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I am desperately trying to pull myself out of the depression threatening to drag me down. I don't want to talk to anyone, or do anything, but people are depending on me — my tatoes depend on me. So I get up in the morning and hand feed them and try to feel joy when they put their paws in my palm. I make myself breakfast and pretend it tastes like something more than ash in my mouth. I doodle and pretend that it's something better than what I think it is. I work and pretend like the money is worth anything. I go to sleep and pretend that I look forward to waking up again.