Attempt at a slow death
Three years had passed. I had been back in hospital for a week. This nightmare was reaching new heights of intensity. I realised that I had made a very big mistake in accepting admission. I wanted to get out, but unfortunately it was not just to get home. My brain was telling me that I needed to die. My life was not worth living. I was a useless wife, a useless mother, a burden on all our family and on society. The fact that I was not getting better was clearly my fault. I was probably not really depressed, just a complete failure as a person.