My problems aren't severe enough

Just before Christmas my shrink assessor rang to say her team had found me a service for two years of psychotherapy. Two years. At the time I wanted to cry but I was carrying my Nigella cake to my son's Winter Fair and had to concentrate on balancing that with one hand while the other clutched my phone.

It might not be so bad, it might help.

Today shrink assessor has written to tell me "unfortunately they are unable to see you in their service" and suggests I contact Women and Health for another "assessment".

I don't know, you may imagine I am in no mood for a letter like this. Anyway, I rang shrink assessor to ask her why they can't see me.

"Your problems aren't severe enough," she said. "You don't fit in their criteria."

Oh! And what is their 'criteria'? How do these people judge who needs help and who doesn't?

Shrink assessor couldn't answer these questions for me. She simply said "I can imagine it must be frustrating for you to be pushed from pillar to post."

She assessed me, she should know.

I may have no choice. I've been in hog's heaven so far this year, comfort eating sweets (my sister gave me for Christmas) and toast and more toast and more toast after the boy's gone to bed. I've felt quite bad about this but hey, look on the bright side, my high stress diets should whip me back into shape and of course, there's always Nico Teen there in my moments of need.

It's a pity that none of that is enough, I would do better simply to slit my wrists.

My son my sun my son my sun my son

I shall log off now, maybe set the alarm and have a little sleep. I don't like feeling like this.