It's all John Green's fault (as are most things, these days). In his masterpiece, _The Anthropocene Reviewed_ , he writes movingly about an episode of severe depression in his twenties and how he eventually heeded his employer's advice to watch the 1950 classic staring James Stewart. It is, of course, one of my favourite chapters in the book, and episodes of the podcast - it is his honest and eloquent descriptions of his own experiences with mental health challenges than drew me to his writing. I never used to really believe it when people said "knowing you are not alone makes it easier" and that's possibly because it never did, or possibly because no-one else had ever convinced me so utterly that they really did know what it felt like. But somehow John does. I'm not going to try and summarise his review of the film, or why he feels it played it's small part in his recovery - just go read or listen for yourselves. (I mean it. Everyone should read that damned book - it is so good. Just go buy it, or get it from your local library.) After hearing the episode again during my current re-listen, I went and bought the film on DVD and it is sitting on the shelf, still shrink-wrapped. And it may sit there a while. I am not doing well. On some level, I really am doing better than I was - since changing meds again a lot of the brain fog has lifted and I am being more active than last year. I try not to cancel my weekly D&D. I go dancing every week I am physically capable. I see friends when they suggest things, I've organised my own trips to watch football (Green's fault, again), and I'm even planning on going to a friend's wedding next month _in Dublin._ My counsellor comments on how much more aware I am that my negative thoughts and self-evaluations are not necessarily accurate. Several people have praised me for seeking out further therapy, for engaing with it, and for continuing to keep trying. But in many other ways I am worse. I don't just mean that my efforts to eat healthier have fallen completely by the wayside, that I struggle to finish runs, that I'm sleeping in too late to fit morning exercises in and often don't manage a full day's work. I still can't see a future for myself. I spend too much of my time inside my own head - fantasising about a life, and relationships, that I just can't have. I can't find a sense of purpose. I feel, perhaps irrationally, useless. And, related to these thoughts and feelings if not caused by them, I'm being plagued by suicial ideation. After all, if there is no point to me being on this planet, why not leave? But I don't want to die. I don't want to hurt my friends and family, I don't want to leave my son an orphan. No parent should outlive their child. And while I don't want to live, I _want_ to want to live. I don't feel hope, but I want to feel it. So, now, more than ever, I should watch _Harvey._ But what if it doesn't work? I am, to state the obvious, not John Green. I am not the same person, in the same situation, at the same time, and there is no reason to believe I would have the same reaction to the film. Green says that he has "never felt as hopeless since watching _Harvey_ as [he] did just before [he] watched it". And I want that to be true for me, too. I so desperately want there to be something, anything, that means I do not feel this hopeless again. Maybe that thing will be watching _Harvey_. As long as I do not watch it, that remains a possibility. But if I do watch it, and I do still feel hopeless, if I am unable to relate to or enjoy a celebrated piece of art, what does that leave me? I am scared that the answer is: nothing. And so the DVD will continue to sit there, either as a last resort, or until I am no longer afraid.