There were names littered throughout my family which sounded cold and scary, but which almost universally meant good things. I remember Lexapro. I remember wanting to thank him for making people happy when they used to be incapable of it. When you are a little kid and you see people who are depressed — whose emotions seem to make no sense, wholly untethered to whatever good things may be happening to them — you just want it to go away. You don’t quite blame yourself (though you are often inclined to try to fix it in the way a child would), but you know that it means people don’t want to go out for a picnic when it’s sunny. They sometimes don’t even want to get out of bed. And you know that this is bad, and that it makes you sad by extension.
I remember hearing a friend say…
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