It’s February in Iowa, and I’m depressed. Not in the funny-ha-ha way you mean it when your favorite restaurant closes. I’m really, truly, and clinically depressed. Which is terrifying to talk about in such a public way. But I’m not giving up.
I have an inner voice, and she’s a Mean Girl. She tells me lies, makes claims without proof, and seems to know everything. I call her Regina George. Here’s some of the bullshit she whispers in my ear.