Depression, Thy Name is Blobfish.
It just fits, dontcha think? What’s worse than having a blobfish as your personal avatar of self-hatred? Being a freaking blobfish.
Andrea came to me one day and said, “Look up ‘blobfish!'”
And I did, and then I wished I didn’t.
Surviving, but not quite living, under enormous pressure in the depths and darkness. A slimy, gelatinous mass, no bones or muscles to speak of, not even expending any energy. Just slithering around, swallowing whatever floats in front of it. Yep, sounds like depression to me.