The Poison In Her Notes
Language: en
After our son was born, the darkness took over. The doctor called it severe clinical depression with trauma-induced dissociation. Every single day after that, Bess lived on high alert, guarding the edges of our home as if to keep me from falling off the face of the earth. She threw a dust sheet over the grand piano so its music wouldn't trigger my headaches. She installed commercial soundproofing on the nursery door. She plastered the walls, the mirrors, and the doorframes with sticky notes filled with gentle, loving affirmations. No matter how hysterically the baby cried in the middle…