"A prison sentence in Australia is never meant to be a death sentence . . . but people released from prison remain at increased risk of death indefinitely," says Stuart Kinner, principal research fellow at the University of Melbourne's Centre for Health Policy, Programs and Economics. "This is an appalling thing we've been hiding under the carpet, which can be easily monitored and fixed. It's a disgrace." Former prisoners are 12 times more likely to die in the first four weeks after release than their peers in the community. They are six times more at risk of death in the first year and will remain three times more at risk of death over the 15 years following release. The first national analysis tracing deaths after custody shows the rate of death is on the rise. Associate Professor Kinner's work is behind the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare project, which links Centrelink crisis payments to people released from prison who have died. It shows the rate of death within one year of release rose 50 per cent in the decade to 2010, from fewer than six in 1000 to more than nine. This is about 450 deaths a year.

The figures are an underestimate, Associate Professor Kinner says, because even though 90 per cent of former prisoners get Centrelink payments, not everyone stays on them. Still, they show "an enormous number of people dying from preventable causes". One in five deaths in the first year is from drug overdose. Suicide accounts for a similar share. Poor health and external injury account for most of the other deaths. Mental illness, which affects prisoners at a much higher rate than people in the community, is often a factor. Women, young people and those who have served multiple sentences have the greatest risk of death after custody compared with the wider community. Young women, for example, are 20 times more likely to die in the first year of release, according to a 2012 study co-authored by Kinner and the University of Queensland's Kate van Dooren and Simon Forsyth. Part of the problem is that mainstream social services are often not set up to manage such complex needs, says Community Restorative Centre NSW program director Mindy Sotiri.

"A lot of organisations won't work with people with a history of violence; they won't work with people who are sex offenders . . . often with good reason," she says. "It means our clients go through this relentless process of knocking on a whole heap of doors and being turned away." One of the biggest challenges for people leaving prison is the "incredible isolation" of starting a new life, Sotiri says. More often than not, turning your life around means burning bridges, which has a huge impact on sense of belonging and self-worth. Having a social worker you know is there for the long run can be the difference between success and failure. "So even to have one person who gives a shit about what happens to [them] can be a pretty profound thing in itself," Sotiri says. Jenny*, whose husband Ben* served time in jail, says she wished he had accessed transitional support services when he was released from prison in 2012. "People just flooded away because they didn't know what to do," she says.

A drug user and heavy drinker with a well-paid job rigging powerlines, Ben had a history of sexual abuse and family violence that he took into his marriage with Jenny. Jailed on domestic assault charges in 2012, Ben hanged himself at the family home in May 2013. "It's really hard when you don't know, you've never been taught to live a different way ... I felt like I was holding his hand but I've got seven kids ... I just slipped off," Jenny says. "That's a thing I think about a lot." It costs almost $300 a day to jail someone. CRC says it spends just over $71 per day keeping high-risk clients out of prison. One in 10 of its clients returns to jail within a year, compared with a rate that would otherwise be closer to 80 per cent. It is the only organisation in NSW offering long-term transitional support, typically 12 months. But changes to the organisation's three largest funding streams mean it has lost 40 per cent of its budget and must close all five of its long-term support programs by August.

Corrective Services will almost triple the money it spends on transitioning prisoners over the next three years but has shifted its focus to three-month programs, with limited scope for extended support. It is a dangerous model for both the people leaving custody and the community, Associate Professor Kinner says. "We've become so fixated on that risk of death just after release that we're missing out on 95 per cent of the preventable deaths," he says. "And death is just the tip of the iceberg . . . What we're essentially doing is creating an enormous underclass ... and that disadvantages the whole community." For Peter, mental illness proved to be an insurmountable obstacle but with long-term support and a safe place to live, he had a better chance at life after prison than most. "I currently have nine post-release clients out of 11 who are homeless," McKenzie says. "If you've got no address ... your stuff keeps getting stolen or all your money is going to paying for the house, really then the housing becomes the barrier to making improvements in your life.