I have an appointment tomorrow with a psychiatrist. It has been several years since I last accepted that medication is necessary for me to function, but I am again in a place where I face this choice. It doesn’t feel like a choice.

Sometimes I try to remember what it was like, what I was like, before depression. I try to recall how I coped with emotions, related to those I love, faced stress, felt love. Part of what I know is that depression would like to believe there never was a time before now. Sometimes, I succumb to this possibility. What is the point really of looking back? Depression denies me access to many of the tools that I know can help me, even when I know exactly where and what they are.

Yesterday, I was with my family, whom I love and trust. I sat among them and felt millions of layers removed, like transparent walls erected to keep me unable to touch them, to receive the love they offer, to ask for anything at all. It is infuriating and demoralizing to be unable to feel balanced, to always feel incomplete, defeated, incapable of normal emotional responses. I don’t want to be like this. I really don’t.

So tomorrow, I’ll try again to find a way to help my brain. I’ll hope for some relief. I’ll hope my appointment isn’t cancelled (again – the major downside of being on Medicaid is there are very few psychiatrists and many people seeking assistance). And perhaps, sometime soon, I won’t feel the distance, but will be able to traverse what is now hard and far.