The low point of James Knight's first year as a psychology student in Cardiff was the month he lived off £5. It was just after Christmas and he couldn't go home. He made one supersaver packet of pasta last six meals and doused them in bargain basement tinned tomatoes to add some flavour. He was working a 40-hour week, holding down three part-time jobs and suffering from depression. He had tried to kill himself.
It was a far cry from the fresh faced eager student who arrived just months earlier, in September 2000. He was the first in his family - and the first from his village in north Wales - to go to university. "I was worried about money, but I thought: sod it. I'd find a way. I was excited."
Mr Knight had slipped through the means-testing net. His Dad, a self-employed French polisher, was, on paper, wealthy enough to support his son, so he only qualified for the smallest loan and had to pay full fees. His dad could afford to send him £20 a week, sometimes less. After fees and his accommodation bill, Mr Knight was already into his overdraft before buying his first pint at the union bar.
"A month after I arrived I was diagnosed with clinical depression and put on anti-depressants," he remembers. "I was then referred to a counsellor after I attempted to take my own life. I couldn't see how I could be so much worse off at university than at home with my family. It didn't make sense. People were saying university should be the best time of your life, but it wasn't. I was missing lectures to go to work.
"That was the trigger for a lot of what else happened. I was so unhappy I became very reckless with my life. I just didn't care. I would have £20 for the week and I'd go and spend it in a night just getting drunk. I couldn't look after myself. I gave up alcohol for two years after I reached for the vodka before work one morning."
His problems were compounded later that year when, in what he calls a depressive effort to "sabotage" his life, he came out to his parents and they cut him off. It was devastating, emotionally and financially.
Eventually, at the end of his second year, his department refused to accept some coursework he handed in late. It then refused to let him retake because he owed fees. He dropped-out.
Mr Knight's life has changed a lot since then. He's never been able to go back to finish his degree because of the outstanding debt. Instead, the experience spurred him into student activism in the National Union of Students. He has just been elected NUS president for Wales and will take up his post in the summer. His relationship with his parents is, he says, "fantastic - better than ever".
"I'm still being treated for depression but I'm managing in a way I have never managed before," he says.
Reflecting on the experience, he adds that the pastoral care he received was "absolutely fantastic - I genuinely don't think I would be alive without that". But he was less impressed with the university. "The department wasn't as supportive. I think it made things worse. The Disability Discrimination Act hadn't come in then - that would have made such a difference. That would have helped overcome the stigma of depression and show them that I was entitled to support."
Mr Knight is not alone in his experience. Today, Professor Bernice Andrews and Dr John Wilding, of Royal Holloway University of London, present their research on depression among students to the British Psychological Society conference at Imperial College in London. The research found that students' level of hardship was the most powerful predictor of their level of depression - with knock-on effects for their academic work, which suffered as a result.
They interviewed students half way through their degrees, and found that 9% had become depressed and 20% were anxious at a clinical level since the start of their studies.
Professor Andrews said: "This is the first study to show that financial difficulties amongst students are having a direct impact on their mental health, which then leads to reductions in their academic performance. There's a real danger that bright students will not achieve their potential because of the financial burden of study, and the mental health problems this can cause."
Helen Symons, the NUS's vice-president welfare elect, says this evidence gives further credence to the union's argument that students are going to suffer more as debt is increased with the advent of top-up fees. "We estimate that one in four students suffer from mental health problems through their courses. We fear that top-up fees will make that worse."
So what can universities do to help their students? "The first issue is money," says Ms Symons. "Top-up fees will make things worse. But it's important that universities have decent policies in place to help students. They shouldn't be penalised in their courses. University counselling services are excellent, but only help if students seek their help. Too often they [students] disappear from lectures for months and no one even notices."
But universities are facing up to their duties. Along with on-campus counselling services, in 2002, the vice-chancellor's representatives, Universities UK, published guidelines on student mental well-being and reducing the risk of student suicide. Now it has set up an advisory group on student mental health to investigate the problem and how institutions can provide better support.
There is also help available for students through their student union and Nightline, which is manned by students and provides a first port of call if they are feeling lost.
Sophie Allchin, co-ordinator for London Nightline, says: "The whole coming to university is such a big change to lifestyle - you move away from friends and family. You might be at a new city, doing a new subject, and it's the first time you've had to balance your own money and look after yourself.
"The combination of that is incredibly stressful. People don't recognise that. People have an idea of beer-swigging carefree students. Some live up to that; some don't, some find it really hard."
