Pure self-pity here: it is just so fucking unfair that I have to live through all this pain. I don’t think I am a bad person, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. I know I’m not perfect, but I do all the things sufferers of depression/anxiety are supposed to do to stay well: maintain social contact, exercise (when injury allows), attend therapy, take you medications at the right time and in the right way … SO WHY ME?
Sometimes I go into hospital and meet people who are depressed yet still drink alcohol, don’t tell their doctors/therapists the whole truth about what’s going on in their lives, lie to nurses … and I seem to suffer just as much as they do.
The answer is, of course, simple: there is no ‘fair’. I’m just another loser in life’s genetic lottery and the confluence/accumulation of life events which have caused me to suffer to the extent of being diagnosed as having an illness. It wasn’t fair when I was raped in my 20s; it wasn’t fair that I was born into a family with a history of depression; it wasn’t fair that one of my prior relationships turned out to be physically and emotionally abusive.
There is not ‘fair’, Dysthymia. There is merely ‘fact’. And the facts today are that you are unwell, you need more support than you can receive at home, and therefore you must go into hospital.
End of story.