A Perfect Explanation is an obvious passion project for the author, detailing her own family history. But the problem with true stories is they often lack the narrative and characters that make fiction engaging, and the problem with family history is that it is rarely interesting outside of your own family. And by honouring the truth, Anstruther's obvious talent is unable to overcome these issues.

“The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” was recommended to me by a friend as one of those books that you just have to read. And while it’s an engaging story and very well written, I felt something was missing. Something I only figured out once I got to the end.

Queenie is one of those books I picked up because of an undefinable sense that I needed to read it. I didn’t know anything about it or Carty-Williams, other than that a number of people had listed Queenie in their must-read lists over the last couple of years. And boy, reading it was the right choice.

With her debut novel, Jenna Adams takes us right back to the insecurities and struggles of adolescence. And once I reached the halfway point, I literally sat up into the early hours and finished the second half in one single sitting. 

I've been on antidepressants for a year and a half, and it's time to bring this period of my life to a close. I've decided it's time for me to come off antidepressants.

For the last year and a half, I have been taking a daily 50mg dose of Sertraline, a common antidepressant. But why? How did I get to a point where I believed I needed chemicals to alter my brain in order to be happy?

50mg Sertraline, taken daily, has lifted a cloud from my brain. While I don’t feel 100% at my best, it’s allowed me to embrace my creativity again. I’m able to plan out a full day of work. I can think again. 

But this ability to function doesn’t mean I’m not still depressed. 

It would appear that my depression is making a comeback. I’ve been doing really well for the last few weeks, but everything feels like it’s sliding backward.

I don’t like my smile, and I haven’t done for a long time. But in recent times, I’ve found myself being pushed to acknowledge these feelings, recognise they are unnecessary, and put them behind me.

t would seem like it’s a simple answer here. My marriage has ended. I’m going through a separation. The end of a long-term relationship is a traumatic experience.

But, as always in life, there’s more to my decision than that.

Since the end of last year, I’ve been on anti-depressants. To be honest, this is what I wanted when I started therapy back in the summer. But a few years ago my attitude would have been very different.

I am a sucker for stories told out of chronological order, so Out of Love caught my eye a while ago. I don’t know why the concept appeals to me so much. I think it’s something about examining cause and affect, playing around with what the reader knows and when, that somehow suits my sensibilities.

Do I need structure, or do I need freedom? Am I using structure as a cage to hide myself from new possibilities that might be scary or hard? Am I using it to give myself a sense of utility, and therefore meaning to other people? Or is this how I get things done?

Reading and writing are hard. They shouldn’t be hard. They’ve never been hard before. Why are they hard? What do you do when the things that make you the happiest become so hard to do that you begin to wonder if they are worth it?

I’m depressed. I keep telling myself that I’m better than I was. That the last five months have been a slow but steady improvement and I just need to keep pushing. But that’s not true. I’m still just as bad as I was then. All that’s changed is I’m learning to cope better, and I’m accepting there is light at the end of the tunnel.