And reading through these websites with psych information - I'm reminded of the times I went to see my doctor at college, telling her I was depressed, begging her for help - and getting no response except hassle about my weight and dieting information. Being told I didn't have clinical depression because I was sleeping all the time and putting on weight, whereas if I had depression I'd be unable to sleep and losing weight... oh, and if I had depression I wouldn't feel happy when good things happen. Christ! All those fucking years - what was it? three years that my depression went untreated because no one in my college health centre would believe I had it. In the end I was given Prozac for six months, and when that did nothing this was just confirmation that "there was nothing wrong with me". Not that maybe it was the wrong drug for me or the wrong drug for my type of depression.
Argh. Reading this is bringing all those memories back - when I was so desperate I really did want to die - and the number of times that Richard and Marcus saved my life. If I pray for anything to be universally granted, it would be for doctors to actually know their subject.
And now I am going to cry.