It’s Not The Worst of Times

It’s not the best of times. It’s not the worst of times.

And curse you and fate for putting me, a chronic depressive, in the position of giving you reality checks, over and over and over again.

I’d much rather be in a corner moping or as mom used to call it “Being all three ravens.” (No, I have no idea what she meant by that, and I’m afraid to ask.)

No, correction, I’d much rather not be in a corner, moping, because that leads to suicide, or suicidal depression, and I’ve been mana...