Last night I made the mistake of thinking that someone would be able to help me with what I think is depression. I phoned my doctor’s office and was turned away for two reasons firstly, because of the Bank Holiday; the only way I’d be able to get an appointment would be to phone up on the day I wanted the appointment. And secondly, because the doctor’s office was three minutes away from closing for the weekend. I wasn’t asking to have an appointment that very minute, I just wanted to talk to someone who would know where I can get help because I want to know what is actually going on in my mind.
Because why would I want to spend the rest of my life wanting harm myself in some way? I’ve been depressed for about ten years without any help so what’s another eighty years without help? Yeah, I can see that ending really well.
I don’t want to have to rely on sleeping pills to get to sleep every single night. I don’t want to feel like I’m going to cry at any minute. I don’t want to hate myself. I don’t want to think about self-harming or killing myself. I don’t want to feel anger towards my family because of something I can’t control. I don’t want to think about how much better the world would be if I wasn’t in it anymore. I don’t want to isolate myself from my friends anymore.
I want to be able to feel normal for at least one day. Is that really too much to ask?