Chapter Three…

Walking out of the hospital a strange wave of happiness came upon me. Was this because I survived or was this because I knew I would soon be left alone to finish the job?

“Do you hate me?” Maria demanded.

I glare at her in disbelief. Biding my time I stare at her. She was just like me, overweight but she had inherited a good pair of breasts that left her with a curvaceous figure but unfortunately I hadn’t been so lucky and a closer description of my figure was more to a blob with a flat chest and no butt.

I then shift my eyes onto the third person, my second savior, Kelly. She stands at the same height as myself 5’4/5″ but she has a slim figure and has also been gifted with a good pair of breasts which got a lot of attention from the opposite sex. These girls had a body I would kill for, naturally. How could I compete with this? I couldn’t, and in this moment I realised this is why I would be alone.

I stare at Maria and answer “Yeah. I hate you. I’m sure later on I will thank you. But I’ll be honest with you I can’t, not hate you for stopping me.”

“Well that’s good enough for me.” She laughs to soften the blow.

The thought that a part of me hated my best friend brought a lump to my throat and I immediately changed the subject.

Walking in my blood stained Alice in Wonderland pajamas we find a taxi at the front of the hospital and hop in. 

The taxi drops me off outside of my student accommodation. Its 7 am so I knew people wouldn’t be awake yet but I still walk through the courtyard to my flat with the hope no one who had seen me getting into the ambulance earlier was watching me walk back through the yard of the accommodation. I honestly felt embarrassed that I couldn’t accomplish what I wanted. I felt humiliated and part of me wanted to get back into the flat, walk into the kitchen, grab a knife, slit both my wrists and bleed out there and then. But I didn’t. I walk straight into my room and text my sister.

Walking back into the scene again was tough but I use texting my sister to face the music as a distraction.

I had sent my sister, Leanne a message last night at half 11 just as I was starting to feel bad and needed help. Her and her fiancé, Jack had both told me to call them if I needed to when I first started to self harm. I should have called but I couldn’t physically talk. This message had gone unseen until earlier this morning when she was woken up by a phone call from Maria telling her what I had done.

In her response she tells me to nap, call her when I wake up and catch the train back home.

I surrender and do as I am told, lay down and begin the troublesome task of falling to sleep.

Chapter Two…

Six hours later…

After four blood tests, three ECGs and four hours of being pushed around the A+E department, a mental health specialist came into my cubicle for my emergency counselling session.

I waved goodbye to my two saviours, who each gave me a sympathetic smile and battered their exhausted eyelids as I am taken into a side room. The room was pure white with fake trees in each corner, leather sofas on each side of the room separated by a cheap wooden coffee table. I took my place on one sofa and the metal health specialist sat in an armchair opposite.

Twenty minutes later and the brutal silence is broken by this woman upbeat voice.

“How are feeling, Vivian?”

With a deep sigh I reply with an answer that has become reflex-like. “I’m okay.”

“You told the A+E staff earlier this morning that this was intentional. Is that right?”

This woman’s voice was happy. Too happy it made my stomach turn and my head whine in anger. How was this woman so upbeat and positive? What was there to be so happy about?

To avoid embarrassment I keep my answers short.


“Vivian, why did you try to kill yourself?”

With a lump beginning to grow in my throat again I tell her the short truth. “I just didn’t want to be sad anymore.”

“Why do you think you are sad?”

Glaring at the woman in disbelief. I couldn’t burden this woman with my issues. Could I?

“I don’t know.”

The silence resumes for a few minutes further.

“What was your childhood like, Vivian?”

Ah there we go the most stereotypical question that could be asked. If someone has any issues leave it to a shrink to rule it as problems from their childhood. 

“I had a great childhood.” 

“You wasn’t bullied or anything at school?” I could tell she was keen to get to the bottom of things.

“No. School was great until my last year when I fell out with some people and basically spent all my time alone. That was when I first started to feel like this.” I was curious myself because the truth was, I didn’t know why I felt like this. Why I find it so difficult to get through a single day with out crying or thinking it would be better if I was dead. 

“But Vivian that will have only have been a trigger. It sounds to me that this is something that you have suppressed for a long long time. What about your family? What made you want to move away from them?” 

“I love my family loads but I don’t fit in with them.” I say this with relief. I had no idea that I felt this way about my OWN family. How could I? No how dare I feel this way about them after everything they’ve done for me! I have never felt more disappointed in myself for feeling something. 

“Whys that?” The shrink pushes.

Her questions were beginning to piss me off. How can her job be to ask basic questions like this, it feels like it’s me doing all the work and it was exhausting. 

“My sister has her life sorted. She has kids, a house and a fiancé that would do anything for her. My mum has her boyfriend, work and the dogs, that’s her life. My dad has his girlfriend and a new house and that’s his life. Everyone has someone. Their not alone. They have their life sorted or at least planned out. Then there’s me who’s alone because nobody seems to want me and even though I’m at uni I still have no idea what I want to do in my life. I’m winging my life and I can’t keep in control of it and it’s driving me crazy!” I stop talking. I know if I go any further I will breakdown. I’ve done this many times before and in the most recent time I tried to end my life.

Senseing that I was close to tears she steers away from the topic a little. “What did you want to accomplish by taking an overdose?” 

“I wanted to end it all. I failed. I can’t even kill myself properly.”

“Do you have any plans to do this again?” She says this like it’s comes naturally to her. I could only guess that it was because she had to ask this before letting me leave the hospital. I knew as soon as I tell her the truth I would be wheeled off to a mental institution and never seen from again. I didn’t want this. I would be so closely watched I wouldn’t even be able to cut if things got bad again. 

I lie. “No.”

Chapter One…

Staring at the ceiling I started to think “Why do I have to feel this way?”. I felt hurt but somehow numb with fear. I have felt this way so many times before but this time I was determined not to do the bad thing that snaps me out of it, I had promises to keep after all.

I looked around the fast enclosing room for the a list given to me by a councilor. I fail and collapse onto the bed, pulling my knees into my chest in an attempt to keep myself together. The lump in my throat grows bigger and bigger until I finally break out into uncontrollable sobs. For the next three hours this is where I remain.

Maria starts to message me about our previous conversation. I read the messages but nothing really makes it through the wall I had built to protect me from reality. My response is just “goodnight my love”, she replies immediately with “love you” which gets ignored. I am finally out of my bubble. I sit up exhausted, brush my teeth, take off the rest of my make up that had run down my face, put on my pajamas and then freeze. I catch the sight of my pills and pick them up remembering I forgot to take them earlier. I bring them with me and get into my bed and stare at them awhile. The room starts to close in on me again, only this time so does my chest. I was sick. So sick of being sad and miserable. It affected my family as I lacked the motivation to keep in contact with them leading them to worry. My friends were also affected as I regularly ignored their messages which led them to drift away. This time it all felt different the hopelessness and loneliness felt like the least of my worries. Continuing to stare at the pills I finally reach my point. I needed to snap out of it and fast.

I grab my trusty old razor blade and lightly do my usual cuts across my upper thigh. I started to panic as my method of “waking up” wasn’t working so I try again this time making sure I can feel it. Quickly I jab the blade into my skin and drag it across my thigh creating a pool of blood on my bed sheets. Although the sight of the fresh cut shocked me I still felt empty and hopeless. I felt dead and although I knew I wasn’t, I wanted to be.

Nothing worked anymore. I couldn’t think of anything else that would help me. Except the one thing I knew would, although it would be a permanent solution. I grab them and begin to count. Twelve. If I swallow four at a time it will be all over in three. I start. One. Two. Three. That’s it. Its all over. I lay down in my bed and slowly my eyes begin to close.

First blog post

Welcome to The Big World of Vivian Sharpe!

This story is an entirely true and although I still live with my mental illness everyday with counseling and medication I have been able to manage it much easier now. Due to the realness of these chapters I still get emotional to reflect on my past so new chapters will be published weekly so keep checking back!

Reader discretion is advised as this blog contains sensitive material that could be triggering. If anyone is going through any of the issues that has been written about I know that it can be extremely difficult to talk about with a loved one or someone who hasn’t been through it themselves but I am available to talk at anytime so please contact me.