Chanelle Hayes - Baring My Heart (14 page)

He said nothing and stared down at the steering wheel.

As I stormed out of the car, I said, ‘You told me you wanted to be in a long-term relationship. Why would you do that if you want to play around? At least be bloody honest about it.’

I went into the house, grabbed some of his stuff and started hurling it at his car. I even dented one of the doors by throwing shoes at it so hard.

Finally, he spoke: ‘Please, please let me in. I’m so sorry. I love you. Look, I’ll delete Facebook. It doesn’t matter to me.’

‘You mean you have to delete Facebook to resist the temptation of these slags? Can’t you just say no?’

I slammed the front door in his face and, though he kept ringing the bell and pleading for me to let him in, I refused. Eventually, he drove off, leaving me a sobbing wreck. I just could not believe this had happened. Looking for some comfort, I called my parents to tell them what had happened but,
unbelievably, they sided with Matt.

‘Don’t throw this away over a couple of harmless messages, Chanelle,’ Dad said. ‘It sounds like you’re overreacting, as usual.’

Mum agreed. ‘Matt’s a lovely guy. You’d be mad to walk away over something so trivial.’

I could not believe what I was hearing. It felt like another betrayal.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, there was a knock at my front door. It was a florist delivering roses and champagne from Matt. How original! I was totally unmoved, as you’d expect, but this was only the start of it. Every day for the next fortnight, he arranged for a different present to be delivered to my house. He bought me cooking lessons with Marco Pierre White, a spa day for me and a friend, as well as Swarovski jewellery – and each day there would be a card with the gift, which simply said ‘Sorry’.

Speaking to Mum again, she said, ‘Don’t you think you can let it go now? He’s only a young lad and all these gifts show he’s trying to make it up to you.’

She just didn’t get it. ‘No, Mum, all these presents mean nothing because he earns a lot of money.’

‘Oh, Chanelle. It was only a few messages. Stop being such bloody hard work.’

We fell out badly then. As I’ve said before, I adore my parents unconditionally but, at times like this, they just wound me up so badly.

‘How can you side with him after what he’s done?’ I was shaking with anger. ‘Thanks a lot for the loyalty.’ I hung up, having told them I didn’t want to see or talk to them – and that was the last time we spoke for a while.

As stubborn and livid as I was, after those two weeks had passed I did start to feel that maybe I should hear Matt out. I’d
been blanking his texts and ignoring all his calls until then but late one evening I phoned him, armed with a speech about how he had to prove he could be trusted if we were to have any future. But he must have answered his phone by accident because all I could hear was some girl talking in the background. That obviously stoked my fury again and, with my mind racing, I lay in bed unable to sleep. As I tossed and turned, something told me to go over to his place and find out for myself what was really going on. So like some crazy woman, I got dressed and drove up to Middlesbrough, about an hour away up the A1. It was about 1am by this point but Matt’s car was there and some of the lights were on, so I knew he was in. I rang the bell but nobody answered – then I saw what looked like a woman peering through one of the blinds.

‘Got you,’ I thought. ‘You’re obviously not letting me in for a reason.’

How was I going to be able to catch him out though? If I came back the next day, he’d only deny everything and whoever was with him would probably have left. I decided there was only one option: I was going to have to sit there in my car until morning.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a cold night, so that’s what I did, like some lunatic detective. I dozed for a bit but it was bloody uncomfortable and I was also on high alert in case the girl inside the house came out. I knew he’d be leaving for training at around 8am so, shortly before then, I called him. He picked up this time – but, because I hadn’t seen anyone leave overnight, I knew he wasn’t alone.

‘Who are you with?’ I said.

Baffled, he replied, ‘What do you mean? I’m on my own.’

‘No, Matt. You’re not. I saw someone looking out of the blinds last night.’

‘What the hell are you talking about? Have you been outside
my house all that time?’

‘Yes, Matt. And now I know exactly what you’re up to.’

‘You’re being ridiculous. Will you just go away?’ he said.

‘I can’t believe you,’ I said. ‘I was considering taking you back and actually feeling bad for keeping you in the dark. But it turns out you’re still doing exactly the same thing as before. You must really think I’m stupid.’

He sighed. ‘Look, I don’t want to be with you any more, so leave me alone. Get away from my house and don’t come back.’

This was like a dagger through my heart. He’d been buying me presents and begging my forgiveness for two weeks and now he was saying this? It must have been because there was some girl there listening in but, still, those words struck me like a hammer blow.

He hung up on me and I burst into tears. I’d got this so wrong. He didn’t want me back at all. How could I have been such a fool? I was convinced he loved me and was desperate to be with me but really he hated my guts.

I drove home, barely able to see the road. And the harder I cried, the more irrational I became. I’d fallen out with my parents over Matt and now he’d turned his back on me too. I felt like nobody gave a toss about me at all. In fact, what was the point of me even being around? I’m afraid to say that, once that thought had entered my mind, it was like an old trigger point was reactivated from deep within me. It seemed quite simple – I actually didn’t want to be alive any more. I made up my mind then and there: I was going to put an end to this miserable life, once and for all.

I
t might sound like I talk about taking my own life lightly but it certainly didn’t feel like I was being flippant back then. Although I’m much tougher and more resilient these days, in my past I could not handle severe hurt or process such negative emotions. So when Matt snapped my heart in two like that, I just wanted everything to stop. I thought, ‘I can’t cope with that amount of pain again for years on end.’ I didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for it.

After I got home from Matt’s early that August morning, I walked to the corner shop and bought two packets of paracetamol and then went to the Co-op down the road and bought another two packs.

The lady who served me said, ‘Have you got any ID?’

‘I’m sorry, are you joking?’

‘You’ve got to be over sixteen to buy paracetamol.’

It shows how rough I looked – I had no make-up on and hadn’t even been to bed that night because I’d been waiting outside Matt’s all night.

Suddenly, I recognised the woman on the other till. It was the mum of a girl called Amy who I’d been to school with. I said, ‘You know me, don’t you? I’m the same age as your Amy.’

She said, ‘Yeah, that’s fine love. But are you OK?

‘Oh, yeah, I’ve just got really bad hay fever. It’s giving me a bad headache, so I’m going to take some tablets,’ I lied through my teeth.

When I got home, I opened a bottle of wine and started slugging it back with the pills. In a daze, I’m not certain how many tablets I swallowed but it was certainly a big handful.

Before I fell unconscious, I sent a text to Zoe, which just said, ‘I love you so much and I’m really sorry.’ I didn’t bother getting in touch with anyone else; I was in that frame of mind where I thought no one would care if I died anyway.

Luckily for me, Zoe dropped everything at work and dashed straight round. She had already been feeling anxious because Matt had called her and said, ‘I’ve had a massive fall-out with Chanelle and she’s really upset. Can you go and check on her?’

When she arrived, not long after, she started hammering on my front door but I was out cold by then. She says she could see me through the letterbox on the floor and that she was shouting at me but I didn’t stir. I’d also thrown up everywhere and was lying in my own vomit.

She called 999 and, when the ambulance arrived, the paramedics got a spare key from my neighbour Lisa and ran into my house, before rushing me to A&E at Pinderfields Hospital, in Wakefield. As she held my hand in the back of the ambulance, Zoe says I kept slurring, ‘I want it to be over.’

Once at hospital, I have hazy recollections of the nurses putting drips in me and trying to take blood samples and one said, ‘Listen, if you want us to save you, you need to lie still and let me put this in your arm.’

‘I don’t want to be saved,’ I said, thrashing wildly and trying to push her away.

A few of the staff had to pin me down to insert the drip. It makes me so sad to think of myself in such a state and I can see that my behaviour must seem totally selfish. But anyone who has ever plummeted to the depths of mental despair will probably tell you the same thing: you have no control over those black thoughts.

A little later, as the effects of the paracetamol and alcohol gradually subsided, Zoe came back to my bedside and said, ‘Matt’s here.’

‘Tell him to go away,’ I begged her. ‘He’s the one who caused this. He’s ruined my life.’

Zoe nodded. She also knew I wasn’t on good terms with Mum and Dad but said, ‘Do you want me to call them?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘They’ll only be mad with me.’

After Zoe left, I slept for the rest of the day and, when I woke early next morning, was told by a doctor that I could go home.

‘Already?’ I said. ‘Are you sure?’

It then became clear the hospital wanted me out as quickly as possible. ‘There are a lot of photographers outside, which isn’t fair on the other patients and staff,’ the doctor said coldly.

Once I’d signed the forms to check myself out, I was led to a back entrance of the hospital, where a taxi was waiting – thankfully with no paps in sight. Back at my house, there was still sick on the floor and an empty wine bottle and tablets scattered all over the place. I wearily cleaned up then went upstairs to bed. When I got up to my room on the top floor, I jumped right out of my skin. There, lying face down on the bed, fully-clothed and fast asleep, was Matt. I’d forgotten he still had a key, so he’d obviously let himself in and crashed out – very considerately choosing to ignore the mess downstairs.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I said, waking him.

He jumped up, rubbing his eyes. ‘We need to talk, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t want to see you. Get your stuff and get out.’

‘Well what do you think you were doing? That was such a nasty thing to do, Chanelle.’

‘What? How can you say that?’

‘If you’d have died, it would have been on my conscience forever.’

I didn’t have the energy to even get angry. ‘Listen, it’s not all about you. I’ve had a stressful enough time as it is. You made me not want to be alive. How can you stand there and have a go at me?’

‘What about us then?’

‘Just because I’m in a fragile state doesn’t mean I’m going to take you back. I hate you for what you’ve done.’

‘Fine,’ he said, pulling on his trainers. ‘But you really need to think about this.’

Later that day, my neighbour Lisa came round to tell me that my dog Marmite was fine and playing in her garden. Thank God she’d been around to look after him during all the drama. Becca turned up a bit later and made me fish-finger sandwiches but, as we were eating them, Lisa rushed back in. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ she said. ‘But Marmite’s run off.’

I leaped up. ‘What? Oh God, where’s he gone?’

‘I don’t know. He was here one minute and then he just vanished.’

I ran out into the street, calling for him at the top of my lungs. That tiny Chihuahua meant everything to me. He even came on photo-shoots with me and was always there for cuddles when I was feeling low.

Lisa’s husband had gone out looking for him but came back a
while later empty handed. I was so worried and upset. ‘I’ve lost my boyfriend and now I’ve lost my dog,’ I cried. ‘It can’t get any worse. Nobody wants to be around me.’

Becca and I were out until 3am with torches looking for him. Eventually, shattered and freezing cold, we gave up and trudged home. And there, sitting on the doorstep, waiting patiently, was my gorgeous little Marmite! He’s so tiny but somehow he’d managed to find his way back from wherever he’d wandered off to. I clung to him on the ground, almost smothering him! Seriously, I’d never been so happy to see anything in my life and I thought, ‘This is a sign that things are going to be OK.’

The next day, I got a call from Dave Read. After asking how I was, he said, ‘Right, well, the
Daily Star
are coming up to see you in the morning for an interview about your suicide attempt.’

I’d been worried about it leaking out to the press, as Zoe told me afterwards she’d heard one of the paramedics tell his colleague in the ambulance, ‘You know she’s the girl off
Big Brother?
The papers would love this.’ And sure enough, the story had appeared in the
Sun
the following day.

‘But, Dave, I’ve only just come out of hospital,’ I protested. ‘I can’t do it. My head’s not in the right place.’

‘Come on, it’s a quick ten grand, so it’ll be worth it.’

‘Dave, I didn’t even want to brush my teeth or comb my hair when I got up this morning. I can hardly get out of bed but you want me to do that?’

‘Er, yeah.’

I sighed. Once again, it seemed I had little choice but to go along with it. So a team from the
Daily Star
arrived the next morning, taking my picture and asking me all kinds of probing questions. Although I can talk about it quite openly now, it was so hard at the time, especially as I felt so ashamed. Nowadays, there is less of a taboo about depression and mental-health
issues but, back then, I felt weak and stupid. I was also dreading a backlash from my interview – I’d been in the media long enough to know that people would think I was making it all up for attention.

Sure enough, when the piece hit the shelves the next day, I got abusive letters through my letterbox saying things like ‘
Fame-hungry
slag’ and ‘Faker.’ But I knew the truth: this hadn’t been any lie. In some ways, the suicide attempt this time around had been much more serious than when I’d done it in my teens. I guess back then it had been more like a cry for attention but, on this occasion, I really couldn’t see any future and truly felt I had nothing to live for.

As things calmed down following my hospital scare, I started having weekly counselling sessions at the Priory, in Manchester. I didn’t want to check myself in because I knew people would think it was a publicity stunt – plus I didn’t really want to spend £5,000 a week to stay there. I’m not into therapy at all and think it’s self-indulgent but I went along for about three months and I suppose it did help because they gave me anti-depressants, as well as medication for panic attacks and sleeping tablets. I had to go back every few days though because they wouldn’t give me too many pills at once, in case I overdosed.

The counsellor I saw there made me talk about everything that had happened but, in my heart of hearts, I couldn’t see how that part of the treatment was helping. Why go somewhere just to talk about yourself? The whole experience really opened my eyes to how little support there is for people with mental illness and depression. You are made to feel a bit like a crazy person and so many people must be suffering on their own without a good support network. It’s something I feel really needs to be brought to the surface.

Around this time, I received a lovely message from Danny
Simpson, which was so sweet when I was feeling so miserable. He said, ‘I know you’ve chosen Matt over me and that you’re in love with him but I’m there for you and will support you. Come and see me whenever you want.’

A few days later, I went over to his house and just cried my eyes out. He was such a good listener and made me feel a lot better. ‘I’m sure you’ll get back with Matt and work it out,’ he said.

It turns out that Danny’s prediction was spot on. Over the next few weeks, Matt bombarded me with apologies. ‘I thought I was ready for commitment but I obviously wasn’t,’ he said. ‘But now that I’ve nearly lost you, I am ready. Let’s try again. I’m so sorry I’ve messed things up.’

I was far from convinced by any of his pleas but the situation had been further complicated by Matt picking up a really serious injury while playing in a match that summer. Over the past few years, he’d had a lot of trouble with his left knee and it was threatening to wreck his career. After the latest injury, a scan showed he had cruciate ligament damage, which was a real disaster.

Despondent about being side-lined from the game he so loved, he begged me, ‘I can’t deal with this on my own. I really need you.’

‘Why can’t you get one of your other girlfriends to help you?’ I replied sarcastically.

‘Look, I love you and I want you back. I know how much you love me too – I really think we can make this work. I’ll never let you down again, I promise.’

Matt was having an operation on his knee down in London, so I said I would at least visit him – but only as a friend. ‘I don’t want to be with you but I will support you,’ I told him resolutely. I just felt I couldn’t abandon him when he was so very low.

I was down for a shoot while he was recuperating at the Lister Hospital in Chelsea and, while I was out for dinner with my friend Jenny later, he phoned me.

‘Can you come and see me?’ he said.

‘OK then. I’ll be there in an hour.’

I turned up in a glam dress and heels, as we’d be been for an early dinner, and one of the first things he said was, ‘Have you been dating anyone?’

‘No,’ I shot back. ‘I’m still hurting too much for that.’

We carried on chatting for a bit and, after the initial frostiness thawed, I was surprised how nice it was to see him again. We carried on talking over the next few days and I finally agreed to give things another go. You might think I was mad but I’ve always strongly believed that people deserve second chances in life, especially because I know I’m far from perfect or easy to live with. I didn’t want to end up full of regret for throwing this relationship away because, when it was good, it had made me very happy. And I’d never had any concrete proof that Matt had actually done anything with those other girls, had I?

Still, we both knew it had to be different this time around and he voluntarily quit Facebook and MySpace and stopped going out partying. It took a while for me to trust him again but, because we hadn’t lost any of that original spark or connection, we gradually managed to get back on track.

He made more effort than ever before too, booking us a surprise trip to Center Parcs for my birthday because he knew how much I loved it there. He also filled his living room with flowers and gifts for me as part of the same celebration.

At the end of November, Matt was still suffering badly with his knee and Middlesbrough decided to send him off for rehab with one of the world’s top specialists in Vermont, New England. He asked me to go with him, offering to pay for my flights, so I jumped at the chance. It was an amazing trip and we got on fantastically well the whole time, with no arguments. We had a gorgeous log cabin and there was loads of thick snow, making it
so picturesque and romantic. While Matt had his treatment during the daytime, I’d go to the gym, have spa treatments and cook for us and in the evenings we’d snuggle up by the log fire or go to the cinema in our huge American car.

But midway through our month in Vermont, I began feeling a bit off-colour. I was sleeping a lot and my boobs had got a bit bigger and were sore too and I just didn’t feel quite right. Before we’d flown out, I’d had a routine check-up for my polycystic ovaries, with blood and hormone tests, but I had absolutely no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary.