Tired of Writing About Gloom

How much more can I write about my dejection before the words on the page begin to stuff its way down my throat? How much longer should I try to convince you of my significance before I let the wind take over? Why has my legibility been taken for granted? As complex and polar and witty and esoteric my brain seems to be it has yet to find a formula for solution. All suggestions have proved moot. So I sit here and write and write about the experience of having a brain like mine. Only for others to skim, to disregard, to misunderstand. How long? How long should I sit here, pen in hand, book under wrist, and try to convince you to Care? To show some compassion? To help? "Oh, she's just going through one of her episodes” must be top thought. High frequency does not mean ease of operation. I don't even know who I am without it all. Sometimes my writing feels like complaining. And and I can't lie sometimes it is. I would just like to know for how long can I complain before change is made. I change. I do this and that and try my best and hardest. And still find myself back to ink. So I ask: How long must I write before I realize I’ve ignored calls for help?