So this is how the story ends, how the curtain falls on our performance. We’re standing on stage, standing ovation. Looking among the audience, panicked, we search for familiar faces. Curtsy. Take a bow. Offered the bouquet of roses and hold them high above our heads. Depression is more than just feeling sad. It’s drowning …

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Nothing feels real in these moments. Staring at the face in the mirror, this familiar stranger whose eyes are bagged and drooping. Wisps of gray hair blending into the dark. It’s one of those dissociative moments. At least something in the hypnagogia realm. And my mouth cracks open. The question on my lips is, “Who …

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