I suppose I think - I hope (fingers tightly white-crossed) - that if I write about it, Depression won't bite.Depression's a bitch. A big black stalking dog with swallowing jaws and a stealthy tread.It's been a part of my life for longer than it hasn't.A part of Mum's for longer than she cares to remember.
She is irked on the telephone. Irritated by a friend. She is frustrated by things which would not normally frustrate her. She has lost the impetus to do the things she ordinarily does without missing a beat. Then she has a bad night. And gives up on the following day: ‘I think I'll just have a lazy day: I'm so tired'.