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On the threshold of joining the EU and NATO, Lithuania has the highest suicide rate in the world. It's doubled in the last 10 years, overtaking former record holders such as Hungary, and leaving other Baltic States behind.

Looking at the economic figures, the country is doing very well - over 5% GNP growth - the capital, Vilnius, has become smart and chic, the country has reclaimed its language and culture since independence. But suicide indicates the hidden truth: that the transition from soviet times to the first phase of capitalism is proving deeply traumatic.

At night on patrol with police we see how they rush to save a 20 year old man from trying to kill himself by jumping off a bridge in the centre of Vilnius - a popular location for suicide attempts. At the police station we talk to the man, Evaldas Kric, and to the doctor who arrives to see him. This is the second night in a row he has tried to commit suicide. The previous night he was taken to hospital, but was discharged immediately.

Dr Dainius Puras, a leading psychiatrist, and co-author of Lithuania's emergency suicide bill, describes the state of suicide in Lithuania: "It's an epidemic," he says. If it wasn't suicide, but an infectious disease that was killing over 1500 people a year (30 a week, in a population of only 3.7m), the government would spend millions, he says. As it is, the suicide bill has been shelved. "There is a lot of cynical thinking in Eastern block countries. That it is maybe better to let the weak die," says Dr. Puras.

Dr. Kristina Ona Polukordiene, director of the leading psychological helpline in Vilnius blames the sensationalist coverage of suicide in the Lithuanian press for confusing the issues and even increasing the suicide rate. On the other hand, officially the "epidemic" has only just been recognised - even though official figures showing the extremely high rates have been available for several years. The deputy health minister, Vidmantas Zilinskas tells us: "Most of our specialists didn't believe the numbers. Now they realise it is true, and we are starting to do something about it." But the old state system is slow to react, so far preferring to spend money on drugs than on the social measures Puras and others say are needed.

In the countryside, where the rates are twice as high, we visit the adoptive family of a 17 year old, Marius, who hanged himself in the village graveyard. We talk to his classmates in the local school to witness the emotional impact that suicide leaves in its wake, and to understand why suicide has risen fast amongst the young. At the other extreme in Vilnius, a young and successful TV executive tells us how some make it on to "the fast-moving train", and some don't.

Joining the EU should be a source of optimism - but in the short term at least for many it is a threat: the EU is forcing the closure of the huge nuclear plant at Visaginas, twice the size of Chernobyl. Layoffs amongst the 4,500 workers have already started. The plant's General Director tells us that no money has been set aside to deal with the social effects, which are already being felt in the depressed town built for the nuclear workers.

Unless the EU helps Lithuania take notice of its own mental health problems there will be a lot of "sad and angry people", a problem not only of health, argues Puras, but of European security.

We go to the psychiatric hospital where 20 year old Evaldas Kric was taken. We find out he has been discharged - an example of how thin the resources for treating suicide cases are. Evaldas Kric is one of many living on the edge in the new Europe.