Before I even realize it is happening, a lunatic has moved inside my head — unloading all of her morbid fantasies, involuntary crying, and swirling helplessness that renders me immune to all vitality. I rehearse all the linear remedies (think positive thoughts, find a hobby, see a shrink, take the crazy meds, etc.) that seem to work for normal people. But still, I find myself wrapped in a Snuggie staring up at the Normals from the bottom of the trash bin because the dumps are more comforting than the light and laughter that lives above ground. Any of the more obvious antidotes might possibly relieve me if it wasn’t for the lead weight of guilt strapped to my ankles for subjecting my loved ones to this gloom. Next thing I know, I am slipping back down to the bottom of my Glad bag covered in pout and Snuggie.