My Journey Through Motherhood into Temporary Madness due to Post Partum Psychosis…
I had never heard of post partum psychosis before, until it tried to ruin my life.
My first-born was born by emergency c-section after a lengthy labour. I believe that the experiences I went through during the first few months after birth, worsened my mental health, which turned into a full-blown psychosis eight months later.
My baby had been hospitalised three times during the first few months; stopping breast-feeding was a nightmare after returning to full-time work, and I had untreated depression and anxiety because I hadn’t sought help.
Through all these upheavals, I started losing it. My life was taking a toll for the worst. I was gliding through like a robot on remote-control. I started racing. Racing against time. I moved and spoke with supersonic speed. There were a flight of ideas continuously swirling in my mind, thoughts dashing through my mind. I was on fast-forward mode. My concept of time had changed.
To keep up with everything, I decided not to sleep. That was a waste of time. There were so many things to do and prepare! So after my son and husband went to bed, I’d crawl out and start doing household chores – at 2 or 3 am. No one realised.
Then, it happened so suddenly – over one weekend.
My husband returns home one Friday evening. I start eyeing him suspiciously. I don’t speak, but my mind is a whirlwind of dark thoughts.
Why are there CCTV cameras installed in our house? Why is everybody watching me? I feel like driving to a faraway place. But what if there’s a bomb implanted in my car? These men in black suits are capable of anything and they want me dead. I check on my son. To my horror, I find him covered from head to toe in bedsheets. Is he breathing? Is he alive? I accuse my husband. I believe this is a conspiracy against me. I am convinced he wants to plot the murder against me, so I’ll be taken away.
In the morning, after another sleepless night, I talk to my brother-in-law about the issues at work. In a deranged way, I endlessly prattle about the redundancies, the audits, that the government is there to take away my warrant, my job and my baby. Social services would come and put him up for adoption. My brother-in-law listens patiently and tells me I’m not making sense. He also tells me I needed a scrubbing.
That night, I lay in bed waiting for everyone to sleep. I start writing a farewell letter to my sister. I apologise profusely about how unbecoming I am. My baby doesn’t deserve me as a mother. I am completely useless. Everyone will be better off without me. I am shameful and guilty of everything. If I die, all this would be over, and everyone would be glad. I was clearly planning my end.
Sunday was Mothers’ Day. Ironically, my first one. I don’t have any energy left. I haven’t slept and eaten in days. I feel physically sick. Mum takes me to bed. I cannot sleep as I hear helicopters passing over. They’re coming for me; they’ll be here any minute now. I wish I would die now. There’s no escape.
Later, mum takes me out for a walk around the neighbourhood.
I look behind my back. The men in black suits are following me in their black Mercedes. They are smiling at me mockingly. The signs and billboards on the streets are addressing me.
In the evening, mum takes me to the local health centre. The nurses present are also part of the plot against me. They are making me take sleeping pills. These are going to kill me. I don’t want to die. I’m still too young. I’m not going to take them. I was referred to the outpatients’ the following Monday morning.
At hospital, the staff on duty are stunned to see the state I am in. I had shrunk to about size 6. I barely remember what happened on that day. I was admitted to a maternity ward. The delusions and hallucinations continue. They are talking about me. I’m too drained to care. There are cameras overhead filming me. They are going to put a straitjacket on me. The carer looks at me pitifully; another comes and sits beside me. I am to have a 24/7 watch. I fall into a deep sleep.
During my two-week stay at the hospital I was put on treatment. I feel lucky that my baby and mother were allowed to stay close to me for the first few nights.
This is a journey with no definite ending; maybe I’ll be jumping on and off pills forever, who knows? Therapy has also helped me in the long and bumpy recovery process.
As a service-user representative with Parent-Infant Mental Health Alliance, I hope to create awareness about these conditions. The importance of a Mother and Baby Unit (MBU) is especially crucial. These units provide specialist and multi-disciplinary in-patient care for both mother and baby, rather than generic care in a psychiatric ward. A MBU is regarded as best practice thus highlighting the importance of the parent-infant relationship, as well as increasing outcomes for the wellbeing of the whole family.
It is high time the country starts thinking seriously about investing in such a Unit. The social and economic costs of perinatal mental health illnesses are too high to be left out of the limelight.
I had a story to tell. I want to come to terms with what was one of the most disturbing episodes in my life. Not all mothers are treated for their post partum psychosis conditions. You don’t have to brave it alone, especially during these times of isolation. If it weren’t for my family and incredible staff at Mater Dei, I probably wouldn’t be here recounting my story today. Please do reach out. You will not only be saving yourself, but also your family. With help, you will be yourself again.
The Perinatal Mental Health Clinic can be contacted on 25457410 or 79701767.
If you have experienced post partum psychosis and you would like to share it with our followers, please contact us or send us an email at [email protected]
