29 Megan
I sit in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl playing truant. A surge of panicked anxiety rises inside me. Why am I here? What am I doing? It’s fine, I tell myself. I just need Doctor Ashford to tell me this is all normal, to tell me this sort of psychosis is a perfectly common feature of post-natal depression. If not, fine. Maybe it’s something separate. A different condition. But the one thing it can’t be is real.
My heart flutters in my chest, and I pick at my fingernails. I’ve never been a nervous person. Not up until recently, anyway. Every time a door bangs shut or someone coughs, I jump a little in my seat. I know I’m reaching a cliff edge and I need help. How it’s taken me this long to reach the end of my tether is anyone’s guess. B
