I hate being depressed.It’s really hard for me to shake out of it. My productivity hits a standstill. Anxiety freezes me. I don’t know what it takes to get me out of it, either. I haven’t figured it out. And it lasts a long fucking time for sure. Months, usually. Sometimes you find yourself just generally depressed for no reason, like it’s just sitting there, beneath the surface of your smile. And there isn’t any warning when pieces of that awful mess come bubbling up from your psyche like an acidic reflux, poisoning your thoughts and stopping your life. I have to force myself to push that shit down, to swallow it, and re-eat it. That’s why I write so much. It’s depression that I have wrenched out of my head like an oxidized lug nut and thrown on to piece of paper to see if I can make something out of the grease stain.