Me, on prozac

Today is Thursday. Lunch break. There are a lot of things on my mind, but none of them are scary.

At 12:27pm I do not think anything bad is about to happen, like I did a few weeks ago. I am not alert. In fact, I think those thoughts were silly and highly unlikely. And, even though everything that scared me before is kind of still here… I just don’t worry about it that much.

For instance, yes, there is a weird lesion on my back. Whatever, I’ll just remove it. If it’s cancer, I’ll just cure it. Rationally, it’s been there forever and it’s not changing that fast so… it’s probably soon enough. The end.

I guess this is how normal people feel all the time. Me? This is how I feel on prozac.

It bothers me that I can’t reach this state of mind on my own. I mean, isn’t this version of me inside my brain somewhere? Is this the pills talking? Can’t I just live life as if I was permanently stoned? It sounds rather fun.

So, why don’t I just take the fucking pills and get happy all the time, you might wonder.

Well, because the side effects are brutal. It’s killing my immune system and that’s NOT something you aim for in life.

So, there you go. Stuck between the decision of being afraid of being sick when you’re actually healthy or making yourself sick so you won’t be afraid.

Tough one, guys.

Though one.

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