In The Beginning

When I was first diagnosed I was very very ill. My son David was nine and a half months old and had severe heart defects. My marriage had just broken up and I had moved into a new apartment (we'd been living with my mother at the time.) I had a good job, my aunt was taking care of Davey, my family had helped me move, I was having everyone over for an open house...no one knew I hadn't slept for many many nights. My ex-husband had left me about 10 days prior. I don't think I'd slept since he'd left. I was manic. I didn't even know the word. My family showed up en-mass bless their hearts bringing food to the new apartment and to see Davey and I. Unfortunately my ex had flown back from his home town in Missouri and he also arrived and tried to take him away from me saying there was something wrong with me -- I responded in alarm and with poor judgment -- the hallmark of mania -- I hit him on his arm, with mine. He was a body builder, not a good move. My family interceded and didn't let him "the abandon-er" take the baby...they also assigned my brother to take me to the Emergency Room my arm was swelling up like a cantelope! I was also beside myself. I had finally lost it. Adrenaline or whatever had staved off mania for the 9 previous months couldn't hold it at bay any longer. No longer was I holding it together to care for my sick child. I was the sick one now and needed care. I was taken straight from the ER to a psychiatric ward and it seemed like months before I saw the light of day again. I do know this. Two months in, my family paid me a very sad visit...my son had died under the care of my ex. I would never see him again.