When this happens, you will be reminded of your dead mother. You will become sick with anger, but asked by your family to remain polite to keep that upper lip stiff. Restraint maintains mystique. And mystique, not transparency, is vital to continuing the absurdity of a hereditary monarchy. Still, you ask for help – but none comes.
Upon this stage, you have now become an ambassador for mental health – but you will have to gently describe your own grief, anger and depression with the same people that have a substantial budget for buying your private letters and the contents of your bin. You are captive to many things, including the demeaning relationship between press and palace.