We knew he was telling the truth, " explains his father John. "We had no idea why our happy-go-lucky son would do that. We still don't."

Sean, from Clondalkin in Dublin, had taken an assortment of 147 tablets one night in April 2005 when his parents were out. But because he vomited, the overdose didn't work and Sean spent the night alone and in extreme pain in his bedroom unbeknown to his family.

A couple of days later, his parents realised their son was out of sorts and, concerned he was taking drugs, insisted he take a urine test. A derivative of morphine showed up in his system and he was forced to tell his parents the truth.

"He took me upstairs and showed me all the empty tablet packets, " John recalls. "My wife Reni and I were in complete shock. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer."

Sean was rushed to his GP and tests showed he was lucky not to have done any permanent damage to his organs. As John is active in the local community, he was able to get his son into teen counselling locally within six weeks when the waiting time is usually up to three-and-ahalf months.

"Afterwards, Sean promised us he'd never take an overdose again because the pain was so horrendous.

He never did." Two months later, on Father's Day, John got a call from his distraught son.

"He said, 'I feel the way I did when I took the tablets.' I ran home and found him halfway up the road to meet me. He kept saying, 'I don't know what's wrong, I don't know what's wrong. . .' I brought him back to the house and he started hyperventilating. We went straight up to Blanchardstown hospital."

Sean was seen by a psychiatric doctor, who suggested taking him to the Rutland Centre, which treats people for addiction. "I explained that Sean wasn't using drugs; that he'd attempted suicide before. The doctor promised to send our GP a referral for Sean to see another psychiatric doctor." But a few weeks later, Sean was dead.

His father came home and discovered him hanging from the banisters. "We never did receive that referral from the hospital. The teen counselling Sean had been getting was wonderful but maybe he needed more. You would never have thought Sean was depressed. If he was, he was a damn good actor. There were no services there to help my son."

Sean was popular, outgoing and had recently completed his Leaving Cert. "He wasn't worried about school or anything else. He'd already been accepted as an apprentice carpenter.

"The day he died, he was in great spirits because he'd just got back together with his girlfriend. We went and got his Leaving Cert results after he died; he did brilliantly."

A teenage girl who attended Sean's funeral took her own life a year later.

"She crashed her parents' car when they were away and then killed herself, " says John. "Why do they feel it's the only way out?"

SUFFERING NEEDLESSLY

Ian Howley (23), from Athlone, realises how lucky he is. He first attempted suicide when he was just 13, unable to cope with the realisation that he was gay. He stood on the railway tracks waiting for a train . . . but jumped out of the way just in time. "I didn't want to be gay. I isolated myself from my family and friends and I was terrified they'd find out, " he says. "I drifted into depression. It got to a point where everything was black."

A year after his first attempt, Ian again tried to commit suicide in the same way. "This time, I jumped out of the way a little too late and the train hit my foot and I got knocked into a ditch. I got up and hopped home. I told no one." Still determined two years later, he again tried to end his own life, this time by taking an overdose. "But it didn't work. I went to bed and just felt the room spinning.

Then I blacked out and woke up the next day feeling really unwell."

At 18, Ian came out to his family and life has been much better since.

He's currently studying graphic design at Letterkenny Institute of Technology. "My parents never knew I was depressed because I was always a quiet child. When I told them I was gay, they were fine with it. I went into my room and literally kicked myself. All that worrying, for nothing. I tried to take my own life because of something that never happened."

Last year, Ian became involved with a national youth website, www. spunout. ie, a support service for young people which he now works for voluntarily. The first time he spoke about his suicide attempts was when he was asked by the group to feature in an online documentary about suicide. "I just opened up.

When I spoke about it for the first time, I felt free."

Soon afterwards, he told his parents but he has never received any professional counselling. "I just bottled it up and dealt with it in my own way. But I know now that's definitely not the right way."

However, even when youngsters seek help, it's not always easy to access, according to two specialists working in the area.

"We only have half the recommended amount of child psychiatrists in this country. Also, we don't have nearly enough in-patient beds for children suffering from depression, " said Dr Keith Holmes, a child psychiatrist at Lucena clinic in Drumcondra, a public psychiatric unit for adolescents attached to St John of God's.

"Often, I have to put a child in an adult psychiatric ward which is completely unsuitable. A child psychiatrist never willingly puts a child into an adult ward but sometimes we're so concerned that they're a suicide risk that we're just happy to get them in anywhere."

Sean Quinn's lack of comprehension about why he first attempted suicide is not unusual, Holmes believes.

"Suicide in adolescents is trickier than with adults because children are more impulsive and sometimes the young person themselves doesn't know why."

Dr Arthur Cassidy, an adolescent social psychologist in Northern Ireland, warns that suicide has become "socially acceptable" with young people north and south of the border.

"We have a suicide acceptance now within our youth culture. That needs to be urgently addressed, " he says.

BIG BOYS DO CRY

Travelling in a mobile unit offering counselling to those affected, Cassidy and a team of specialists go to areas in the North where there has been a recent bereavement by suicide. This service does not receive any state funding but Cassidy believes it would be of benefit in every county in Ireland.

"I think there's an over-reliance on putting children on anti-depressants. This isn't the fault of the doctors. There isn't enough focus on cognitive therapy because the psychiatrists often don't have the time to treat young patients this way."

Almost 500 people a year die through suicide in Ireland and it is the leading cause of death in young people under the age of 24. Last year, 5,049 calls to the ISPCC's Childline service . . . 4% of all calls . . .

related to depression, suicide and mental illness. The charity also received 7,324 text messages enquiring about suicide and 5,745 asking about loneliness. The charity is so inundated it only managed to answer 250,000 calls last year out of 700,000.

"It's clear we need a national initiative sponsored by the state to really tackle suicide in young people, " said Childline manager Deirdre Swords.

The statistics should be stark enough to spur government action, according to John Quinn, but it nonetheless remains largely up to voluntary groups to provide support for youngsters in trouble. Since his son's death, John has been actively involved with helping others in the community and raising funds for Pieta House, a centre for the prevention of self-harm and suicide in Lucan.

"My advice to young people is to talk when you're feeling down, " he says. "Big boys do cry. I'll be the first to hold my hand up and say I cry."