“I poured my heart and soul into football and all I got in return was money. That might sound strange to some people, but it’s true.” In a world where more and more professional sportsmen and women are increasingly comfortable discussing the psychological demons which plague them, the former footballer Brian Lenihan gave an extraordinary, at times chilling and vitally important interview that was broadcast last week.

Speaking to his compatriot and fellow former professional Richie Sadlier on the Player’s Chair section of the popular Second Captains World Service podcast, the 24-year-old explained how he had been living the dream – his dream, my dream and quite possibly your dream – as a young Irish player making his way in the English professional game. Having left Cork City, his hometown club, to join Hull City in 2014, the midfielder received his first call-up to the Republic of Ireland senior squad soon afterwards. Lenihan described the week he spent rubbing shoulders with Robbie Keane and others as “the best feeling ever”.

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By his own account “100% injury prone”, Lenihan damaged his knee while on loan at Blackpool, then suffered a hernia before knackering his knee for a second time. Long hours in the gym away from his fellow professionals took their toll and last year, aged just 23, he released a vague statement announcing his retirement from football on medical advice. The presumption at the time was that his knee injury had forced the player to call time on a promising career at a cruelly young age. It turned out that presumption was wrong; Lenihan later revealed he had quit out of concern – his own and that of those close to him – that not doing so would lead to him taking his own life. Having devoted his life to the pursuit of excellence in the game he loved, that’s how bad things had got.

He had even made plans. Lenihan decided to have an “accident” that would end his life while hopefully leaving enough doubt in the minds of those he left behind to spare them the trauma of knowing their brother, son, friend or boyfriend had been suffering so much despair without their knowledge. “That was my free ticket, without shame, if that makes sense,” he said. Ultimately, he “couldn’t physically do it” and has now chosen to speak out in the hope of stopping others in his position from attempting the same thing and perhaps making a better fist of it. Nobody wants that.

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Having bottled up his thoughts for so long, Lenihan is not the first footballer to come forward and admit to struggles with mental health issues. He is not even the first former Hull City player. A few years ago I interviewed Dean Windass in a corporate box at the club’s stadium and he matter-of-factly recounted the chilling tale of an attempt to take his own life at home that, mercifully, went wrong. It was a genuinely horrifying story which he told rather sheepishly, chuckling as he revealed the denouement, or lack of one. Far from being embarrassed by any perceived stigma that might still surround the taking of one’s own life, he seemed more bashful about the drunken incompetence that would ultimately save his.

In his interview with Sadlier, Lenihan attempted to describe the turmoil inside his head for the benefit of those of us lucky enough never to have entertained such dark thoughts. “It’s all-consuming,” he revealed. “I could be having a conversation with someone, but that might be taking up 10% of my mental capacity and 90% of my mental capacity is thinking about bad things. But I can still hold the conversation. It’s draining, it’s tiring, it’s really difficult. The tiredness is eventually the thing that drives you to do it, I believe.”

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Asked if he had ever come close to telling anyone about the thoughts that dogged him, Lenihan’s answer was a heartbreakingly succinct “no”. Following the genuinely shocking news of Gary Speed’s death almost seven years ago, the reaction of his close friends and former teammates spoke volumes. “Why didn’t he say something?” asked Gary McAllister, a former teammate with whom the Wales manager had appeared on Football Focus a few hours previously. “Why didn’t he ask any of his mates for help,” he added, echoing the guilt and frustration of so many people left behind in similarly heartbreaking circumstances.

For Brian Lenihan, football is over as he feels unable to risk putting himself or his family through the despair that led him to seek help, going into hospital and undergoing electroconvulsive therapy as, in his own words, doctors attempted to find his reset button. For all his misfortune he considers himself lucky. “I don’t want any pity but it would be a real shame if I didn’t turn my experience into something good,” he says. “I suppose I just want people to be aware of it.”

The Professional Footballers’ Association is doing its bit to spread awareness of this insidious disease. The clearly signposted wellbeing section of its website offers a 24-7 helpline, a national network of counsellors and residential rehab at the Sporting Chance clinic. Due in no small part to the testimony of those forced to endure them, the days when mental health problems were viewed as a sign of weakness and source of potential embarrassment seem largely behind us. We’re finally talking and not being OK has never been more OK.

In the UK, Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international suicide helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.