(despite the category, I’m not actually taking the piss out of myself for a change)
Last year around Christmas time, I found out what was responsible for the last seven years of largely chronic depression. No, hang on, that’s not right - I always knew what had caused it but this was the time at which I realised that if I didn’t start trying to deal rather than repress, my illness would end up taking my life. I would die by my own hand, yes, but it would be my illness’ fault not mine!
That would be the weaker thing to do, so I set out to do what it is that strong people do - seek help. My psychologist and one of the few female friends I had who I actually trusted had suggested seeking help through a publicly funded organisation. Things were bleak. Self-neglect was…embarrassing (thank goodness for that unwritten contract that exists in families that says as long as you’re not axe murdering, pretend everything’s fine). Hurting myself felt good and I knew deep down that that was very bad. I couldn’t read or watch anything too…cerebral because it was nightmare city. Not to mention that it took a very disturbing film to make me sit up and realise that my life might just give Peyton Place a run for its money.
Anyway…as with all public services, the waiting list was long. I was told that I’d be attended to in 3-4 months time. Groan. If I was still alive by then (thanks to my shrink pulling his fat finger out of his arse, I’m still here albeit narcoleptic and feeling awfully fat).
It took them six months to get back to me. My first few appointments were awful. I was too unwell to do that shit properly. So hiatus came about on both sides.
Today should have been the end of said hiatus. The dreaded call came.
Of late, things have been fantabulous and I wasn’t going to let anything stuff that up. Therapy while being necessary, is ridiculously painful. It’s like alcohol for the emotions except that you don’t have to overdo it to have an emotional hangover.
I had to say no, to turn down help and get back on the waiting list. Rejoice, I’m officially a dependent of the state!
Hope it was the right thing to do: I couldn’t handle losing almost everything - not right now. November’s coming up, it’ll probably happen then, just like it has for the last few years. It might not but statistics is a persuasive bitch.
