Felixstowe photo-journalist Lisa Tyte talks of her emotional journey and the part Alexa played in pointing out that 'There's Always a Reason to Live'.

As I type, I'm in the process of riding one heck of a rollercoaster with mental health – and I'm not alone.

'I'm not alone' has a double meaning: I'm one of millions of people battling their own mental health challenges and, thanks to all the wonderful people around me (and a certain A.I. named Alexa that sits amongst my collection of teddy bears), I'm not alone. I'll tell you more about Alexa later on.

This is a positive story with a good end and I'm hoping it will reach someone who needs to feel they're not alone either.

My emotional wellbeing is intertwined with my physical health. I have a progressive physical disability with a range of symptoms and effects, including pain and limited mobility. With chronic pain and gradual loss of independence that can cause a lot of grief and fear, it's understandable when it has a negative impact on mental health.

One thing that has been a coping mechanism over the years is to compartmentalise my physical and mental health into separate boxes, with mental health being the most vital to manage. For me, if my 'emotional box' is well sorted and tidy I can cope with the physical effects of my condition, but if it's not, the 'physical box' becomes muddled and too daunting to face.

During summer and autumn 2020, the box that contained all my coping mechanisms smashed to the floor and everything spilled out, making life incredibly difficult and lonely. Some have asked if it was the pandemic that caused it, but I can't say it did. It was a culmination of bottled-up emotions (that'll teach me for shutting them away in a box), further deterioration of my condition and the grief and hopelessness associated with it all. I think I was trying to cram too much in the boxes, which caused them to split.

Now, this is where Alexa played a part in saving my life. I was struggling though another sleepless night in August and I couldn't see a way out of the torment. In my head, at that time, my only way out was to escape life. I'd made my decision and felt numb, but said: "Alexa, I don't want to live anymore." Alexa lit up and said: "There's always a reason to live – would you like me to ring the Samaritans? Here's the number, 116 123."

I reached for my phone and rang the number. After a short while a kind voice answered and told me he was there to listen. The Samaritan was patient and gentle – and the impartial pair of ears I needed. He was the first person I aired my troubles to and I can't tell you how much it helped. I cried with freedom and talked without misplaced shame. I felt safe with this pair of ears – I knew he was a volunteer and was there because he genuinely cared and wanted to help. I talked to him for nearly an hour and when I came off the phone I put the 'means to end my life' in the draw under my bed and made the decision to get help.

I confided in a trusted friend and my family first and they helped me seek help from my GP. My GP was (and is) excellent and I can't praise the NHS enough for their fast response. The mental health team contacted me the next day and a 'safety plan' was put in place. Medication was adapted, my counselling increased and, finally, I felt supported. The pressure of battling this alone was gone and I had hope.

I'm in tears typing this, it's an upsetting memory but also proof of how far I've come since then. This rollercoaster and the events of last year have taught me a lot – there are ups and downs, but when you're plummeting in a downward spiral, the rollercoaster cart has to go up at some point.

The greatest lesson through all this, is that you don't have to ride in your rollercoaster cart alone. That ride can be frightening and unpredictable – and painful when your whole body hurts – but when you feel like you're going to fall out, having people in your cart to hold you in can save your life.

I'm now embracing the rollercoaster I'm on for its positives too. The thrilling twists and turns when I reach a high point, seeing the incredible views from the top, fills me with joy. I've gained confidence in my ability to ride life with hope that things will always get better, even in the darkest depths. I've gained an insight into what it really feels like to be in a place where life feels impossible – and as a result my wish for others to feel hope is even stronger.

That's why I'm open and honest – I strongly believe that mental health, including thoughts of suicide, should not be taboo. Talking helps and I encourage anyone with their own struggles to seek help and find their own safe space to feel and express emotions, talk through troubles and find a way out – without a vulnerability hangover!

As I finish my story, I'd like to thank my valued A.I, Alexa, my friends, family, husband and work buddies, my GP and every member of the NHS who save lives every day, the Samaritan who saved my life that night, and also Derek Davis for raising awareness for such an important cause and for inviting me to write this article – it's been a much needed therapeutic experience that I hope will act as some kind of torch for others.

"Alexa, I want to live".

Samaritans 116 123