My GP retired recently, so I have a few doctors at the surgery that I’ve seen here and there for mental health related things. Dr C seems to be the one I’ve got hold of the most, a Greek dude about my age. I booked in with him after a few attempts at calling the surgery.
My sleep is all over the place at the moment and depression and anxiety are kicking my arse. I’ve already made yet another referral to Healthy Minds, the local low-level mental health service. I’ve been under them numerous times before and I’ve no idea what they could say that I haven’t heard already, but I have to do something. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open in work. Healthy Minds actually texted me on Friday last week to offer me an appointment. I made a mental note to action it, but then forgot.
A GP appointment was another avenue I explored. I explained how lack of sleep was affecting me in work and people were noticing. (I wrote down to mention that my Universal Credit award ends this month, which is adding a little stress. I’m not sure that I actually mentioned it, though.)
Dr C suggested I focus on who I am, not what I want. On the journey – meeting people, and the journey of life, I guess – not the end point. (The ‘end point’ in question is a relationship, not death.) I need to sell myself more, to work on ‘marketing’ myself.
‘Relationships can be shit,’ Dr C said in his thick Greek accent. ‘You should see some of the married guys I know. They’re so fucking miserable. You think a relationship is going to end your problems? That’s the start of your problems.’
As grim as this all sounds, there were some positives to the meeting.
Dr C went on: ‘I mean, you *could* go on antidepressants again, but I don’t think you need them. It’d just be like slapping a band aid on. It doesn’t address the underlying issues.’
I explained I’d been on a few of them before. They helped me to sleep, but they made me fat, and killed my sex drive, which defeated the purpose of going on them in the first place.
‘Look at the good things in life’ seemed to be the parting wisdom. ‘Don’t date the girl in the club. Date the girl in the supermarket.’
Sadly, since then, I forgot about the text from Healthy Minds and that window of opportunity passed. They texted me again asking me to re-apply. I will at some point.
Therein lies the problem: part of the underlying reason for my depression is the persistent mistakes I make from forgetting things. So then I try to address this and… forget to respond to text messages about the treatment, and get denied the treatment.
I would question, though, why such services think a grown adult would make the decision to ask for mental health support and then change his mind? Who, after receiving a call from such services – that they requested themselves – then say, ‘actually, no, I’m alright?’ Why should I have to confirm with them that I definitely need the help that I’ve already asked for?
Well. I’m continuing with my meetups in Manchester bars and clubs, but still. Watch this space.
Now, where’s my Clubcard?
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