I've been hesitant in sharing the hardest time in my life on this forum. As I share, I now leap forward and try without shame to just break down what happened to me and perhaps someone else might just feel less alone. You see, my world although filled with many people, was almost shrunk in size due to my inability to share with anyone what was happening. My husband knew most of it due to witnessing and living through it.
Seventeen years ago we welcomed a beautiful, healthy baby into the world. I read all the parenting books, worked on a household routine and set up the nursery with pride. We welcomed lots of visitors to the hospital who sat in the private room and took turns nursing our baby. We were ecstatic. All alone with our baby on day two in my hospital room, I obsessed over his blanket, folding it at least 15 times. I started feeling serious and that nurses were judging me, chatting about me at the front desk. Husband came in after work each night and noticed my fussing but didn't make much of it. I started having irrational thoughts that the nurses had thought I'd neglected the baby in some way, despite numerous compliments on my care and abilities bathing, feeding etc One nurse mentioned how beautifully wrapped our baby was in his crib.
We arrived home to the first day as a family. I fed on demand and instinct and my baby slept inbetween. An energy erupted in me, whilst he slept I stayed up writing thank you cards, then scribbling then out, then running from room to room cleaning in the middle of the night. My husband woke for work and noticed I hadn't been in bed but I shrugged him off. After he drove out, I swept the driveway at 6:30am with a ferocious speed unable to let the broom go until all of the leaves were swept. After these few days became a euphoria that was incredibly powerful, the hectic speed was replaced with an elation like I'd never felt before. I later learned this was the start of a manic episode.
During the next few weeks I became overly concerned that our baby together with my husband would be harmed. I had irrational beliefs that took hold, fearing that explosives were in our roof. I started examining the power point sockets and climbing a ladder to investigate the man hole. Nothing made sense. My husband was ordered to check the roof many times and 'gave in ' to my demands.
My baby was always looked after and the house so tidy that no one ever suspected at that point when they visited, that anything was wrong. Baby putting on weight with a healthy chart, clean washing etc. But I was slowly going into a depressive mood. I became exhausted and guilt took over with a strange sense and belief that I was evil by nature and deserved punishment. I couldn't get rid of these thoughts in my head. I think to conquer them somehow I just kept ploughing through daily tasks. The manic and depressive state sometimes seemed mixed, high energy with overwhelming guilt and inability to move from our home. My baby always had clean clothes but my husband and mum noticed that I was not changing my clothing, not washing my hair either for up to a week. I can't understand how I'd look after our son impeccably but not myself.
My energy levels swang back and forth over six months and I became housebound, ordering husband to get the shopping. I couldn't leave our safe house. Visitors started to agitate me, interfering with my insistent need to have our beautiful boy in a routine. They wanted to wake him for cuddles and some stayed for hours. I let them but cracks were starting to show.
I longed to know what it was that made me become so intense. My husband bacane extremely worried and after six months post birth I saw a psychiatrist after many arguments about me thinking my baby would be taken from me. My illness was given a name. I soon ventured out with my little guy to a mother's group, playgroup when he was 10 months old for interaction and play with other children etc. I never ever discussed my experience though, just kept it private.
I longed to find books and stories of other people, woman etc to get some relief.
This is part of my journey, it's tender, it was what we lived in all of its intensities. I still, still have those memories of a time when the illness was at its worst and am working toward self forgiveness. I'm nearly there but something tells me I don't need to forgive myself, it was no ones fault.