My ever changing moods

Many thanks to my loyal reader for pointing out that I wrote that I was told to expect a call about my therapy on 8th April. The blog should have read, and the email did read, 8th March. This is the corrected version.

I was very touched by the positive reaction to my recent blog Walk Away, in which I found myself reaching deep into my soul to blurt out details of my current state of mind. The worse I feel, the more depressed, the more anxious, the more self-loathing, the more hopeless I feel, the more likely I am to write about it. Today, four days later, my mood is much better. Fellow mentalists will recognise the absurdity of a mood change without any discernible reason but that is, at least for me, what happens. And that’s despite what could be regarded as another setback.

Following last week’s mental health assessment by a private provider on behalf of the NHS, the therapist said they would contact me at 15.30 on Tuesday 8th March to consider future treatment. I then received an email to inform me that the appointment had been brought forward to 13.30 on the same day. If this did not work for me, I was to inform them. It did so I didn’t. So, I waited for the call. And I waited. And waited. And they didn’t call. They didn’t call on Wednesday, they didn’t call on Thursday and so far they haven’t called today. But it hasn’t made things harder for me: it’s made them easier.

I would have liked to know what they were going to offer me by way of short term therapy. After two failed attempts at CBT, I was not going down that road again and being a glass half-empty kinda guy, I had already made up my mind what to do if there was nothing new on offer. And barring any belated contact, that’s it for me. I’m off.

I’ve somehow survived 52 years of poor mental health so here’s to the next 52. I’m going to stay on the NHS waiting list for assessment for ADHD/autism/PTSD/bipolarity (is that a word or have I just invented it?) which with any luck will happen by the end of 2024, unless the waiting list slips even further. (Given the waiting times have gone from 18 weeks to 3.5 to 4 years under Boris Johnson’s misrule, maybe 2030 might be a better bet, always assuming there is still an NHS and I’m not dead by then.)

I’m better today than I was on Monday but who knows what tomorrow may bring? I’m going to avoid a lot of things that bring me down and other things that might bring me down. I might retreat into exile from real life, I might not but I know it’s up to me now, me and my antidepressants. As the man sang, there’s no other way. Just my ever changing moods.

Thanks everyone for caring. You’re probably a major reason why I’m better today. Poor yourself a drink. You deserve one.