There aren’t too many moments in this life where I can say that the voices in my head are completely silent. From the phone call last August to my petty life grievances, they have been ongoing, nonstop. They articulate the worse aspects of me. They pen a memoir of failure, an autobiography of depression. If I wrote that book today, what would I title it? “The Procedural Manual of All That Can and Did Go Wrong?” “Live Life to Its Fullest Potential: A Cautionary Tale of Being an Introvert too Afraid to Tie His Shoes Because He Might Tie a Noose Instead?” The most ineffective piece of advice given: “If you’re unhappy with being unhappy all the time, why not try to be happy…