My name is Jessica. I have postpartum psychosis. It is not my fault. Since my son was born, I have slept nine hours in 11 days. I have heard of the baby blues, but this is something else altogether; this feels like the baby black and blues. This feels like oblivion.
I can’t stop writing. Every thought, every idea, the name of every person I meet needs to be recorded. I mustn’t lose this thought. It must be noted; kept; remembered. The world needs to hear my words. If they are lost, all will be lost. Record it. Record what I’m saying. Make sure it’s recording. This will go viral. It will make me a millionaire. You will never have to work another day in your life.
When I arrive at the psychiatric mother and baby unit in Hackney, I am a shell of my former self. Psychosis is bringing me to my knees. I gave birth 11 days ago, and since that day the devil has singled me out as his dancing partner and has not let me rest. I have not slept, I can’t eat without distraction, and the pressure of my speech is so intense that my throat is red raw. I have transformed. I am a small, fragile bird-like creature and my husband can do nothing but stand beside the me that used to be his wife. The me he still hopes is in there somewhere.
On the journey to the ward, I have nearly been sectioned twice. I’m on borrowed time. The police may need to be called. If my baby is taken from me, I don’t want to imagine what I might do. I am frightened to live inside myself. I am ill. I am a thing possessed, an animal, caged. Whenever I have a moment of relative lucidity, I cry out to anyone who will listen – “I am here, it’s me. I fully cooperate with you. I need help. I will take any medication you need me to. I am here of my own free will. I surrender.”
But, within seconds, the Thing takes hold again and drags me back out to sea. I lash out. I will not take those pills. Get them away from me. You are taking away my human rights. I want a lawyer. You cannot degrade me like this and get away with it.
The only thing holding me hostage was the psychosis within. This thing wanted to destroy me.
People always ask me if I knew what was happening when I had postpartum psychosis. The truth is that I was painfully aware of what was happening. Until I started taking medication, and felt numbed, completely zombified, and lost two weeks of my life, I felt everything, and was utterly powerless to stop it or stem the irrepressible torment of my illness.
The tremors of the psychotic quake still resonate throughout our lives three years later. It took me about three months in the mother and baby unit to recover enough to be granted leave to go home. My baby was no longer newborn and our house had adopted the chill that homes left standing vacant absorb.
I was determined in my recovery to speak out against the thing that had kept me captive and had sought to break me. This was when my blog was born, and it came screaming into the world, determined to name the horror and the beauty of illness and recovery; the war and peace of our experience. I refused to be silent. I would not be ashamed. The blog, Mutha Courage, was my attempt to piece together the impossible jigsaw of my fragmented reality, and work out what the hell had happened and how we could live again.
I am very proud to now be in a position to talk about what happened to me and to my family, in an attempt to open the conversation and to normalise our relationship to these traumatic illnesses and episodes. The horror of what we went through cannot be denied, but I also want to share the tremendous love, growth and power that such a journey can engender.
I always say that I won the psychosis lottery, because I got lucky even in the most unlucky of circumstances. I was lucky to have such incredible NHS staff to offer me love and compassion even in this darkest chapter of my existence. I was lucky to have a husband who could speak to my soul when my mind was not intact. I was lucky to have a baby who was so patient and calm even in the most turbulent of beginnings. I was lucky to have this illness and be able to speak out about how these experiences can ultimately lead to greater understanding of ourselves and those closest to our hearts. We cannot choose what happens to us. All we can choose is how we play the hand we have been dealt. I am not the only sufferer. I am not the only survivor. We are all warriors in our own battles.
During some of my most intense psychotic episodes I was obsessed with recording what I was saying, because I was convinced that the content was essential for the world to hear. Once I listened back to the recordings, I realised that I did want the world to hear them, but for a different reason. I wanted to share them, and our story, to give insight into the debilitating nature of mental illness, something that many people and their families suffer from, and to shine a light on a subject that has, for too long, been kept in the shadows.
Mama Courage will be on BBC Radio 4 on Friday 12 May at 2.15pm.
