In the past year, the entertainment industry has suffered the loss of renowned comedians and thespians (you know who they are). In response, general depression awareness levels were heightened on a national level. The societal fear of losing another entertainment icon (if you’re a millennial like I am, you miss the hell out of Peter Banning) has rattled the most durable of psyches, prompting those who suffer, primarily those inhabiting the vicious world of entertainment, to open up about their illness. Comedian Wayne Brady is the latest to go candid.
Read MoreEyes open. Shit. I’m alive. What now? Can’t I just lay here until I die? I wish I could do that. Maybe I could do that? What should I do? I’m hungry. Lie back down? Wait. Dog. Piss. Let’s go asshole. Unsteady legs underneath me towards the front door. The first shot shoots up my neck. The coldness of the fear envelopes my world. Not again. Wish I was a dog. Tail fucking wagging. He isn’t scared. You’re stupid. Relax. Breathe. Neighbor door opens. Not going out there. Wait dog.
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