So today, I get to go and pay yet another lovely visit to a doctor who for years has promised to make me feel better and yet my life has only gotten worse. I hate these days, I mark it on the calendar (otherwise I know for sure I would not remember the time and date and that would mean having to call someone and ask which would cause yet another anxiety attack) and then it's there staring me in the face. The days leading up to 'the day' are okay but once the actual day arrives every second of every minute of every hour I just clock watch. I guess my point is I keep turning up to see this doctor and the others and I take my medication and follow their advice and it has gotten me no where. People make me promises and tell me things will get better and they'll help me but they don't. I'm worried that today I may be sectioned, my last session did not go well I lost my patience and basically told them everything you should never tell your shrink if you don't want to end up in a padded cell. The crisis team was called and I spent 5 hours there instead of the scheduled 45 minutes and I've had a home visit every other day since. I just can't be bothered to hold in all the nastiness and poison in my mind any more but I'd much rather be at home and able to do whatever the fuck I like to myself than in an institution being watched, I've been there before it's not fun. So I'm sort of stuck with this decision on whether or not to open my big mouth again, except I'm not, because I just don't give a fuck what they do any more. I have stuffed my body with their pills and my mind with their bullshit psycho babble for so long and not changed so now I figure it's just best to say it as it is. I'm going to kill myself one way or another. That is the only thought I am at peace with.