About a year ago, I came off my antidepressants.
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I remember the day I went to a psychiatrist and told him I was lost, more than lost, crazy lost, and that I wanted antidepressants right now, this second, because I knew they existed and there was no way I was going to let myself be this mess of a woman.
“Okay,” he’d said.
I hadn’t slept for years. I would …