These days, I feel like there are these many Lauras. Each instance of fighting mental illness and coming out of the boxing ring with nothing to show for it but another new prescription, another admonition to just hang on, another hidden cache of tearstained tissues — one by one, each Laura is created, each Laura has her own story to tell.
And they are frightened, and they are exhausted, and they are so self-loathing, they won’t even relax for a day or two while we wean onto an antidepressant.
These Lauras are all sick, but they all want to ignore it. Maybe among the lot of us, there will be one or two who do not struggle with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).