I don’t feel well. I’m not physically ill, but I think I might be mentally ill.

I sit here constantly questioning if Tom is right and if there is something wrong with me; he’s always telling me that there is, maybe he’s right. Sometimes I think that it’s him, but most of the time, I think it must be me; after all, he’s managing to function – he works, he sees friends, he goes to the pub, he can laugh and joke – whereas I am barely functioning at all. I can’t even hold a conversation with one of my closest friends, and he’s right, I am miserable all of the time.

Tom asked recently, “How can it possibly be me with the problem when I’m always the one who’s singing, dancing, laughing and joking?”

He’s right.

How can it be him? It has to be me? I am the one that spends half my life crying and the other half constantly stressed. I can’t take a joke anymore, just like he says.

I went to see the doctor today, and I told him that I think I’m ill. I told him about my mood swings and what Tom has noticed about me. I told him about always crying and always being miserable. I told him that I think I’m bipolar or that I have some other kind of mental illness. I told him that Tom thinks so too.

The doctor said that there was nothing at all wrong with me, but that doesn’t make sense because I’m not exactly happy or normal anymore.

I feel like I’m going insane, and I don’t understand why the doctor can’t see it.