We chatted for an hour or so and I reminded him he could call me any time, day or night. But we’d had this chat so often in the last three years, and it’s miserable to think that we’re no further forward than when he posted that first cry for help. Actually, that’s probably the wrong way of looking at it. You don’t cure depression, the same way you don’t cure asthma; you manage it. I’m the inhaler he’s decided to go with and I should be pleased he’s gone this long without an attack.
