This prompt is going to be very easy for many people since, these days, it’s easier for people to talk badly of themselves than to find the goodness within.

I’ve been to many (okay, maybe not ‘many’, but more than the average joe) psychiatrists/ologists who think that I can solve all of my problems by telling them the top five things that I like about myself. It’s been really hard to find a list that long, but I’ve managed to do it through the years.

What I don’t understand is that because I had/have problems boasting about myself to them, they automatically think that I merely suffer from a lack of confidence. They chalk up my insecurities to the fact that I was a teenager and all teenagers go through that awkward phase in life and we will grow out of it.

Well, now I’m angry. I went to these people for help and all I received in return was an empty promise from my mother that my life would get better and the reassurances from the professionals that there was nothing wrong with me. I knew that there was something wrong with me but I didn’t know how to ask for help.

I couldn’t stop crying, my moods would shift erratically, I would binge eat and then decide that I didn’t want to be fat anymore and contemplated about cutting the fat out of me. I would sit in my closet for hours and want to kill myself. Again, I was told to knock it off because I was just a moody teenager and I knew better than to act this way.

I began to ‘hide’ my feelings behind closed doors until the past few years when they’ve caught up with me. My depression that followed me around like a tiny puppy finally invited itself into my home. My mental health turned for the worse, and even though I was now in my 20’s, still no one would take my cry for help seriously.

I remember sitting in a movie theater with my ex and a commercial came on the screen. It seemed to be talking about something life threatening, probably smoking. Then I really started watching; the screen was listing off all of the symptoms that I had and was in denial of. Me? Depressed? Can’t be! I was just carrying over from the moody-teenage-years, right? Right!

I spent the next month trying to convince my ex (Trevor) that I was suffering from depression and that I couldn’t deal with this my myself. He didn’t believe me. I remember seeing that PSA on the move screen when we went to our next movie and I made sure he was paying attention – Depression is a real thing and people with depression need help sometimes. I surely did.

It wasn’t until I tried to throw myself into traffic that he began to get worried. He only really started to take me seriously when I was fixated on throwing myself off the balcony and I was so paranoid that I couldn’t leave the house. It got to the point where I was asking everyone for help (including those I work with) and only one person took me seriously. I ended up leaving work and seeing a doctor about my depression.

I’m now getting help and I’m off medication right now but that’s only because I can’t afford to be on them. So now that I’ve told my little story, I guess I can get to the point of this post.

I hate that when I ask for help, I can’t be insistent about it. Rather, I can’t explain myself to get my point across without people dismissing me. I muster up enough courage to ask for help (which is hard enough as it is for me), but when I do, people just shove me aside.

The worse my pain is, the worse my fibro-fog is, and the less the words make sense in my head. What I need is the strength of some of these other ladies who “doctor-jump” and who have confidence in themselves to be able to say “NO WAY, BUDDY!” to some of these doctors.

To the ladies/gentlemen who have that strength, please don’t lose it.