1 Avery

"Oh my god! Avery! Avery, wake up! Oh Jesus Christ! SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE. There's so much blood! What the hell Avery? Someone call an ambulance!"

I am vaguely aware of an alarm sounding and my name being called but I have no sensation in my body at all. I feel cold, numb, and very very sleepy. My eyes are closed and I can feel a small smile on my face. That is until Kelly, my wing supervisor, started shaking me and screaming my name. I am on 15 minute observations and I cut myself the second she walked away from my doorway....how was I supposed to know that the cow would come back early! I am annoyed that she has found me before I check out forever, and I send up a silent prayer that the ambulance is delayed long enough for my life to drain from my wrists, like the remnants of wine from an upended bottle. My arms are heavy, and blood is congealing all over me. My bed looks as if a massacre has taken place on it, blood all over, soaked into my bedding, my mattress. There are spray patterns on the wall too. I'm pretty pleased with myself, I've done a good job today, but it seems not good enough to earn my one way ticket to hell today!

The ambulance arrives just as Kelly finishes dressing my arms, applying enough pressure to stem the flow of blood from my rapidly weakening body. There are more voices, beeping sounds and crying. I can feel motion and realise I am being put inside an ambulance. This was not the plan! I try to tell the crew to leave me alone, to let me rot, to not treat me. I want to die! I deserve to die, but I'm too weak to verbalise my thoughts.

I am rushed to the King William hospital, where I am a frequent flyer. I am here so often that I may as well have a bed permanently on reserve and a duvet cover with my name embroidered on it. I am also on first name terms with all the staff here. I'm not proud of that fact, nor of the fact that I am slowly killing my parents with worry.

I wake up and attempt to sit up but I am too weak. I feel groggy, light headed and nauseous. I feel like a failure, and that makes me angry. I open my eyes and blink a few times to clear my vision. My head aches, my mouth is dry and I am so cold. I now have some more robust dressings around my wrists, and also I have a cannula in each hand, one delivering a blood transfusion, the other a bag of clear fluid which is probably antibiotics. I get the same medicines every time I come as some of the things I use to carve up my body are not particularly sterile. Of course I prefer something sharp, although I don't care about it being clean or sterile, after all, if the wound doesn't kill me a serious case of sepsis could, but beggars can't be choosers right?!

I have used razors blades, kitchen knives and scissors in the past. Recently I have had to be slightly more creative with the instruments I use because I am currently being held against my will at 'The Phoenix centre' for young adults, a mental health facility that I am also very familiar with. This time I was able to use my toothbrush. I wasn't convinced it would work but I saw it in a true crime documentary, a prisoner melted and sharpened his toothbrush into what they described as a 'shiv', then stabbed another inmate to death.... with a toothbrush!!

I made the toothbrush suicide ready by very carefully removing the rubber handle cover and sharpening it on the pavement in our outside recreation area over a period of days, then replacing the rubber handle cover to hide my modifications from the staff and their impromptu room inspections! Last week I dropped a China mug and managed to secrete a chunk in my knickers until I was alone, then used one of the sharp edges to open up my leg from groin to knee. I was attempting to sever my femoral artery, sadly without success. We are now no longer allowed anything other than plastic cups, plates and cutlery. That didn't win me any fans with the other inmates at the centre! I've repeatedly requested anatomy books, informing Angel and Kelly that I want to be a Dr one day, but they aren't buying it and believe I'm trying to swot up so I can do a better job of letting my life blood. I hate it when they are right!

I look to my left and I notice my mum is sitting beside me, her breeding clear from her perfect poise, her back poker straight. She is twisting a silk handkerchief in her hands, she would never be so low brow to use a paper tissue despite them being far more hygienic. There are tears silently travelling down her beautiful and gentle face, leaving dark blotches on her pale grey pencil skirt.

I feel so much guilt, for what I did, for everything I am putting her and my dad through, for wasting the time of the ED and young adult ward staff, for being alive, and for being a coward. I should just make my next cuts a little deeper and go to sleep forever. I can't even end my life properly, I'm that useless. In my 18 years of life I have caused nothing but trouble, broken my parents and ruined their lives. I wonder if they would be relieved if I was no longer around anymore. I wonder if they wish that I was their dead child.

My brother Jaxon was 2 years older than me, and he was everything I am not. Popular, fun, happy, outgoing and sane. He died 6 months ago and his death is still being investigated by the police, but they don't seem to have any leads. The circumstances of his death are still unclear, although the police are suggesting that based on the evidence they have accrued so far he was likely murdered!