I crave the mundane when my mental health isn’t doing well. It’s a bit like reaching for comfort food, we want something familiar and bland and easy to digest. But reading back this poem from a slightly better head space, I find more questions. I realise how vulnerable I was, and how desperately I needed more than just to pace around a supermarket. It brings to the forefront the lack of access to mental health services, and this is still a real problem. We can encourage kindness to one another, and talking when we feel low, but there are still limitations to getting better when vital services are underfunded or just not there. Isolation and self medicating can feel like the only options and we deserve better. I deserve better.