Dear mental health problems,
Would you feel offended if I didn’t capitalise your name?
Unwelcome guest...
I am, largely, resigned to the fact that you will be my
unwanted companion for the rest of my life. I have enough experience of waking
up to your sallow breath on New Year’s Day. It has always been an irritation to
find that you have not tarried within the previous year like a fair-weather
friend might. For auld lang syne. That’s the only reason I am writing to you.
No-one writes letters anymore. But the politicians say that a written letter is
like a thousand emails to them. So, politician of the mind, making my
conscience compass as sick as you are, I understand that a miracle of healing
is unlikely. Do you have no responsibilities?
Let me start off by saying you are no company at all. Like a
self-obsessed tyrant, you are tiring to be with. You drain me.
This is a little like addressing the weather - no matter how
much I reason with the weather it doesn't get any better. You cannot make your
peace with the weather. And should you even try? Or should you resist it –
screaming into the thunder and storm with fists raised to God (and only because
we are human)?
Even the childhood charm of, 'Rain, rain go away come again
another day' doesn't work with you. But if you were the weather you would be the
cold, pummelling rain of winter. With that thunder, that storm which you even blame
me for, as the added bonus.
I can't see this being a regular correspondence.
I do not love or like you. I do not
need you. You need me.
Mental health problems, mental health problems go away. Come
again another day.
Faithfully,
Your Host
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