And hopefully you know that your GP can refer you to a psychologist or psychiatrist, entirely covered by Medicare, for up to 10 sessions a year (although that can be extended if your circumstances require it). And you know about very great, and massively underfunded services like Lifelife (13 11 14) that provide crisis counselling, and organisations like the Black Dog Institute and Beyond Blue that have resources and information about depression, anxiety and other mental health issues. There are resources – not nearly as many as there should be, and not nearly as universally accessible as Australia deserves. And the fact that resources are not as available as they could be is itself a problem, because getting treatment for depression is horrendous – not least because depression directly attacks one's ability to do things like get treatment for depression. And I know this, because I've been there. And there was a time when I didn't think I'd ever come back.

And that's why I'm writing this for you: the person reading who is feeling that empty hopelessness and knows that they need help, but doesn't have the energy to start that goddamn battle again. I've said this before, but in my experience, depression is a condition as mundane and annoying and serious as diabetes: once you have it under control and make some lifestyle changes it's pretty straightforward to maintain – and if you ignore it, it will kill you. I've seen psychiatrists, psychologists and counsellors on and off since I was 15 years old and dealing with my father's death from cancer. Some were well meaning. Some were indifferent. Some told me that the problem was that I was insufficiently motivated to fix my life, with which I'd have argued had I any energy left after getting out of bed and putting on pants. Similarly, medication was a nightmare. Most of the meds gave me side effects that I was assured weren't important enough to worry about. Being told that being unable to experience orgasm was trivial did little to reassure me that these people weren't idiots. In any case, I had convinced myself through hard experience that meds and therapy were useless and therefore I had zero intention of ever riding that particular pony again. Until I got seriously, suicidally depressed again a few years ago, despite things being objectively pretty OK, and poured my heart out to my GP.

Thankfully my doctor took my concerns seriously and referred me to the right psychiatrist – who listened to me, asked about my experiences and came up with a plan. And it took a while, and it was hard – but it was quicker and less hard than I expected. We found meds that worked, and didn't have crippling side effects. And my life was transformed. And if you've been through the wringer of meds and shrinks and feel like it's all garbage, then know this: you're absolutely right. Those people you saw, unfortunately, were the wrong people. It's like online dating: almost everyone you meet won't be the right one. On the plus side, you've now eliminated them from the search. So if you're feeling the weight right now, here's my two cents (which, of course, rounds down to nothing): Go to your GP and tell them that you've seen nothing but jerks so far, and add you've only got a finite amount of strength left for this fight so they'd better find you a therapist that's pretty damn good. And if you meet that therapist and think "nope, you have no idea", go back to your GP and tell them to try again. That decision I made – to try again – is the reason you're reading this now, and why I'm not referred to exclusively in the past tense.