Totally feeling this today.
Living with poor mental health often, to me, feels like sloughing through the day with a raging hangover.
The relentless march of stress always seems to leave me with the pounding headache, sawdust mouth and brain fog that you’d associate with a night spent knocking back gallons of beer and umpteen tequila shots, washed down with a questionable kebab and a wobbly night bus journey home. Except I’ve been living on green tea and spinach and lentil curry and going to bed at 10.
Depression doesn’t just affect your mind, it wrecks your body too, even when you’re living like a saint. At least with vodka you can get away with showing a burger vendor your pants and confessing your undying love to a lamp post.
With this in mind, I give you quite possibly the best literary account of a hangover to ever grace the pages of a book…
View original post 175 more words