prozac
my 18-year-old self knew... (from the archives) #crappypoetry
Recently found this in a folder from more than 20 years ago. It’s not the original version that I wrote when I was a freshman in college, but it’s close. Pretty fucking heartbreaking to read it now.
Because I knew…
I knew, somehow, that whatever was “wrong” with me was not something the meds were fixing, at all. And I knew the meds had taken something from me, that they had changed me in ways I didn’t like, in ways I wasn’t able to explain to the psychiatrist. He had just upped my dose, as I recall.
Still crying, as I retype and post this for you today.
prozac
maybe these means of getting back to myself discovering what is me trying to find me maybe they're just pushing me away from myself even further from myself maybe there is no me really it's all a big mistake and this is how i've always been and how i'll always be maybe time is the answer time can't come in green and white pills in a little plastic bottle but no amount of time is short enough when you've been on your ass this long almost two years now but god it seems like a million and even after all the time i need has passed how will i know? how will i know where the drugs end and me begins? i'm sick i'm so fucking sick but i can't tell if it's really me feeling sick or if it's just the drugs i can't fucking tell anything anymore maybe these pills are all i am now because god knows i've been searching reaching inside myself trying to find that piece of me that has disappeared and nothing else can ever take its place
