
Tiny town in crisis
Portland is nestled in the far southwest Victorian locality of Glenelg Shire, a major regional shipping and export hub.
With its aluminium smelter, booming port, logging and farming industries, the town has solidified itself as a critical avenue for agriculture and industrial goods.
There are approximately 10,000 people living in Portland, and about 20,000 in the wider shire.
Over the last three months, news.com.au has travelled to Portland, Central Queensland and the Riverina region in New South Wales as part of an investigation into Australia’s rural mental health crisis.
According to Suicide Prevention Australia, the rates of suicide in remote and very remote areas of the country are at their highest, with between 20.5 and 24.6 per 100,000, compared to 9.9-10.9 in major cities.
In Portland, news.com.au uncovered devastating reasons behind the town’s mounting suicide emergency.
Between 2020 and 2024, the suicide rate across the region was 45 per cent higher than the state average.
In 2022, 20.7 per cent of the Glenelg Shire’s adult population reported high or very high levels of psychological distress.
There were 29 deaths by suicide in Glenelg and the Southern Grampians between 2020 and 2024.
Fed-up locals have unveiled a troubled system which appears to have fundamentally neglected the needs of regional Australians, from a lack of services to little funding and isolation.
But these regional residents believe their suicide epidemic is preventable, with an extraordinary goal to equip 1500 locals with lifesaving training – although they can’t do it without the support of wider Australia.
‘It’s like the Twilight zone’
The local motel’s after-hours key collection is inside a gaming room.
Poker machines, bright lights, chatter and cigarette smoke fill the room – a stark difference to the eerily quiet Tuesday night outside.
You would be forgiven for believing the entire town had been hiding inside.
Next to the gaming room – and part of the motel – is a drive-thru bottle shop and a restaurant.
Together, they form a compound that one would never technically have to leave.
The town has experienced immense grief and loss while also battling a drug, alcohol and gambling problem.
“It appears as though everything’s okay, but you scratch the surface just a little bit and you realise it’s not,” said local Shae Spry.
“It’s like the Twilight zone.”
Ms Spry was born in Portland and is one of the town’s funeral and wedding celebrants and a yoga teacher.
“I do seem to get a lot of the suicide funerals,” she told news.com.au.
“I think it’s because of how I approach it, which is head-on. If someone’s died by suicide, I talk about that during the service.
“I think honesty is important when it comes to mental health.”
‘Ward Nine’
Ms Spry’s last funeral for a suicide death was two weeks prior, and so far this year, all have involved men.
“They’re told from a young age to stifle any emotional reaction, perhaps other than anger. I think it’s a societal problem,” she said.
The common thread between men who have died by suicide is often a significant relationship breakdown, a custody battle or extensive changes to their lives, Ms Spry said.
Portland locals also painted a picture of an underfunded and understaffed hospital, which lacks the beds to appropriately deal with the mounting suicide crisis.
The closest hospital with an inpatient mental health unit is in Warnambool – a town over an hour away that has earned the undesirable nickname of “Ward Nine”.
“People think of it as the crazy ward and no one wants to go there,” Ms Spry said.
“If you were to be feeling suicidal, telling someone might result in you being committed and taken away from your home, which feels like you’ve committed a crime.”
‘It’s happening all the time’
Local disability and mental health first aid trainer, Susan Roll, is all too familiar with the town’s ailing mental health system.
Exhausted by the lack of support, Ms Roll and 19 other Portland mothers created an online support forum.
Between them, they have lost nine children to overdoses or suicide.
Ms Roll’s son was picked up by police following a suicide attempt and taken to the hospital, where he was interviewed via telehealth.
“I think he said he was doing fine, as they do,” she said.
Ms Roll claimed her son was handed five valium and shown the door.
“The problem here is our hospital doesn’t accept or take in anyone with mental illness unless they’re literally bleeding or about to die. If they’re in a bit of a drug psychosis, they’re often just pushed out,” she said.
“I can look at (my son) as an addict, absolutely, because he was. But I look past that in every person that’s an addict, and see the trauma and mental illness behind it.”
Ms Roll described a night when her son had entered what she believed was a drug-induced psychosis.
“He was hearing voices and he was frightened, so he went to the hospital. They gave him a blanket because it was exceptionally cold and a sticky note with a referral number on it, and put him back out the door.”
For those in crisis, the barriers to accessing help can seem endless.
“You’ve got to ring the referral line, which is in Melbourne. (The patient) then has to be able to admit to everything that’s going on to be triaged appropriately. Generally, they downplay it when in fact their life’s in crisis,” she said.
“Then they’ll be put on a triage and it could be 14 weeks before they get any call back.”
Ms Roll still recalls the night her son was arrested like it was yesterday.
“He rang me and just said, ‘mum, I’m either going to prison, or I’m going to die tonight’.”
During his time in prison, Ms Roll’s son has completed detox, eight drug courses and has requested rehabilitation.
He has also reconnected with one of his children and multiple other family members.
“He’s in the best place he’s ever been. He’s a different person,” she said.
“My boy’s story is such a generic story. It’s an extraordinary thing to have gone through for us, but I look at it now, and it’s just a generic story. He could be anyone really, because it’s happening all the time.”
Ms Roll said she could recall at least 10 suicides in the last year, including a friend of her son.
Terrified mum’s battle to find son help
Celina Reynolds is yet another local mother who has been forced to jump through countless loopholes in order to receive critical care for her son.
Ms Reynolds came home one night to find her son cutting chunks of his hair off, leaping across the couch and spitting on the floors.
Terrified, she barricaded herself in her bedroom and called the mental health services.
“They told me to go for a walk,” she said.
Instead, Ms Reynolds drove her son to Warnambool hospital, where he began presenting with psychosis.
“It took six hours and they didn’t speak to me about any of the processes. I was beside myself,” she said.
After endless appointments and waiting, Ms Reynolds was told her son had been diagnosed with schizophrenia.
Ms Reynolds believes the small mental health team at Portland Hospital is strong, but “there’s only so much they can do”.
“There’s not enough of these facilities. Psychiatrist reviews only come monthly and you have to wait weeks before something happens.”
Additionally, Ms Reynolds pointed to a stigmitsiation of mental health in the community.
“Because of their behaviours, they’re stigmatised, and it’s not a very forgiving community,” she said.
“If you’ve done something that stands out as not normal, it sticks to you here.”
Similarly, Portland mother Nicola Dutton has become a full-time carer for her child due to a severe lack of wider health resources.
“Not having any psychiatric services with inpatient capacity puts a huge burden on the patient and the carers that help support them,” she said.
“Everywhere has its own niches, but there’s no holistic care for everyone.”
Ms Dutton said the town is essentially just “waiting for its next suicide”.
“People are crying out that they haven’t got support, they should be receiving the care they need,” she said.
“The government is saving billions by relying on carers to prop everything up and to navigate the mental health system, it’s very exhausting.”
Ms Dutton left her job to support her child, and worries every day might be their last.
“The system has created a massive burden on our communities. We don’t have the staff, the resources and psychiatrists,” she said.
“I’m not someone who thinks anyone owes me anything, we are just trying to do the best with what we have.”
Meanwhile, Ms Spry has witnessed first-hand how families, friends and communities grieve after losing a local to suicide.
“Loved ones usually say, ‘I knew they were struggling, but I didn’t think they’d do this’, or ‘they had promised me they wouldn’t do this’, or ‘I should have called them when I had a bad feeling about them doing this’,” she said.
“I think sometimes people are worried about saying the wrong thing, so they don’t say anything at all.”
Additionally, stigma – particularly in rural regions – continues to be a large barrier to seeking help, Ms Spry said.
“There’s stigma everywhere, but mental health is more openly accepted in cities and spoken about in cities,” she added.
“Having lived in the city and lived in the country, I would say traditional gender biases are really firm here still. And it was a shock to me when I came back to find that was the case.
“Women and men are both at a disadvantage because of that, and they don’t realise it.”
According to The Hospital Research Foundation Group, gender imbalance creates societal pressure for men, subsequently leading to higher rates of untreated anxiety, depression and other mental health challenges.
Meanwhile, the town has just a handful of psychologists and counselling services, with demand so high that patients can face lengthy wait times.
Patients are often forced to turn to telehealth appointments.
“A lot of it is telehealth, but nothing beats face-to-face,” said Ms Spry.
“Men in town are much more inclined to talk when having a beer or even a cup of tea. They’re not going to log onto the Zoom call and spill their hearts out. They’d probably think that was bullsh*t.
“There is also a fear of what people will think if they’re seen going into the [psychologist’s] office. In theory, the appointments are supposed to be confidential, but what happens if they’re not?”
Call for action
Following a devastating spate of suicides in the town, locals decided they had had enough.
A handful of residents devised a plan to fight back against suicide by aiming to train 1500 locals in suicide prevention first aid by 2029.
In 2024, the Portland Rotary formed the Rotary Mental Health and Suicide Prevention Committee, with the aim of increasing the confidence of community members to support friends, work colleagues and family members with thoughts of suicide.
Peter Taylor, the chair of the committee, lost his nephew to suicide in 2023.
Mr Taylor, alongside committee members Lynda Smith, Tony South and Rotary president Frank Farnsworth, has trained 181 locals and delivered eight workshops across the region.
“Peter didn’t want anybody to be in the same situation that he had been in. He believed that if he had said something to his nephew, it might have put the idea in his mind,” Ms Smith said.
After attending suicide prevention training in Ballarat, Mr Taylor devised the plan to introduce a similar initiative in Portland.
Within months of attending the workshop, Mr Taylor crowd-funded to hold the first suicide prevention workshop in Portland, and in the nearby town of Haywood.
Both workshops were sold out in days, and a waiting list formed.
“This is about not being afraid to say ‘hey, are you having thoughts of suicide?’” Mr South said.
“It’s about using the correct terms and then showing them the pathway to further help and services.”
Initially, it cost more than $5000 to train 30 individuals, a cost that was not eligible for government funding support.
After raising $22,000 in just 12 minutes via community donations and grants, the committee was able to send four people away to be trained as instructors, reducing the cost to just $1000 per session.
“Rural communities are very good at working together for something they know is a need in their own community,” Ms Smith said.
“The further away from a capital city or a regional city you are, the more funds you should be able to receive, but it doesn’t work that way.”
The committee said the biggest drawcard was the accessibility of the program.
“Online options are a great option, but sometimes, especially when it comes to mental health, you need to see people face-to-face,” Mr South said.
“You’ve got rural farmers who won’t come off the land because their lands are so important. You need to have the ability to take people to the program and not expect them to come in.
“Making people travel hours away to access a service that they’re already a bit hesitant to access is next to impossible, so bringing that to them removes so many barriers.”
Life-changing program
Live4Life chief executive Jeremy Wiggins knows all too well the devastating impact suicide can have in regional communities.
Live4Life is a youth mental health education and suicide prevention model designed for rural and regional communities, led by young people.
The initiative was born in 2010 in the Macedon Ranges following the suicides of two young boys over a single weekend.
“I saw this program as an opportunity to reach young people,” Mr Wiggins said.
“Live4Life is helping build mental health language and practical knowledge, greater confidence for young people to notice concerns and support others, reducing stigma, and building connection between services, schools and trusted adults.”
The program operates in 14 rural communities across Victoria and Tasmania and integrates into schools, including teachers, students, police officers, local government, community members and mental health professionals.
So far, the program has yielded lifesaving results, and has taken home multiple awards for its work.
“The program pays for itself,” Mr Wiggins said.
“It reduces the burden on clinical services and costs associated with mental health services.
“Communities don’t want fly in fly out (FIFO) services, they want it to be embedded by people they trust.
“They don’t want a big national service, because their needs are completely different. They know where things should be and they need to lean into the people they know. That’s how they feel safe.”
Additionally, young people don’t have to suffer the pain of living through crisis.
Assistant Minister for Mental Health and Suicide Prevention Emma McBride told news.com.au the Labor government had delivered $1.1 billion to strengthen mental health care.
“A key pillar to strengthening our country’s mental health system is expanding our network of Medicare Mental Health Centres to 92 locations nationwide, with a particular focus on regional communities and areas of need,” Ms McBride said.
“These centres provide free mental health support, with no referral, appointment or eligibility criteria required.”
Unfortunately for residents of Portland, the closest Medicare Mental Health Centre is in across the border in South Australia.
“We know there is more work to do, particularly for rural and remote communities, which is why we will continue investing in practical measures that improve access to care, reduce barriers to support and ensure Australians can access mental health services when and where they need them.”
The stories of Portland are the third in a series of articles for a news.com.au investigation into Australia’s mental health crisis. Over the coming days, the stories, deaths and experiences of fellow Australians will be shared in an effort to encourage reform in the mental health sector.
Have a story? Email me at ella.mcilveen@news.com.au