In the begining, I wasn't mentally ill......well maybe a little bit

People often suggest writing it all down, and considering I feel isolated in my bi-polar world, reaching out might be a relief...or a bore...or a laugh... or all of the above. I'll tell you about my journey so far. I'll keep it in little segments from the last 5 years, to introduce you to my experiences, my hopes and fears, and bring you up to date with the universe I now inhabit. You know the one where I am depressed, or manic, or both, oh and fat too, with a husband and some children, and a small garden. So in the beginning....

The moment of crisis - May 2005.  3 days of pre-labour, labour, labour full flow or stopping on its own, bouncing on a ball, moaning and groaning. They tell me the window is now closed. They tell me (With some great relief) that I am to have a ceasarian section. "I can stop trying to have a normal birth." "Oh god I'm Having a section." At this point, due to exhaustion, hideous amounts of drugs, lack of sleep and stress, I am wheeled into a room full of faces in pajamas, one of which is my husband. The surreal experience of knowing a woman in her forties is swilling her hand inside my body, when I am awake, is disturbing to say the least. I begin to feel very detached from the scene and wonder what is going to happen next. I see small reflections of the Victorian looking procedure on the shiny, bacteria free lighting above. I'm not all there and I know it.