Kirsten Dusnt is opening up about her trip to rehab earlier this year, blaming her little stint in the Cirque Lodge on her sad feelings instead of a problem with booze. E! Online says

[Kirsten said,] “There’s been a lot of misrepresentation about what is going on in my life. I didn’t go to Cirque Lodge for alcohol abuse or drug abuse. I went there for depression.”

While naysayers out there may groan that a young, wealthy Hollywood starlet should have nothing to be depressed about, Dunst says mental illness doesn’t know any such boundaries. “We’re all in the same boat together,” she opines. “Depression is pretty serious and should not be gossiped about.”

Is “depression” a new drink I haven’t heard about? One of those cute blue numbers with an umbrella, a little straw, and about 120 proof? Cause I don’t recall seeing a lot of pictures of Dunst crying into her beer - she couldn’t keep the fucking glass full long enough to cry into it. Maybe that’s what I’ll start calling it when, after a night of heavy drinking, I wake up in the morning with a head that pounds like Ron Jeremy’s headboard, a mouth dryer than Sharon Stone’s hoo-hah, and no will to live: Depression! You think I can get the day off of work for that?

And I know something even better than rehab to cure it - it’s called two aspirin and a Schlitz. And it’s a lot cheaper than 30 days at the Cirque Lodge.