My therapist is on vacation, an old lady is giving me flashbacks and bad thoughts, and my friend from program left (I still talk to her on the phone). But there is one thing depression does for me that being content NEVER does: I've written more of my comic book story in the past five days than I have in the past five months. My writers' block is broken and I have a feeling it will stay broken until I cheer up. Gilda and Meek live again.
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