It was a stormy evening. I'd never been afraid of thunder but this was very loud, very frightening. I went into the back yard. I loathed this place. I'd been a prisoner alone in the house for far too long. Somebody was calling my name and I was compulsively drawn down to the back wall - they were inside it! They must have been_. I could hear the voice and it started to get louder and angry, my feet were glued to the ground, I was frozen with fear; Oh God, help me out of this_. they must be in the shed, I daren't look. "SAMANTHA, are you alright?" "Thank God Vincent, you're here. There's someone in the shed." He flung the shed door open - a tin of paint fell from the ledge - I shrieked - no one was there! He checked the back alley, he checked the whole street, no one could be seen - but at least he'd believed me. Every time the voices came, I was alone. I knew what I could hear - but no one else ever heard, the air became like a vacuum, I was frozen, and then the phone would ring, the atmosphere was cut and suddenly the world started revolving again. It was weird, very weird but it was real to me.

This and much more came back to me the other day when I met a pleasant lady. We sat and chatted about the weather, religion, life - nothing out of the ordinary. We drank coffee together and talked a while and apart from the fact she looked tired, and somewhat nervy, she seemed relatively "normal". If I hadn't been told what had occurred in the night I may have assumed this lady was possibly going through a difficult time and was a little fraught, but her behaviour in the night and early hours of the morning was frighteningly familiar to me. She was in the midst of a psychotic breakdown. The upset she had caused her family and the people close around her brought back an awareness of how much shock and anguish I once caused the people around me but this lady was ill and probably felt helpless and isolated.

I was Sectioned under the Mental Health Act for six weeks. This was after I had been in and out of hospital over a period of two months. The section was brought about because I would not co-operate with Hospital Staff or my family who insisted that I was ill, but I did not feel that I was, that's why I wasn't prepared to co-operate.

At the time I was Sectioned, I didn't understand what was going on, I was very confused. I had been out the whole night the day before which was allowed at that time because I wasn't under any kind of enforcement to stay. The following day my father took me back to the hospital. We argued in the car on the way back because I didn't want to go back. My father left me at the hospital, and I don't know where he fitted in to it, but the next thing I knew I was taken into a room; there was a hospital duty nurse, a psychiatrist, a doctor and a social worker present and I was given a piece of paper to read and sign but I was on so much medication that I couldn't see what I was supposed to be reading, I was told to sign it and that was it. I couldn't go out of the hospital without a member of staff with me, my freedom was completely taken away from me, I was under 24-hour supervision.

I felt angry towards my father, not immediately because I didn't really know what had happened except that I got very frustrated because the staff wouldn't leave me alone. I wanted to be on my own at times, but everything I did they came with me. Even when having a bath someone came in with me, which as you can imagine wasn't pleasant.

Looking back now I can understand why they did it. I used to do crazy things! The Hospital where I stayed was about six miles from where I lived and I ran barefoot from the hospital towards my house, they picked me up about 200 yards from my front door. What I would have done if I'd made it I don't know. I hadn't got the keys with me, it was pouring with rain, a freezing December evening and very late - it isn't really the kind of thing a "sane" person would do? I would not co-operate. I started refusing to take medication, to the extent of spitting out what was forced into my mouth by a night care assistant. I was a handful, I can see that now but at the time I didn't think there was anything wrong with me, some days I was very very down, others I was frightened, I didn't understand why this was happening, I just thought that everyone was out to get me, but I wasn't always aware of some of the things I did.

I lost custody of my daughter when I first became ill. I was on a lot of medication, and although I missed her so desperately, I couldn't really have coped alone with her, the drugs I was prescribed were so sedating I couldn't have looked after her safely. She was only two years old at the time, and as I was living alone it wasn't feasible if it had been permissible. I wanted to see her so much when I was in hospital, but this was only possible really when I was allowed to go out - a psychiatric unit isn't the kind of place you really want to take a child. So Lisa went to stay with her father (my ex-husband) and within about 3 weeks of coming out of the hospital he had me summonsed to court and an order was passed that she should remain with her father.

I had not recovered when I came out of hospital but I managed to convince the people responsible for me that I was, I know now myself I wasn't really better. One day I decided as I had been Sectioned, I would play the game, do as they told me, take my tablets, injections and whatever else they deemed good for me. I did everything I should do, didn't cause any trouble and didn't try to get away, so they'd let me out... and they did. But I wasn't better, not by a long stretch.

My recovery was a gradual process and I attended a psychiatric unit very frequently for the first couple of years after my breakdown, although I succeeded in convincing people close to me that I was much better than I really was. It was only when I started to think the other patients were ill that I came to the realisation that I had been sick because at first they all seemed quite "sane" to me and I didn't understand why any member of my family or friends who visited me seemed wary if not afraid of some of them. I do think the Section really helped me to recover because I felt resentful. I was so angry and I thought I'm going to show them that I'm not sick, I don't need to take all these tablets, and I was so determined to prove them wrong I eventually succeeded. (My thoughts are often with those who, "because of the system", have been forced into an addiction they may never find the strength to overcome).

Now I realise how fortunate I am to have made a complete recovery in a relatively short space of time. I could still be there now and if not for my dearest friend, who is also now my husband, he stood by me through some very adverse circumstances and always believed in me, and without him I may never have seen reason. My family did the very best they could for me - it was an illness they could not understand, had no experience of, and still don't really know why it all happened. My resentment lasted too long and I was bitter. I'd had a nervous breakdown and felt I was punished for it, and worst of all I had my child taken from me.

My daughter is home with me now and my life is good. The pain of having lost her for so many years, the formative years of her life that I missed out on, and the guilt that I wasn't there for her when she needed me, won't ever completely go away. However, I don't look back with regret anymore, I learned a great deal from this experience, and I thank God for the full and healthy life I now enjoy.