… that I’m in depression. None of that self-diagnosed stuff this time. And nothing diagnosed by Dr House and his team. I’m officially depressed and I’m trying to pinpoint a time when I crossed the threshold to get into this state but can’t seem to put a finger on it. Although I know VERY WELL what pushed me because ever since a certain phone call I know I have not been the same. I know I have wanted to do mad and destructive things but haven’t. I also know I have suppressed my tears out of defiance – why let the situation win me? But that was not the best thing I did. The situation started bubbling out and like a Coke bottle that has been shook for a long time and the top suddenly opened, my emotions just burst out the same way as the contents of that bottle.

I’m not sure what to do next. I’ve been diagnosed with this ‘thing’ – what am I supposed to do? Do I lie down in a darkened room and weep? Do I carry on with life normally and not let anyone know how I’m really feeling? I’m actually very good at that. Do I go deeper into my depression and revel in the kindness and pity I will afford myself by being oblivious? In all this I know only two people are suffering. My children. I’m trying so hard not to let my condition affect them. I seem to be with them physically but my mind is far away. It is a great big effort for me to concentrate and smile for them so that they don’t feel bad. I just feel sorry for my children because I’m all they have to turn to and I seem to be falling apart. I feel gutted for them.

I feel like the guy who went to the library to get a book on suicide and was told, ‘Fuck off. You won’t bring it back….’