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.