I'm depressed. Like, for real. The thoughts haunting me are killing myself, harming myself or running away. More worryingly, I think up ways to rid myself of my children. Which I suppose the options outlined above would do also. It's a horrible, horrible place to be. So destructive and although my sense and brain knows that it is depression - post natal depression, propably - playing tricks on me, I cannot help but sink deeper. Every negative thought increase the self loathing - a spiral of sadness breeding self-contempt breeding more sadness and more contempt. The crying and the whining and the demands turn my into stone. I can't even nurture my children. I become automatic - go into a quiet place in my head - to survive and to spare my children. And the tears won't be shed - they sit in my throat choking me. Numbness. Adn who do I tell this? Who can I really, really tell of fantasies that involve harming myself and/or my beautiful children - my tiny little man and my funny little girl? Needless to say I love them and I love my husband - but this feeling inside me exists in a parallel universe it seems. Where love doesn't live.

"Here, have some anti-depressants" the doctor says. Or would say, if I spoke to him. If they help, it will take some 12 weeks or more to see any effect. And I breastfeed, so... well... maybe it'd be better for my little man to be loved and cared for the way he deserves than to be breastfed. I feel useless. I feel like a bad mother. A horrible mother, in fact. Unworthy of those two little people and unworthy of my wonderful husband.

And now, sleep.