I’m trying to work at this coffee shop while a young woman with blue hair and chiseled biceps, two tables away, holds forth about how no one should ever take medication for anxiety and depression: Everyone knows that stuff is poison, and if you just do enough yoga or take enough supplements — the right kind of supplements, obviously — then you’ll be fine. After all, she is never depressed. She gets sad sometimes, sure. That’s natural. But she doesn’t get depressed, because we all have a choice! And I, who am prone to both anxiety and depression, recognize the staccato in her voice, its martial music, and a tightening in my own chest accompanied by heat, which I’m pretty sure is what we would call anger, the kind I feel when someone does what I myself have done.