I’ve been sick since I was 18. I’m fifty now. I was on Prozac when it was a baby, thousands of therapies and meds, ect, tms, ketamine. But I think I’m giving up. I worked hard. I became a psychologist and worked with the less fortunate. I tried to instill good values in my children. I only ever wanted to help. To make my suffering mean something, To leave the world better than I found it. But honestly I’ve done it all alone. And I still have no idea if anyone really sees me for who I am or loves me. I’m trying but I’m scared. I’m so tired.