The Crazy Club

by alexxxxxandra

“I’m really sad.”

“Don’t worry, there’s a pill for that.”





In actual fact, there’s a lot of pills for that. And a lot of people on them. Being part of the crazy club is a weird one. I had one counsellor who said, ‘A lot of people find comfort in diagnosis. It makes them feel less alone.” This was just after I had been ‘diagnosed’ with depression. 


I wasn’t really bothered about being alone. I think growing up as more or less an only child (interesting how only rhymes with lonely, eh?) I’ve got used to my own company. For a social person, I’m fairly solitary. I’ve always been frightened of needing people (don’t take that to mean I don’t need people, I need people desperately and pathetically, in the way we all do) and I’ve always needed space and time on my own. 


In fact, I don’t really want to be like anyone else. I mean, I’ve been me for over 2 decades and it hasn’t all be plain sailing, but you know, I’m an old pair of hands.


‘Diagnosis’ is kind of like a doctor’s version of pin the tale on the donkey. Pin the emotional problem on the girl crying in my office. I’m not saying all doctors are like this, but I’ve had the (mis)fortune to meet a lot who are. So, whether, it made me feel better or not was kind of pointless. It made me feel like I’d been shoved into the depression box. It’s much easier to manage people who are ‘depressed’ than people who are just generally feeling like shit, right?