It was Wine Monday, and I could hear my suitemates upstairs laughing at some YouTube video. Normally I’d never miss Wine Mondays—they’re my favorite part of the week. But last month I was hiding out in my room with just enough energy to sob into my pillow. I couldn’t face the rapid-fire conversation, the expectation of eye contact, or talking about small things as if everything were fine, the way normal people do. I had been off Zoloft for four weeks, and I wasn’t myself anymore.
