Victorians really went hard for their disease names. Like, during the winter I call up my therapist and go “I’m depressed again, Betsy.” and it sounds like I’m an underperforming economy that CNN reports on in a sexless empty fashion with blinking sterile charts in the background.

But if I went to my neighborhood priest in 1896 and was like “I’ve fought with the little black dog again this month and lost. I can no longer write.” That kinda fucks. These melodramatic hos knew how to phrase things.