“You,” he said, “are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.” Emile Autumn

An unsent letter to my mental health worker…

I can’t just treat you and other mental health workers as items on a supermarket shelf, even though you get my money. Maybe that’s all I am to you. Maybe you are just a machine in our capitalist system and I’m just a cog, another client to churn through your service and then forget about. Maybe you can flick a switch and stop caring. Maybe your “care” was only manufactured in the first place. But I cannot just switch off my feelings. You will always be more than a service to me. You’re funny, intelligent, kind. You have seen me through so much. I love you. You are a snowflake, like all human beings are; I will never find someone exactly like you again. I can’t just find another mental health worker. I can’t just transfer my attachment. You may be a machine, but I am not.