Trigger warning – this post talks in detail about psychosis and mental health. It may be upsetting for people who have experienced psychosis or seen others suffer.
The blogs I have read on mental illness tend to be clean and tidy. The moral is clear – goodness wins out in the end. I can only assume that an unspoken, and honourable, aim of these posts is to remove the stigma surrounding mental illness and increase understanding. But how can we understand when so much is hidden? Clean stories exist. They are important, every story is important. Like the man with bipolar who maxed out his credit cards and now has agreements with the bank to prevent it. Or the woman with depression who missed six months of work, found a more supportive employer and is rebuilding her life.
Jostling up against these examples are the people who choose to press the self-destruct button again and again; their families becoming the inevitable collateral damage. When someone acts like they don’t give a shit about the living hell they are creating around them, is that ‘just’ part of the illness? Or are people with mental ill-health allowed to be shits too? I could be accused of conflating addiction and mental ill-health but they are often so tightly fused together that you cannot see where one starts and the other ends – if such a place even exists.
I have wanted to write this post for a while, but it’s hard. Hard to know if it’s appropriate. Hard to know how people will take it. Am I inadvertently insulting others with mental health conditions? How the hell do you write about something so unreal? Psychosis cannot be explained with clean, straight lines. Instead I’m sharing a few highlights of watching my then partner implode. Over and over again. I’ve left much out; included more than I should. Perhaps one day I’ll know how to explain it better, but for now this is all I’ve got.
—–
You were on your way home from work today, you were so late, I was worried. Especially as you had a shed load of cash in your back pocket. I started to fear the worst. Eventually I got hold of you. You didn’t make any sense. Words were coming out, dis-joint-ed, followed by silences.
I was scared. My chest started to tighten. What was happening?
OK, think.
You need to think.
Soft, gentle words.
“Is anyone near you? Yes, good. Pass them the phone.”
The poor stranger – didn’t know what was happening. Where are you? Which way is the train going? OK. Thank you. Tell him to get off the train please. Ask him to wait on the platform. Tell him not to move. I said you had a ‘problem’ – how little did I realise the truth in those words.
I rushed to the station, convinced the man at the ticket barrier to let me through. Took you from the platform. Gave him an angry look for suggesting you were drunk. I had no idea what was wrong with you. I tried to reason with you, tried to understand what was happening. Phoned your colleague. “Has he taken something? He’s not making any sense.” By the morning you were fine. It was all forgotten. I wish I had understood that this was just the start.
—–
I phoned this morning to speak to you. You were staying with family overseas.
“OK, I’ll send it to you. What’s the address?”
What’s my name?
I was so confused.
“What do you mean?”
You hung up. I tried to call back. Your dad answered, said there was something wrong with you.
It took awhile to learn the whole truth. You had run a marathon barefoot in the middle of the night. Your brother chased after you on a motorbike. He eventually found you. Your feet all cut up like something on a butcher’s board from the rough ground. You were hospitalised for weeks. Schizophrenia was mentioned. I was in a meeting room at work speaking to your family. I had to call a colleague in the other building to come and fetch me – I was too distraught to walk through the office alone.
I spent the night googling schizophrenia. I fell asleep in a nightmare; nightmares enveloped my dreams. In the early hours of the morning I awoke and for a split second the world was good. Then realisation arose with the sun, and the nightmare returned.
By the time I got to you, you were a shadow of your former self. Physically and emotionally. We stayed at your dad’s place. He went out. You frightened me. You were talking such strange things. Why? You were supposed to be ‘better’. I locked myself in your father’s room, spoke to you through the glass door.
“Go to bed. Just sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Every noise sent me reeling with panic. I didn’t sleep a wink until the first sunlight shone through the flimsy sheet at the window and I finally felt like I might not be murdered in my bed.
We went to the beach, a few days away will work wonders they said. We were on the top floor of a £2.50 a night guest house. I kept thinking you would throw yourself over the edge. I was petrified. I didn’t know what to do. I sat outside our room, keeping watch and chain smoking all night long.
In the morning we walked through the town.
Blue.
Why’s it blue?
Look, he’s in blue!
Why’s she wearing blue?
You know they are after me don’t you?
They want to kill me.
I want to kill me.
—–
I was starting to feel excited, new job, wedding nearly here. But when we woke that Thursday nothing felt right.
You got out of the shower, came into the bedroom. Your heart was pounding. I could feel it trying to break out of your chest.
“Are you OK?”
You went to the garden for a cigarette.
I followed. “Are you OK?” I asked again.
You ran out of the house. It was the fourth day in my new job. I was supposed to be at a team away day. I couldn’t miss it. I kept leaving the room to call you and find out what was happening. What the fuck was happening? No answer. When I got home there was still no sign of you. You’d been back and this time you’d left everything – your keys, phone, wallet.
I called the doctor, then the police. When they arrived your phone rang. It was a police officer. He was with you, miles away. You’d walked there. Swaying in and out of the traffic. Praying on the A4. Causing commotion in travel agents, trying to book flights to far away lands.
I came to the hospital. I couldn’t believe what I saw. You were unable to speak, hunched over with a haunted look in your eye, you didn’t acknowledge my presence. “He’s putting it on”, said the paramedic, “watch this”. He tried to make you flinch by pressing your finger against itself with his pen. Even he was shocked when you stared steadfastly ahead. “Works with the drunks”, he said, like you had ruined his party trick.
The policeman told me to get out. “You’re still young”, he said.” I know how this ends”, he claimed. I thought him uncaring. Thinking my man was some kind of druggie, he didn’t know who you really were. Turns out he knew a lot more than me. The psychiatrists were unable to control you. They brought me in to your four by four bare cell in the hope I might get through to you. Now I’ve seen so much I laugh that they even thought that was worth trying, as you rocked back and forth chanting. Satan and sex your favourite topics of choice. No-one could get through to you now. You’d gone too far without medication, it would be a long way back.
Social workers came. Forms were signed. You were shipped off to a hospital with a secure bed. We travelled together. I was scared. The younger man had wanted to put you in the cage at the back of the ‘ambulance’*, the older one nodded his head towards me. Clearly the protocol was to only treat patients like animals when the family weren’t there to observe. I was petrified as we drove the 15 miles, what if you tried to get up and fight? I needn’t have worried. The meds were doing their work, you were dozy and quiet. Emitting a scared silence.
Where are we, you asked fearfully.
Ironically we sped past our old flat. The flat where we had heard so many sirens pass by in the dead of night. Now we were the ones disturbing some couples embrace. In another life I was in that flat, rolling over into the warmth of another man as the noise of the siren interrupted our sleep.
—–
It was my first view of the inside of our local mental health ward but far from my last. We arrived in the dead of night. The room an eerie dark, bar some slivers of light shining through from the corridor. A man looking lost and confused wandered around in his pyjamas. He brought you a drink of water. Seemed concerned for you. You shook hands. No words were spoken. There was a silent communication between you. A look you mirrored in each other – a look of simultaneous bewilderment and knowing. Knowing more about what was occurring in your minds than us outsiders could ever dream of understanding.
The nurse stepped out of his room. He was calm and reassuring. Everything was so quiet and surreal. I asked if they had any food. You hadn’t eaten all day. He brought you some cereal.
I stood to leave. You looked at me like a child might on his first day of school. Scared, but aware this was something you must undergo. “Come back tomorrow. He’ll be much better,” said the nurse, his voice was the kindest I’d ever heard.
The fear and emptiness descended upon me with each step I took out of there.
—–
I took the day off work to see the consultant with you. He would be doing his ward rounds after lunch.
We sat talking before the meeting. I tried to avoid eye contact with the guy on remand for rape. You tried to convince me the meals were poisoned. You ate the kosher ones instead. They were still after you.
I didn’t understand. You seemed ‘better’. What was going on?
Residual paranoia apparently.
Speaking to the consultant you put on a good act. Until…
“Are there any questions you’d like to ask us?”
You know you look like Jedward. Are you their triplet?
Oh fuck. I don’t even know if this is you being funny or crazy. The consultant went bright red. I was laughing inside. Sharing a joke with you for the first time in weeks. Feeling a connection over the stupidity of this whole thing as the consultant ran through his tick box sheet of questions to determine if you were safe to be let free.
—–
You came home from work. I was already here, doing the dishes like a doting wife for once. I’d cooked a lovely meal.
“How are you?”
Fine.
Suddenly your eyes glazed over. You walked into the lounge. I followed.
“What’s wrong?”
Fish.
S.
Shoes.
“What’s going on? Is this a joke?” [Please let this be a fucking sick joke.]
Hats.
Rats.
There are rats everywhere.
Oh fuck, we’re back here again. Shit. Shit. Shit. OK, think.
Knives. Hide the fucking knives. What if he comes for the knives?
Mental health team. Call.
Don’t stand that side of him. Make sure he’s not between you and the door. What if he goes for you?
Taxi. Phone. Get in it. Why is the taxi driver looking at us like that?
Medication. Give him some of his medication.
God, you’re getting so much better at dealing with all this.
Hospital. Book him in. See doctor. Explain.
“What do you do?”
No, what do you do?
“The doctor wants to know what job you do.”
Rats. Rats everywhere.
He’s gone. Oh God, he’s gone.
Return to the waiting room. Shit, everyone is staring. Why are they staring? Shit, he’s ranting mad stuff again. OK, now they are really staring. Shit I can’t breathe. Pull it together – no time for a panic attack now. “Why are you all fucking staring? Fuck off. Can’t you tell he’s ill.”
Shit, he’s out the door.
Quick, ask the staff to help.
“We can’t help. He has to come in on his own accord.”
OK. I can do this. I can convince him.
“Come back. Come back. Feel the baby. Feel the baby. You need to come back for the baby. Pleeeeaaaasssse, just come back for the baby. The baby needs you.”
Shit. Where’s he going? Hold your baby bump as you run after him, God that hurts.
“Oy, why don’t you listen to her mate, can’t you see she’s in pain?”
I explain – you aren’t with it. I need to get you back to the hospital. The young man and his bike followed us round the streets of London for the next hour as we tried, and failed, to get you back in there. At every turn you knew exactly which way to go to get further and further away. An impeccable sense of anti-direction.
I need to get to Heathrow. I’m being inaugurated as president tomorrow.
In the end I did what I had never wanted to do: I flagged the police down.
Are you fucking her? Why are you fucking her?
“Please. Please stop speaking.”
“It’s OK madam, the ambulance will be here soon.”
“Shit. My baby. I’ve got pains. Shit the baby. I think I’m losing the baby**.”
“It’s OK madam we will take you in first and then take him.”
—–
Can you bring some clothes in for me?
“I nearly lost the baby.”
Can you just bring some stuff in for me?
“I can’t believe you did this. Why did you do this? You promised you wouldn’t use again.”
It’s no big deal. Make sure you bring the green T-shirt. I need the green one. You will remember the green one won’t you? And the hat, I need it to be matching.
—–
Things were getting better. Perhaps we could beat this demon. We’d been away for a week. You, me, the baby.
Then it started. It was hard to catch at first. Were you just being ‘funny’. The strange comments. The paranoia. This time there was a baby though. Our baby. My baby.
Shit. Shit. What the fuck do I do now?
You were downstairs. Baby was upstairs.
Shit. If I go upstairs you might come after us. We’ll be stuck there. You can block our exit.
WHAT DO I DO?
In a moment of panic insight I told you calmly that I was going to check the baby. Just wait here. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Keep repeating it. Everything is fine.
I ran up there. Grabbed him from his cot. His sleepy body floppy within his sleeping bag. I grabbed my phone and keys and got out of the door. I phoned my brother. I needed to come over. I was trying to struggle with the pram. Get a cab you idiot. He had a shot of vodka waiting for me. I downed it. Still, the shaking wouldn’t stop.
This time I didn’t couldn’t care what happened to you. This time there was no pulling out all the stops to get you the support you needed. I’d tried it all; it wasn’t making any difference. I had failed as your wife. You had failed as my husband. I would NOT fail as a mother. My son was my priority now.
We stayed at my brothers’, waiting for you to be sectioned. The meds you were taking meant the psychosis was a slow burner.
You turned up at my brother’s with three big pieces of cake – one for each of us – and the baby. The baby doesn’t eat fucking cake I tell you. The baby only drinks milk.
I’m taking another wife. I want a divorce. Or you can be a co-wife.
How’s that for a choice over a slice of cake?
I ate the baby’s slice.
The professionals thought they knew you better than I did. Telling me you’d calm down, the meds would prevent a full psychosis. I said you always went psychotic when you got this manic. They didn’t want to know our past experiences.
Eventually the fall came. A messy, nasty fall with divorce demands plastered all over my facebook page. My phone beeping with messages from concerned friends. In the end you were picked up by the police. I have no idea where, no idea how, but I know you were.
Your colleague called. Wanted to check you were OK. As we talked it transpired you’d quit before you walked out in the middle of the day. She assumed I knew. I called your boss. Tried to explain you weren’t well. Please don’t accept his resignation I begged. He agreed. You could hear the pity in his voice. God what has she got herself mixed up in.
Returning to that flat nothing could have prepared me for what you’d done. I expected chaos and mayhem. That would have been kind compared to the reality. You had destroyed my most precious writings. In essence, destroying my most precious memories.
The teapot in the middle of the dishwasher. Things appeared randomly where you’d carefully placed them even weeks later. I always wondered what you’d been thinking when you put the salt pot in the fridge.
They kept you in isolation for 24 hours. On the ward for weeks. And that was it. That was the end.
Or so I thought.
—–
The trauma of watching a loved one break their brain over and over again doesn’t disappear in an instance. When you have a child with someone it’s never the end. The connections that bind us have kept me chained for the past two years. I’m slowly breaking them but it’s hard work. Unable to sleep, thinking this and that, and a little bit more of this. Scrolling through my phone, checking for messages. My body unable to switch off from the stress. Unable to feel safe in the deafening silence as I await the next barrage; spiralling downwards when it inevitably appears.
Six years since the first fearful night; three years of constant extreme stress and my brain has lost the ability to relax. I’m waiting, waiting for the bomb to explode. Will it be you again, or my brain this time?
—–
*This ambulance was not like I’d ever seen, it was straight out of the movies, grey outside and in, darkened windows with a metal cage behind.
**I’m pleased to say that baby is now an almost three year old and brings love and mischief to my life every single day.
Support
For the uninitiated amongst us, a psychosis is when one loses touch with reality. In practical terms it often involves extreme paranoid, delusions, feelings of grandeur, hallucinations and random and rapid speech. In emotional terms, they are hell on earth – both to experience and to witness. You have all my sympathy if you, or anyone close to you, has experienced this. I can’t give any real words of advice but I hope you and your family get all the support you need and deserve. I’m no expert but I’m happy to reply to messages on this. Of course there are lots of organisations which can provide you with formal advice and support. Although I will be honest, there seems to be very little support for the families of loved ones experiencing psychosis. If you find something useful please share in the comments.
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If you liked this post you may also like my post on How Mental Health Campaigns Are Missing The Point and This Shit Just Got Real.
29th September 2018 at 11:20 pm
we have been dating for almost 3 yrs. I love him to death but I think I have to leave. I am in your place. When things are good they are really good. I know he loves me. He is like a helpless child but he is an adult and will not help himself. If he would just try I could stay. It is the hardest decision I have ever had to make…I am still on the fence…I know I should leave. I hope you the best. Thanks to everyone for sharing their experiences.
30th September 2018 at 9:01 am
I’m sorry you’re experiencing the same too and for your boyfriend. It’s so hard, and I think that’s the understatement of the year. I always think I stayed too long, out of a sense of duty, a sense of hope and a sense of this is just what a we do. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Put yourself first. Think what’s right for you. Maybe try some counselling to help you come to your own decision. Lots of luck xxx
31st July 2021 at 11:44 pm
I have two young children with a man I was with for 12 years. I would have never seen this coming and the past 4 months have been so unreal. I left him beginning of june and the things I have endured and encountered with him have been so heartbreaking. He has had to be picked up several times by law enforcement, two emergency detainment in the phsyc ward. First time diagnosed with manic bipolar depression, the second time phsycosis. He is aware of his kids and wants to be together but for the safety of everyone I had to leave because at one point he was drinking excessively. If we could email that would be great, really looking for someone to vent to and confind in that has been through something similar.
28th August 2018 at 1:22 pm
When did you know you should separate? I’m going through the same things you have described. Husband thinking I’m an informant, Acting out, thinking messages are coming through the tv. At this point I don’t know what to do, we don’t have children yet, but I’m getting older and would like to at some point in my life. I love my husband and what he’s going through is so incredibly sad. I just don’t know if I should stay in this situation. At this point I don’t know if hed actually understand why I’m feeling this way. How did you go about it?
28th August 2018 at 2:41 pm
You really have my sympathies experiencing this, I know how incredibly hard it is. I don’t think there’s any right answer to this though. My ex was experiencing these problems due to drug use so when he’d been lying about that and had another psychosis which put me and baby at risk and he said he wanted to marry another woman it was kind of a decision made for me as I couldn’t accept that. However, he’d been experiencing psychosis for a few years before that and I tried to support him to access help. I think each individual will need to deal with the situation as best they can for them. For me it would depend on why it’s happening, what they are doing to help themselves improve and how much it impacts our ability to have a ‘normal’ life. I think I stayed too long in hindsight but that’s because he was using drugs. Good luck and sending you lots of strength to get through this. Perhaps counselling for yourself could help you to deal with this and also help you make a decision either way that’s right for you x
29th September 2018 at 11:10 pm
Thanks for sharing your story! I have been searching for help. I actually worked in healthcare for 20 yr. Working in the emergency department, most of the patients are suffering from mental health. Now I am dealing with my boyfriend and I cannot find the support I need. Like you said, everything is regurgitated from a book and how it is supposed to be…not in real life. Just the same crap over and over and I having to deal with this sinking feeling and trying to keep my life sane. I know I have to leave. Thanks for giving me the courage to make my decision.
13th September 2018 at 3:02 am
My husband suffers paranoia, depression, anxiety. He acknowledges everything but paranoia. He was a scientist by profession. His mother had schizophernia, genetics play a whole lot into mental well being and there’s always a genetic predisposition for mental illness. Will he get better or will things will be managable even after meds and therapy, not sure? Its been coupld of years, then he stopped meds, lost job and we are back to me as the bad person.
13th September 2018 at 7:58 am
I’m sorry you’re experiencing this. It’s so tough. It does seem like genetics plays a part like you say. There were other serious mental health issues in my ex’s family. Hearing you say “back to me as the bad person” brings up so many memories for me. I know how soul destroying it can be to keep hearing that over and over. Please look out for yourself too. Speak to people who can help you and remember you don’t deserve to be treated this way. When mental health is an issue it’s easy to blame that and think it’s not his fault. At the end of the day it’s irrelevant why a partner is treating you badly in the long term, if they are being emotionally abusive that’s not on whatever the situation.
29th September 2018 at 11:04 pm
we have been dating for almost 3 yrs. I love him to death but I think I have to leave. I am in your place. When things are good they are really good. I know he loves me. He is like a helpless child but he is an adult and will not help himself. If he would just try I could stay. It is the hardest decision I have ever had to make…I am still on the fence…I know I should leave. I hope you the best and can find your answer.
21st May 2018 at 9:03 pm
Thank you for writing from the perspective of the victim. People say “Oh, he’ll be OK on meds” but no one will EVER understand what it’s like to deal with a psychotic husband until they’ve been through it. Thank you for screaming out about this with me. I totally understand those thoughts of “oh no, what if he gets a knife,” “don’t let him between you and the door,” and how your body can’t switch off from the stress.
THANK YOU for showing people the real story behind this.
27th May 2018 at 3:51 pm
Sorry to hear you have experienced similar. It can be so, so hard. Without the medication of course there are the challenges of repeated psychosis which are – quite frankly – just horrendous for all involved. Yet with the medication there can be severe side effects and still the psychosis can happen or at least periods of mania. It’s so hard. Hopefully one day they will be able to better understand the causes and support people who suffer from this and their families much better than as happens currently. Living your life watching your back and constantly on edge is so depleting and damaging and it took me a long time to realise what that damage had done to me. I really hope things are easier for you and you are able to get the support to cope with this. x
27th March 2018 at 10:54 pm
I’m literally in tears… My husband had a psychotic break right after we split up 2 months ago. I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid for our 7 year old son and myself.. & even more scared for him.
Thank you for writing this. I feel a tiny bit less alone now.
28th March 2018 at 7:33 am
I’m so sorry for you both. That’s so hard and I can imagine what a tough time you’re going through. For what it’s worth try not to panic too much, it could be a one off and lots of people manage to control such things depending on the trigger factors. I hope you manage to get the support you both need, don’t be afraid to ask for help and advice. Sending you lots of love and strength xx
22nd November 2016 at 6:12 am
Such a well written post… thank you for sharing your experience so beautifully. Words fail me, I simply can’t imagine how it must have been for you. I’m so pleased you and your baby are in a happy place now. #madaboutblog
22nd November 2016 at 7:33 pm
Thank you x
3rd November 2016 at 10:23 pm
Wow how heartbreaking. Beautifully written x #KCACOLS
3rd November 2016 at 10:26 pm
Thanks Emma x
3rd November 2016 at 2:21 pm
Like many others I don’t really know what to say. This is beautiful yet heartbreaking at the same time. Thank you for sharing your story with us and I’m glad you are in a better place. Thank for linking up to #KCACOLS Hope you’ll join again next Sunday.
Nadia – Scandimummy x
3rd November 2016 at 6:36 pm
Thanks Nadia
3rd November 2016 at 2:04 pm
I was captivated by every word of your story. I’m going to echo what Kristen said, you should consider writing a book one day. Thank you for sharing. #KCACOLS
3rd November 2016 at 6:37 pm
Arh thanks, I’d love to here’s hoping some agents stumble across this blog!!
3rd November 2016 at 9:45 am
What an incredible piece of writing. Completely and utterly heartbreaking and so so moving. I have never been in that situation but your words really helped me feel like I understood what you were feeling and going through. Mental illness is such a difficult topic to explain, especially the impact it has on others. I’m so glad that your baby and you are okay! Thank you for sharing it with us. #kcacols
3rd November 2016 at 10:01 am
Thank you xx
2nd November 2016 at 5:46 pm
Have you sent this article anywhere to be published? Its so powerful
#madaboutblog
3rd November 2016 at 12:30 am
Arh thank you. I sent an abridged version out but no reply yet. Watch this space x
2nd November 2016 at 3:57 pm
This is such a brave and honest post. I’m so sorry you have had to go through this, but what comes across is just how strong you must be. You made the right decision to take your son and put him first. I hope you are both doing well. #kcacols
2nd November 2016 at 4:46 pm
Thanks for reading and saying that. Things are getting better thanks x
31st October 2016 at 2:30 pm
Oh my. Such a weight for you to deal with…and with a baby for some of that time as well. I can’t even imagine what that must be like. But it’s a reminder to be kind to those around you. You don’t know what they or their family are going through. I’m so glad to hear your son brings so much happiness to your life everyday! Thank-you for bravely sharing your story x #KCACOLS
31st October 2016 at 2:44 pm
Thanks for your kind words. Yes, he’s definitely the light at the end of the tunnel! Thanks x
30th October 2016 at 9:27 pm
Wow, I don’t really know what to say, other than this is an incredibly powerful post, your writing is simply beautiful and I cannot begin to imagine how hard this must all be for you. You absolutely did the right thing in leaving and prioritising your baby, however hard and harsh that may sound. Take care of number one. It is really difficult to help those who refuse to help themselves. Pen x #KCACOLS
30th October 2016 at 10:00 pm
Thanks Pen. It’s so true xx
30th October 2016 at 3:39 pm
Now I have read this three times and it is still one of the most riveting posts that I have read. I am in awe of your level headed demeanor and strength.
#KCACOLS
30th October 2016 at 4:07 pm
Arh, thank you x
30th October 2016 at 2:42 pm
Every story is different , and every story is important, especially when it’s your own. Brave of you to post this. I hope you and your son are doing well #kcacols
30th October 2016 at 4:07 pm
Thanks x
29th October 2016 at 6:28 pm
I can’t imagine how you wrote this, let alone lived through it. I am so sorry that you had such a terrifying time, and send my heart felt sympathy to you for having to go through so much. I am glad that you and baby are now rebuilding your life and hope that your husband is getting the help he needs to rebuild his. Mental health problems can effect all of us, thank you for sharing your story with #eatsleepblogrt
30th October 2016 at 4:06 pm
Thanks for your lovely words. Yes, we are all rebuilding slowly. x
27th October 2016 at 8:13 pm
I don’t even know what to say except Wow. This is beautifully written and I was grasping on to every word. I can’t believe this happened, well actually I can, my uncle went through something similar and it ended horribly. It’s so hard because it’s really nobody’s fault, but you are so angry. I can’t even imagine trying to take are of a baby while also taking care of your husband. I think it’s great you have shared this story so that hopefully it will inspire people to take action and help their friends or family members who are mentally ill. Thanks so much for sharing with #GlobalBlogging.
27th October 2016 at 9:00 pm
Thanks for your kind words. So sorry your uncle went through similar. Like you say, I hope that it helps raise understanding x
27th October 2016 at 4:59 pm
As I was reading this my heart just pounded harder and harder. Firstly, the ability to take your difficult story and turn it into beautiful writing amazes me! What an inspirational post! Secondly, what a strong woman you are! Your story is definitely going to help many people out there! Thank you for writing this post and for sharing it with us! #GlobalBlogging
27th October 2016 at 5:18 pm
Arh thank you very much. I hope you’re right x
26th October 2016 at 4:23 pm
Wow, this is truely one of the most heartbreaking posts I’ve ever read. I feel for all of you as it is not something either of you asked for.
Thank you for being brave enough to share this honest account.
#EatSleepBlogRT
26th October 2016 at 9:27 pm
Thanks xx
26th October 2016 at 3:09 am
Mental illness is one of the hardest things I believe, I have both worked as a psychiatric nurse in a crisis assessment team in Melbourne and also had mental illness in my family. There needs to be so much more support and funding for those with mental illness and their loved ones. I think the public need a to more education too! The perception of mental illness has come a long way, but still peel feel ashamed and they shouldn’t. I hope writing has helped you and that you are taking care of yourself. Good on you for helping raise awareness #eatsleepblogRT
26th October 2016 at 10:39 am
Thanks, yes you’re so right we need much more awareness. I hope this goes a little way to explain what it can be like and how much more support is needed for those who are ill and their loved ones. Thanks for commenting x
25th October 2016 at 3:51 pm
That was one of the most moving blog posts I have ever read. You made me see it from right inside the moment. It sounds horrendous especially when your beautiful baby came along. I can only sympathise with you and am pleased to hear for you that you are separated so that the dread and fear at least is gone from your daily living. I’m sure there is still so much that is a concern but a little is lifted I guess. You have a magical way of expressing what you’ve gone through.
Mainy x
25th October 2016 at 4:29 pm
Thanks so much for your words, that’s really lovely to hear. And yes, I’m starting to get used to not living with that worry hanging over me. x
25th October 2016 at 2:30 pm
I have no words…only that this is one of the most captivating posts that I have ever read. I read it twice. I hope you consider writing your memoirs in a book someday.
#eatsleepblogET
25th October 2016 at 4:30 pm
Arh thanks so much for the kind words. x
25th October 2016 at 5:54 am
Thank you for being so courageous to share this with us. That must have been very hard for you. I cannot even imagine what it is like to have my husband going through that… (but anything is possible and we have to understand it)
Dealing with a person with mental health is very hard. It is hard for a lot of us to understand the disease is not the person… I have never had such a traumatic experience like you, however, my mother in law is suffering from a fatal disease losing a control of nerves (which made her lose an ability to speak at all although she can think inside) and also a part of nerves in brain which makes her sometimes act really strange or forget memory. With my 20 month old sons around, I used to be worried if she unintentionally does something wrong.. or risky… (not fully understanding what exactly she had) and wanted to protect them from her when she was acting weird because of the disease. But my husband, who works in the mental health unit in hospital, told me those moments she sometimes has is not the real her. We have to keep trying to give her a chance… It is very hard. but I do realize that some of her friends and even family now treat her differently,,, like a person without emotion. It hurts me to think what is inside her still…she might be all the same inside but we cannot see it.
I apologize for not being able to write very well… I sympathize with you… You are such a strong mother. Your child is so lucky to have you as a mom. I wish you the best.
#EatSleepBlogRT
25th October 2016 at 8:18 am
Thanks for your comments. It’s really hard. And sometimes it’s hard to know what’s illness and what’s personality. That sounds really hard with your mother in law. How sad to not be able to speak but still think, I can’t imagine how horrid that is. Wishing you all the best too x
24th October 2016 at 3:57 pm
Thanks Lorraine. I really appreciate your words. It was a very hard time but things are better note we are separated. It’s been a very hard one to write but also very therapeutic xx
24th October 2016 at 3:26 pm
I struggled finding words to respond to this, I absolutely cannot imagine how hard this has been. I thought Manic depression was a whirlwind but this is so frightening. I hope writing this post has helped you. This has been so sad to read but I hope your life is much calmer and secure now. x