I’ve never been formally diagnosed with anxiety and depression. But I’ve been on antidepressants for a few years now, and holt fuck they have helped. The symptoms are all there, albeit far less so now that I’m medicated, but I can’t help but think that I need some sort of tick of approval. I’ve accepted that I have some type of clinical, long-term mental illnesses. Saying this because it’s all I’ve known, to be frank, since I was a kid. And that the only thing that worked was the meds, and not, believe it or not, exercising more, or drinking water, or other lifestyle changes. And I know it runs in my family. 

But at the same time I cannot accept it. I want to accept it. I want the reassurance that I’ve not made it all up, and I am indeed sick and deserving of help. It doesn’t feel real that this has to happen to me, like other circumstances in my life. 

Is it weird that I just want a diagnosis? For peace of mind? I guess I just want to know and have finalised this part of me. 

In saying all this, I am doing quite well at the moment. Thanks for reading and I hope, if you’re in a rough patch, that the clouds will clear.