Big ol' rant.

So, I finally got diagnosed after 2 years of feeling like I wasn't sick enough to be actually sick. I scared my therapist after I told her that my delusions had gotten worse and that I thought people could read my mind and weren't who they said they were. It didn't last long - only 30 minutes or so - but I nearly acted on it. I told her and she got my mother to pick me up because she thought I'd kick the bucket. Then the next day I had an emergency appointment with a doctor and my therapist. After an hour or two (time passes weirdly and I had no watch) he concluded that I have depression and anxiety. I'm now on quetiapine and it helps with the anxiety but not so much the depression. However, quetiapine doesn't magically give me friends. The day after the appointment I was informed that one of my old best friends from my social period of two years ago is throwing a birthday party on my birthday (his birthday is 3 days before mine but he's throwing it on mine). I also found out another friend of mine is throwing a party and invited everyone except me. I say 'friend' like I actually socialise with these people on a regular basis haha. I do, but it's always about them so, in consequence, I know all about them but they know nothing about me. They don't go under the category of 'friend' but they don't go under 'acquaintance' either. They're in some weird limbo. Or maybe they're an acquaintance and I'm kidding myself. I'm probably kidding myself. If we were friends then I'd get invited to their parties. Anxiety doesn't help. I doubt everything that spills out my mouth. I doubt every letter of every word of every sentence that flits across their faces as they listen to my questions and jokes to make them like me. I just want to be liked again like I was 2 years ago. I complain, but it's not all bad, I have my friend Johanna. She lives halfway across the world and is always high as honeysuckle or drunk as honeysuckle. I love her though. She's my truest friend, but she's only sober enough to understand for about 5 hours a day and when I get back from work or school I only have around 2 hours before she goes comatose. So in conclusion, I'm still lonely. At least now I'm diagnosed and I can get medication to even the playing field. At least I know what's wrong with me. I'm trying to better my life though. I've taken up running, started a blog, gone back to writing music and poetry, and I've decided to join Extinction Rebellion to join a club and meet people and also actually contribute to something. What a bloody mess. At least I'm trying to make it better. Better try than not try ay? Yeah.