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It’s been a funny old day. I started the day fairly well, got up early which automatically means I have a bit of energy, made pancakes for the wee fella and my mum came round. I nipped out on my own to get something and that time alone was all it took – the old familiar feeling started lurking.

Later on this afternoon while the tiny man napped, me and mum started talking about depression. We haven’t spoken about it much before, as she finds it hard to understand and I find that frustrating. But I tried to explain why the tiredness isn’t like just being tired, and the overwhelmed feeling is difficult to deal with logically, when you are far from logical. She seemed to get it.
I explained about my memory of the school bus and she was baffled, she couldn’t understand why I would feel like that at such a young age. She started to question if this was something she had caused, and then we got to my dad. She was kicking herself and apologising, saying she couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. She genuinely had no idea that he was just as nasty to us as he was to her.
We talked about memories of the way he treated us, something we never talk about, and for the first time I think she was ready to hear it. Hell, for the first time I was ready to admit it.

For the first time in a very long time I told my mum exactly how I felt and cried openly.

And I think that now I feel understood.