Kelly Adcock bonded immediately with her second baby, but in the third month after he was born she found she wasn't coping and had suicidal thoughts.

My second pregnancy was harder than the first. At 28 weeks my blood pressure went through the roof and hospitalisation was considered, but I responded quickly to medication and was allowed to stay home, if I adhered strictly to my doctor's orders for bed-rest.

At 36 weeks my blood pressure started climbing again, in spite of the medication and my doctor decided we'd gone far enough: she'd 'section' (C-section) me the following week.

An elective C-section could not be more different to an emergency one. We were settled into a quiet hospital room, a nurse talked me through the procedure, and then I was wheeled up to the theatres. Spinal block was administered, an IV drip inserted, kind words were spoken, and everyone was calm. I was nervous but not terrified.

Unlike Leo, who came out kicking and screaming, Peter was silent and still as he was born. I started to panic and wailed, "He isn't crying, why isn't he crying, what's wrong with him?!", and fell instantly and completely in love with him. There was nothing wrong with him - he woke up and started howling soon enough.

I loved Peter from the start. He required none of the specialist care Leo had needed, and was the sweetest little angel. I was deeply uncomfortable when separated from him: he was my security blanket, and everything was okay as long as Peter was no more than an arms' length from me.

We had our maternal-and-child-health nurse visit a week after Peter and I came home from hospital, and I took the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale questionnaire and passed with flying colours. I was happy. I was recovering from surgery. Peter was feeding well and gaining weight like crazy.

I honestly don't know when or how things started to go downhill. I know that by the time Peter was 10 weeks old he would only sleep if I held him in my arms and I was getting very little sleep myself. He cried a lot. I cried a lot too. I told Paul: "I'm not coping". He assured me I was coping really well. I started having dark thoughts. I started imagining ways I might end it all.

My very lowest point occurred on a Sunday when Peter was around four months old. Paul was away for work, I'd had literally no sleep the night before and Peter barely slept during that day either so I'd had no break. I was sitting in Peter's room with him in my arms, tears streaming down my face, and thinking seriously about taking my own life.

Instead, I called my mum.

The next day we attended a maternal-and-child-health day clinic. The nurse, Doreen, spoke to me for less than two minutes before realising something was terribly wrong. I took the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale questionnaire again. A score of 10 or over warrants an instant referral to a doctor. I scored 21. Doreen called a hospital inpatient unit which provides care for women with PND and their children, and I was admitted.

Being admitted to the unit was an immense relief. Not only was I going to get the help I needed, but my illness was recognised and validated. I wasn't just a bad mother, or going insane. I was sick, and I needed help to get better.

Life inside the unit was very quiet. We were encouraged to care for our babies as much as possible but there was help and assistance in the form of lovely mental-health nurses. The nurses would take over the care of our babies if we needed to attend in-house counselling or therapy sessions, or if we simply needed a break or a rest. And at night-time we were able to hand our babies over to the night nurses and get some sleep without being disturbed.

The other mothers I met during my stay in the unit were all very intelligent, capable women. We bonded and shared a relationship of mutual support during the lowest time in our lives, and one by one we recovered to the point where we could be discharged. I was discharged after three weeks - an average stay.

My second experience with PND could be summed up as 'hell', with suicidal thoughts. This time, the illness had been insidious. I'd presented such a good 'coping face' to the world that I fooled even myself.

I still have bad days - every parent does. But the good days outweigh the bad ones. I enjoy my children now, I confidently run a household, I work outside of the home two days a week and work from home as a freelance writer every spare minute I have.

I think the incidence of PND is a lot higher than we may realise, and many women suffer in silence when they need not. I'm lucky I received the help I needed and survived postnatal depression. Some women don't.

This is the second in a two-part series of a personal account of postnatal depression

Need Help?

If you think you or somebody close to you may be suffering from postnatal depression, please seek help from your family doctor immediately or call beyondblue on 1300 22 4636 or the SANE Australia helpline on 1800 18 7263.