Right, let’s cut the funny business, okay? I know you expect me to be all happy and laughy, or failing that maybe sarcastic and knowing, but I’m fresh out of fucks to give. All I’ve got is bile.
No it’s not depression. No it’s not hypomania. Not it’s not one of the hundred labels people use to cover something fucking uncomfortable.
It’s anger turned sideways—not aimed inwards, not aimed outwards, just spurting steaming syllables at things and events in an attempt to avoid lasting collateral damage.
Yes, I know you’re just trying to help. Try being less obvious.