I have mental illness in my life. I have Depression; Anxiety Disorder and Agoraphobia. As I write this, in February 2009, with the help of medication and a day to day living skills program, I am well, that is - on a day by day basis, I live a very

happy and full life. My children were raised by me, alone - I was a damaged single parent.

I am Grandmother to five, Mother of two, and to get to where I and my children are now, has been a huge journey, full of up and downs; positives and negatives; good times and bad. My children have been wonderful, especially, in the long term, my Daughter, who "cared" for me by herself from the age of nine. My Son, who at age ten was doing the weekly shopping; cooking; "running the household" put up with these conditions for four years, before moving out, rebelled against me for years, and is only now calling me "Mum" again, after calling me by my name for fifteen years.

I lived in bed for years - not doing any shopping; laundry; cleaning or cooking. We had Home Care once a fortnight to do the shopping and clean the house; Meals on Wheels to feed the family; my GP made housecalls, often up to three times per week;  the chemist delivered and I paid for the ironing to be done. My children couldn't play with their friends after school, they had to look after me. I loved my kids with all my heart, but my agoraphobia stopped me from venturing any further from my bedroom than the bathroom - I couldn't go into the kitchen - I just coulldn't make myself. Mental Illness is often worse than physical illness in that it can attack your whole mind and brain, allowing me to do very few things that required me to get out of bed. I was a great mentor to my kids in that they could come to me with any problems or upsets they had, and I was very good at giving them advice. But that was the end of my parenting skills.

After my Son left, my Daughter took over running the household. There were days when she couldn't go to school - I was too unwell. On the days she did go to school, she would come home to: she knew not what! Would Mum be asleep? Would she be in a good mood? Is she ill? She would walk down the street from the bus stop, not knowing what to expect, and she has since told me, that was really scary.

Despite all this, my children were not taken from my care. As I look back on that time, I find it very hard to believe that no-one - not doctor; chemist; Home Care; Meals on Wheels; the schools my children attended - no one, reported our situation to the authorities.

In 1992, my Daughter, then aged fourteen, urged me to move to a new house. I was very much against it, but she had her heart set on it, and believed we could have a fresh start. (We had been in our current house for ten years.) So we moved. And it did make a difference - I no longer lived in bed. I did my own shopping. We no longer recieved Home Care or Meals on Wheels, and we lived too far from the doctor to get house calls!

Slowly, with the help of new medication and a new environment, I began to get well. I began to cook and "keep house" I sat in the lounge room to watch television and live. The load was lifted from my daughter, who, by this time, had her own issues to deal with. My first Grandchild was born in 1996, and he and my Daughter lived with me. Two years later, he was taken into foster care, wich is still where he is today,. He started High School this year.

My Grandson was taken away because both my Daughter and I now have Mental illness. She has all my illnesses, plus she also has Borderline Personality Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Being a single parent with mental illness does not make for a good parent.  But that was in 1998, and I had not yet started my journey of recovery.

My life began again in 2000.                                                                                                                                      To be continued........................................