I’m changing my two-week-old son’s nappy. He bursts into tears. His tears explode my heart but I can’t comfort him because I’m exploding too, only I wish I had the primal courage to cry out like him. I am unable to soothe him. To tell him everything will be OK, because I’m not sure that’s true.
I’ve not told anyone about the days of incessant racing thoughts and snakes of paranoia, the strangling anxiety and rampant insomnia. I’m embarrassed because