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He
’
s
polite
but
relentless
,
and
he
always
trips
me
up
eventually
.
He
asks
if
I
have
any
reason
to
be
happy
that
I
know
of
.
He
asks
why
I
am
all
by
myself
tonight
,
yet
again
.
He
asks
(
though
we
’
ve
been
through
this
line
of
questioning
hundreds
of
times
already
)
why
I
can
’
t
keep
a
relationship
going
,
why
I
ruined
my
marriage
,
why
I
messed
things
up
with
David
,
why
I
messed
things
up
with
every
man
I
’
ve
ever
been
with
.
He
asks
me
where
I
was
the
night
I
turned
thirty
,
and
why
things
have
gone
so
sour
since
then
.
He
asks
why
I
can
’
t
get
my
act
together
,
and
why
I
’
m
not
at
home
living
in
a
nice
house
and
raising
nice
children
like
any
respectable
woman
my
age
should
be
.
He
asks
why
,
exactly
,
I
think
I
deserve
a
vacation
in
Rome
when
I
’
ve
made
such
a
rubble
of
my
life
.
He
asks
me
why
I
think
that
running
away
to
Italy
like
a
college
kid
will
make
me
happy
.
He
asks
where
I
think
I
’
ll
end
up
in
my
old
age
,
if
I
keep
living
this
way
.
I
walk
back
home
,
hoping
to
shake
them
,
but
they
keep
following
me
,
these
two
goons
.
Depression
has
a
firm
hand
on
my
shoulder
and
Loneliness
harangues
me
with
his
interrogation
.
I
don
’
t
even
bother
eating
dinner
;
I
don
’
t
want
them
watching
me
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
let
them
up
the
stairs
to
my
apartment
,
either
,
but
I
know
Depression
,
and
he
’
s
got
a
billy
club
,
so
there
’
s
no
stopping
him
from
coming
in
if
he
decides
that
he
wants
to
.
"
It
’
s
not
fair
for
you
to
come
here
,
"
I
tell
Depression
.
"
I
paid
you
off
already
.
I
served
my
time
back
in
New
York
"
But
he
just
gives
me
that
dark
smile
,
settles
into
my
favorite
chair
,
puts
his
feet
on
my
table
and
lights
a
cigar
,
filling
the
place
with
his
awful
smoke
.
Loneliness
watches
and
sighs
,
then
climbs
into
my
bed
and
pulls
the
covers
over
himself
,
fully
dressed
,
shoes
and
all
.
He
’
s
going
to
make
me
sleep
with
him
again
tonight
,
I
just
know
it
.
I
’
d
stopped
taking
my
medication
only
a
few
days
earlier
.
It
had
just
seemed
crazy
to
be
taking
antidepressants
in
Italy
.
How
could
I
be
depressed
here
?
I
’
d
never
wanted
to
be
on
the
medication
in
the
first
place
.
I
’
d
fought
taking
it
for
so
long
,
mainly
because
of
a
long
list
of
personal
objections
(
e
.
g
.
:
Americans
are
overmedicated
;
we
don
’
t
know
the
long
-
term
effects
of
this
stuff
yet
on
the
human
brain
;
it
’
s
a
crime
that
even
American
children
are
on
antidepressants
these
days
;
we
are
treating
the
symptoms
and
not
the
causes
of
a
national
mental
health
emergency
…
)
.
Still
,
during
the
last
few
years
of
my
life
,
there
was
no
question
that
I
was
in
grave
trouble
and
that
this
trouble
was
not
lifting
quickly
.
As
my
marriage
dissolved
and
my
drama
with
David
evolved
,
I
’
d
come
to
have
all
the
symptoms
of
a
major
depression
-
loss
of
sleep
,
appetite
and
libido
,
uncontrollable
weeping
,
chronic
backaches
and
stomachaches
,
alienation
and
despair
,
trouble
concentrating
on
work
,
inability
to
even
get
upset
that
the
Republicans
had
just
stolen
a
presidential
election
…
it
went
on
and
on
.
When
you
’
re
lost
in
those
woods
,
it
sometimes
takes
you
a
while
to
realize
that
you
are
lost
.
For
the
longest
time
,
you
can
convince
yourself
that
you
’
ve
just
wandered
a
few
feet
off
the
path
,
that
you
’
ll
find
your
way
back
to
the
trailhead
any
moment
now
.
Then
night
falls
again
and
again
,
and
you
still
have
no
idea
where
you
are
,
and
it
’
s
time
to
admit
that
you
have
bewildered
yourself
so
far
off
the
path
that
you
don
’
t
even
know
from
which
direction
the
sun
rises
anymore
.
I
took
on
my
depression
like
it
was
the
fight
of
my
life
,
which
,
of
course
,
it
was
.
I
became
a
student
of
my
own
depressed
experience
,
trying
to
unthread
its
causes
.
What
was
the
root
of
all
this
despair
?
Was
it
psychological
?
(
Mom
and
Dad
’
s
fault
?
)
Was
it
just
temporal
,
a
"
bad
time
"
in
my
life
?
(
When
the
divorce
ends
,
will
the
depression
end
with
it
?
)
Was
it
genetic
?
(
Melancholy
,
called
by
many
names
,
has
run
through
my
family
for
generations
,
along
with
its
sad
bride
,
Alcoholism
.
)
Was
it
cultural
?
(
Is
this
just
the
fallout
of
a
postfeminist
American
career
girl
trying
to
find
balance
in
an
increasingly
stressful
and
alienating
urban
world
?
)
Was
it
astrological
?
(
Am
I
so
sad
because
I
’
m
a
thin
-
skinned
Cancer
whose
major
signs
are
all
ruled
by
unstable
Gemini
?
)
Was
it
artistic
?
(
Don
’
t
creative
people
always
suffer
from
depression
because
we
’
re
so
supersensitive
and
special
?
)
Was
it
evolutionary
?
(
Do
I
carry
in
me
the
residual
panic
that
comes
after
millennia
of
my
species
’
attempting
to
survive
a
brutal
world
?
)
Was
it
karmic
?
(
Are
all
these
spasms
of
grief
just
the
consequences
of
bad
behavior
in
previous
lifetimes
,
the
last
obstacles
before
liberation
?
)
Was
it
hormonal
?
Dietary
?
Philosophical
?
Seasonal
?
Environmental
?
Was
I
tapping
into
a
universal
yearning
for
God
?
Did
I
have
a
chemical
imbalance
?
Or
did
I
just
need
to
get
laid
?
