Please bear with me - these next few entries are bound to be very fragmented and will probably not make sense. I'd forgive anyone for deciding to get out now.

I wonder how long it should take for a counseling appointment to come through. I returned the forms on Tuesday evening. This isn't NHS (otherwise I wouldn't even be asking).

The thing is, I can't help getting worried about it. What if they won't be able to help me? The form practically had be justifying why I needed counseling. It makes me worried that I'll be judged as not enough in need.

I think what's worse is that I can't talk about it in the meantime. I guess it's not that I can't talk about it - I'm sure I could go and tell practically anyone I'd want to. This one goes two ways. If I speak to most people, I'd end up in an institute quicker than you could get an ambulance here. The other side is that the people I need to talk to most seem to be under instruction not to talk to me about it until my counseling is well under way. And in the meantime, here's me stuck in the middle of all this red tape and fear, churning on the inside.

And just so this makes sense, I went through a rather traumatic experience at the weekend which resulted in me being detained under the Mental Health Act (hence the fear of being institutionalized), although mental health certainly wasn't the reason I should've been detained.

I could scream. None of this makes sense, even to me and it's a sad thing that in all of this, the only place I can start to get things off my chest is here. And I really didn't want to muddy the tone of this blog.