Taking SSRIs, I feel like I’m living with an anvil strapped to my back.

Before I started on them, I felt like I was wrapped around the singularity at the center of a massive black hole. Utterly, utterly crushed; reduced down to the size of something that may as well be nothing. So far past the event horizon that I couldn’t even see it anymore.

At least an anvil can be useful for smithing something practical, hearty, and if one has the skill, something artful.