A big up to my fellow mentalists who will get through another day of their lives by either pretending they’re okay and/or by summoning enormous reserves of strength and fortitude to set aside their own fucked up brains in order to do what has to be done.

When it takes all the energy you have left to get your sorry arse out of bed, as it is doing with me at the moment, my view is that for that moment in time you are, I am, the world’s strongest man, or if you are a woman, the world’s strongest woman.

Some people get this, some don’t. It’s often the sheer desire, a triumph of willpower, that people in the depths of depression and anxiety can function at all. To function at a relatively high level takes absolutely everything out of you. Today, I just want to be in a small shack in Welcombemouth, with a laptop, and nothing and no one else. But I’ll do what I have to do because it’s what I have always done.

No employer – and I don’t blame them – ever saw potential in me to do anything beyond what I was doing and I have proved through repeatedly failure in everything else, especially in trying to be a writer, which was all I ever wanted to be, that they were right.

I’m tired after an anxiety-ridden night’s sleep and I’ll give it everything I have today. And tomorrow. Until time runs out. Forever and ever, Amen.