fromThe New Yorker
10 hours ago"Risk, Discipline," by Andrew Martin
When Violet and I finally decided to get married, I was in the middle of a depression so deep it had developed into something more like psychosis. I felt like I was pretending to be myself. I don't mean I was playing "the role" of the husband-to-be, the good son, the whatever. I mean I was going around thinking, What would I do right now if I were Malcolm?
Mental health


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