Today I just stayed in bed all day. This is the worst I've been in months. I had been doing pretty good from mid-July until lately.

I had managed to clean my place real well and decorate nicely. My Christmas tree took days to finish. It's big, and I have a lot of nice ornaments. It's in front of a big window, so my neighbors get to see it. I have not had a soul come to visit me. For days I have not left the house. It was hard to even just go outside to get my mail because I was afraid to run into any of my neighbors. I feel like depression is written all over my face. I don't want to be seen in this state. Having to make a little small talk seems scarey. I'm afraid I won't sound normal.

If there was anyone I could confide in, I think it would help. I'm friendly with my neighbors, but not in the sense that I could discuss anything personal with any of them. I did have a neighbor I could really talk to. She died before Christmas last year.

There is a walk-in clinic at the main psych facility in town. I'm afraid to go there because it was a terrible place. Even my primary care doctor called the place a $h!T show.
Supposedly, it improved. This walk-in urgent care section is said to be new and improved. I'm skeptical. This place is part of the system where I get all my healthcare. It should be available to me. I got psych care and medication management at this place back in 2012. I hated going there. The new clinic they have might be better. There's only one way to find out.

Professionals never take me seriously. I look neat, clean and decently groomed. I converse sensibly. I don't have psychotic symptoms. I don't threaten to harm myself. It seems I make a good impression. That seems to disqualify me from having a psych problem worthy of support.

In a way, they're right. The amount of attention that could make a difference wouldn't have to be a lot. I fully realize that making my life better is up to me. I know everything that I'm doing wrong - like staying in bed today. I know all the constructive efforts that I could be making and should be making. So I get dismissed as more than capable of handling my affairs without any need to take up anyone else's time. My depressive episodes are no joke, but the suffering they bring is not visible to anyone. I'm not an attention hound. I don't like talking to therapists or psychiatrists. Most meds never helped me. I usually want nothing to do with psych professionals. In March, I was getting so bad that I asked for a referral and saw a psychologist. I saw him a few times. Then he terminated working for the system that provides my healthcare. So that was the end of that.

I tell myself that I just have to pull myself together. If only I could talk to a professional who would believe that I struggle with a serious problem. In between episodes of depression, I tend to do quite well. In 2000, a psychiatrist told me I was bipolar. Maybe that's part of the problem. Different doctors have given me very different diagnoses. I'm not too interested in labels. I know my main problem has always been social phobia. I can't get anyone to believe that and to understand what that does to a person. In some situations, I can interact just fine. That's what they see.

Going to that walk-in psych clinic could wind up being a bad experience. Thst's the last thing I need tomorrow.