When I was younger and felt low or down or sad. I used to gain such peace from reading for hours on end. I loved to read Roald Dahl books and even now as an adult I read them to my children, or for myself for pleasure. The world was much less complicated then. I had a nice life and a stable upbringing, my parents weren't perfect as they had both had pretty crap childhoods of poverty and violence and alcoholic parents. But I always admired how they worked together to break the cycle of misery in order to give my sisters and I a good life. I often tell myself that the misery I experience now is due to the choices I have made. There's no-one to blame but me and as I was a single parent until 5 years ago I have not had the luxury of providing my children with a steady parentage and as a result my mothering skills have always been questionable. I worry so much that I am filling their lives with poor coping strategies and becoming a failure to my parents by reconnecting a broken circle. When I feel well I tell the stories from when I was young and I like to read to them and explain why the stories mean so much. I don't know what I am trying to say but I think we all try desperately to understand why we feel "depressed" or so low that we want to die. What if there is nothing you can identify but a series of life events that some people cope with and some don't. I used to be able to cope. I used to be strong and feisty. I used to be able to assert and explain myself. Now I can barely write the words I mean to say. My memory and memories feel like they are fading. My life energy is going. I really don't see it coming back. I don't see a better day for me. I think that I turned the wrong corner and now I am in purgatory awaiting my fate. Too many wrong decisions, too many things I should have done and too stubborn to regret. Some people are just not made to go all the way. I went to the cinema recently to see the BFG and I cried for the happy child I used to be and the failure I am as a mother, a wife and a human. I wanted so much from life and in the words of a former patient, after his beloved wife died at 98 from Parkinson's "life promises you everything and in the end gives you nothing". To end on a positive, what was your favourite childhood book?