It’s over, I said. I can’t do this anymore.
So dramatic, depression said. It’s not you…
I know — it’s me… blah blah blah.
Don’t mock me!
You’re nothing without me.
Maybe, but at least I’m me.
And who is that? I’m your identity.
I’m not changing my mind.
You can’t live without me.
Misery loves company.
I’m depression, not misery.
I cheated with misery last night, and it dawned on me that I can’t live with you anymore.
Don’t think it’s going to be easy without me.
Well, at least I’ll be back to me. The person I was before we met—the person I used to love.