"You're fine, Ms.Kennith," the doctor repeated, repeating the same mantra as the ones before him. "Have you tried the new anxiety meds your last physician prescribed you?"

"No," I replied dully. They always had an answer for my symptoms. Anxiety, depression, hormones, stress, "being a woman". How many times do I have to be rushed to the ER for them to take me seriously? "They won't work."

"Well, you can't know that till you try," He replied enthusiastically, making me angrier.

"I have tried. In fact, I've tried over thirty different prescriptions from multiple different clinics. You'd think one would have worked by now if the problem was what you said it was."

"My Apologies, Ms.Kennith," He smiled tightly and stood up straighter. "How about you try these, then return if you don't respond to them."

I nod my head silently. It's becoming pointless to argue back now. No one listens. I'm pretty sure most doctors I've seen think I'm a hypochondriac. I've had a few tell me, to my face, they thought I was an attention seeker. It's crazy that they've all been through years and years of med school yet can't tell that the person in front of them is actively dying.

Docter Smith returns to the room with my information to check out and a new prescription. One that I will not be picking up. After checking out I head home. Going about my everyday life.

Which includes lying around for the most part. I have no energy to do anything else. I've lost the will to continue my hobbies, watch TV, or leave the house. I just sleep all day.

The only human interaction I get now is from my elderly neighbor. She's the only one who believes that I'm sick. She was a nurse for forty years before the profession took such a toll on her body that she had to retire. She'll bring food over every day and we'll eat dinner together.

I grab the thick, fluffy blanket and head over to my couch. Falling down on top of the memory foam cushions I swing the warm blanket over my body and close my eyes.

I'm so tired of everything. Tired of the doctors not believing me. Tired of my family telling me to go to therapy because the sickness was just "in my head".

My head throbs for a couple of seconds and I can feel my heart start to race, but I don't think anything of it. I can't do anything about it anyway, so I go to sleep.

I didn't know that I wouldn't wake up. I didn't know that Mrs.Henry would find my unconscious body on the couch. Covered by the white fluffy blanket.

I didn't know that I would be rushed to the ER, but this time doctors would believe me. I also don't know if it's too late for that.