I was extremely worried. What would happen to me now that they knew that I had lost my mind? Would they put me in a padded cell and feed me through a hatch door? Would I end up in one of those places that you hear about, where people go in but never come out?

My brain refused to move past the pain, as if it had been filled to the max and needed to be emptied.

I tried to fight the panic and force it back down to where it had come from.

I thought doctors were supposed to make you better not worse!

I didn't feel very lucky. Why me, I kept asking myself. Why had this happened to me?

I wished that I had died, it would have been better for everyone

I was trying to work out who I was.

I would need an awful lot of willpower to fight my way through the ups and downs of the road to recovery, and there might be times when I may feel a bit down and depressed, but there would be counsellors that I could talk to about how I was feeling.