Just before Christmas I went to see my GP to ask for counselling. He told me he would make an appointment for me. He'd be in touch. I waited.
My mother - sick of my depression, made enquiries yesterday only to be told that they had forgotten all about me. I now have an appointment later this month, five months after I asked for help. Logically I know that it's probably just a symptom of an overburdened NHS. Emotionally I know that it's because nobody gives a shit about me and if I died tomorrow no one would care.
It wasn't easy to ask for help. I burst into tears while doing it.
I constantly sabotage my life. I need help to stop.
My life is the way it is because I made it so.
I could have been successful. I should have been successful. I want to be successful.
I punish myself, because I hate myself. I have never felt loved, I have felt like I belonged.
I remember feeling like an outsider at the age of 3.
Sometimes I think about disappearing and wonder if anyone would notice. But, at least here I can take some small comfort in the familiar.