“The day I sobered up, I stopped talking,” he says. “What was there to say? You need hope to form a thought. It takes – I don’t know – optimism to speak, to engage in conversation. Because, really, what’s the point of all this communicating? What difference does it really make what we say to each other? Or what we do, for that matter?” “There’s a name for that,” she says. “It’s called depression.”
