A moth flies into an anesthesiologist's office, and the anesthesiologist says,

"Well what seems to be the problem?"

"What seems to be the problem?" the moth replies, "What seems to be the problem!? My problems are many, and they are grave. I wake up every morning feeling nothing. Even when I turn and see my wife, even though I know I at some point loved her, now I feel nothing looking at her.

But this feeling of nothingness quickly turns into dread when I realize why I have been awoken by that device, for I realize that I must make my way to work. And oh how I hate work. My office is just about as dull as one can imagine, with those lifeless florescents buzzing away. I don't know how something so bright can be so dull. And my boss just makes it all so much worse. He constantly berates me, often for nothing at all. I think that he just gets off at the idea that he is my superior and thus can do anything to me. And my coworkers just completely ignore me. It's as if I don't even exist.

My home life is hardly any better. When I sit down for dinner, I see the empty chair, and I am reminded of my dear daughter, Agnes, who fell during the cold two winters ago. Oh how I miss her. She was the one thing keeping me going, and now she is gone.

She was not my only child, for I have a son too. But -- and perhaps this is the worst of all -- I do not love him. I don't know why. Perhaps when I look at him, I see myself in him, my very, pitiful self. What kind of excuse for a moth does not love his own son? Aaaghhhh!

So, doc, I'm just lost. I've tried to end it many times, but I never have the guts to do it. That revolver sits on my nightstand, mocking me. I need help -- for my sake, but most of all for my family's sake."

And the anesthesiologist is deeply troubled, and responds, "Yes, certainly it is clear to me that you are very much in need of help. But the sort of help which you need is not the kind that I am able to provide. For, you see, I am an anesthesiologist. I put people to sleep before surgeries, lest they fail the great pain of their body being opened up. This would be of no help to you. Sure, you would not be burdened with your life while you're asleep, but you'd be asleep. This sleep passes by people like it never even happened. You would have maybe a few minutes of feeling high, but this is nothing compared to what other drugs can do for you. So I cannot help, and even if I could, I would be breaking my code of ethics. And so why did you come to me, an anesthesiologist? You should be seeing a psychiatrist, someone who actually can help you with your struggles with respect to your mental health. A psychiatrist is whom you should be seeing, not me, an anesthesiologist."

And the moth replies, "Well the light was on."