Real depression is something so serious, so life-threatening, so heavy, that it is more than disingenuous to bandy the word around lightly—it is dangerous… Unlike cancer its sufferers are too often greeted with a creeping sense of blame and suspicion, rather than compassion and horror… Depression is like being forced to wear a cloak made of lead. You don’t get to choose when to put it on and take it off. It is a second skin which gradually seeps into your own, real skin and poisons it until you are a walking, toxic, corrosive bundle of infectious awfulness. The thought of suicide is the only real respite and the only chink of light at the end of the tunnel. You can “pull yourself together” only inasmuch as you can make yourself three feet taller.
a pick-me-up after today’s doa