Here’s The Deal With Listening To Sad Stuff When You’re Depressed

In January, I fell into a hole, one deeper than the usual series of potholes I hit every year when days are short and cold. No, this was a chasm; a bleak, black pit that swallowed me whole. That’s because this January, I was hit with the double whammy of my dog dying and being forced to sell my house, or else continue living next to the neighbor from hell. In the span of two months, I lost two things that gave me any sense of security — the two things that formed the foundation of what made me feel like I had a place and a home.