Fucking no shit Sherlock.
I wish I’d said that actually. That would’ve been an amazing comeback when the halfwit that gets paid £80,000 a year to look through a few textbooks told me I clearly wasn’t in the best place.
Yep, I went to see my GP again to ask about drugs. You know, the good ones. We chatted about how I was feeling and all that bullshit and he came back with “you’re clearly in a dangerous place. Do you have support?”
Dangerous place. Fucking dangerous place? I swear to god if he ever screws up in medicine he could become an amazing Mr Holmes.
Oh and no I’m fine. I’ve done my crying. I’m grand.