Somebody I know, somebody I know well, somebody quite close to me, said, ‘You know: you shouldn't write about your mother's illness the way you do; you shouldn't do your dirty laundry in public'.

Dirty laundry? Dirty laundry! My Mum?

Oh please.

Everybody's got family skeletons. Family skeletons locked up in cupboards.

The problem is: if you don't let them out, the skeletons, they rattle feverishly and loudly and relentlessly.

Until you do. Let them out.

Best air them before they get too noisy. Allow them to step into the light whilst there is still a modicum of composure left, enough energy to explain, if that's what you need to do:

My Mums' got Depression.