I knew there was a chance this would happen. I had hoped with the slow taper it wouldn’t. Yet here I am, listening to my eyeballs move (yes, really) and crying because I looked at a photo of my beautiful kids, when M was about 9 months old and D was 3, and I’m so incredibly, overwhelmingly sad at how much time I lost with them, time I can never get back, how much I wasn’t able to enjoy because my brain is wired arseways. I know that all the regret and all the tears in the world won’t change that, but right now, that’s how I feel, and it sucks. I want to go upstairs, hold onto to them both and never let go. I know this will pass, but christ, it’s bloody tough going.