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.

What are you afraid of?

Some of you are able to answer that question with one word. Clowns, thunderstorms, ghosts…

It is a bit more complex to me.

If I had to answer that question with one word, I’d have to say: “Everything“.



I’m afraid of all things, real or not. But, most of all, I am afraid of the possibility.

There’s a possibility something terrible will happen today. Anything. It could be the day I find out me, my husband or my girls are terribly sick. It could be the day they get hit by a car. Today could be the day that meteor finally hits our house, out of all houses in the world.

Sure, the possibilities are small. Until you google them, and those “rare” facts start looking pretty damn popular…

And so it starts. The trigger has been pulled.

If you think about the possibilities, the only choice you’ll have is to go crazy. Trust me.

But that bullet it’s going pretty fast towards the target, at this point.

In real life it means you got so scared you started acting like all that shit you are afraid of is not a possibility anymore. It’s actually happening. You see signs and symptoms everywhere.

How does it feel like? Torture.

Your breaths are short, you can’t eat, nothing is fun or funny anymore… after all, this IS your last day with your loved ones.

As apocalypse settles inside your chest, you still need to function. You still need to go to work, take care of your kids, be there for your husband and answer to your mom’s 37 calls. “Are you ok?” . “Are you ok?”. “Are you ok NOW?”

I have to admit that sometimes I’m actually slightly distracted, until I get a text from her saying “don’t worry”. So, I actually REMEMBER I’m supposed to worry.

So, how exactly do I handle this?

Well, sometimes the fear is so great, it’s exhausting so I just go: “fuck it, if something terrible happens, I’ll just fix it, it’s not going to kill me TODAY, so TODAY I’ll just watch a fucking comedy movie and enjoy my evening.” – That is a lovely way of handling things and I profoundly thank Seth Rogen and James Franco for being so high all the time (maybe only Rogen?) and creating all these movies whose soul purpose are to get me through this.

After I watch my movie and calm down a little bit, I start trying to put my finger on what caused the crisis. See… in order for the trigger to be pulled, there must be a stressful situation going on, whether you’ve noticed it or not.

Once I figure out what that was (sometimes it’s not clear, sometimes it’s RIGHT THERE) I find a solution for that. Once the solution is found, whenever I think about the possibility again I just figure, “ok, THAT is highly unlikely”.

And I breath again.

All the way until my next crisis.


*Important ps: Finding a solution may involve hours of google search and up to 3 visits to the doctor, it’s not a 5 minute thing… but I’ll get there! 


As mothers, all we wanna do is to cuddle with our babies.

When a mother is born, a great fear is born with her. We are afraid of losing our babies and we are also afraid that our babies might lose us way too soon, before they are ready, before they understand what death is.

Death is a big part of the world right now. Therefore, I find myself scared of sending them to school, to concerts, or even to the playground.

Still, this paralyzing fear cannot make me wonder if I should in fact have had children. Nothing could ever change my mind. I was born to be their mom. I knew I’d be afraid. I have always been afraid of everything.

I am a runner who ran away from a place she considered not to be safe for her children. Yet, as I listen to the benefit concert Ariana Grande did for the victims of the attack in Manchester I can’t help but think to myself “is there a safe place”?  If there is, can we call just go there?

I know all of us moms would love to be there. This world is not meant for a mother’s heart.

How does a mother who can’t protect her baby in her arms feel? How does a mother who can’t feed her children feel? How does a mother with a sick child feel?

What the fuck is wrong with this world? Actually, what the fuck is right?

People have “unfriend” me on facebook when I moved to Canada. Out of jealousy, maybe. Not the terrorists, the good people. The people who are supposed to “fight” evil.

This is something I’ve learned from my husband and my amazing best friend. I’ve learned to be tolerant, to give people a chance, to just fucking let them be happy – no matter how stupid their accomplishments might seem to you.

But these people can’t do that.

Unhappy people are unable to just let others be. They want everything to be more miserable than they are. That way, they won’t feel like the most miserable people on Earth.

Some people will just envy you, unfriend you from the stupid facebook. Some people will attack our babies and make every mother’s worst fears come to life.

“Terror”  is, in fact, a good word to describe it, no wonder they use it.

Right now, I am terrified of life and I don’t know where to run.

I’ve watched the interviews where they asked the children at the Manchester benefit concert “why did you come back?” and they said “because you can’t live in fear. you have to live your life”.

They are right. I have lived in fear for months longer than I can count. Every day I waste worrying about something that is not happening, just afraid of the bad stuff that could happen is a day I did not live.

Fear is a powerful thing.

I hope I can teach my children to not be afraid and to live their lives but for that to happen I guess I should learn how to do that myself.

I wish I knew where to start.


People are so mean.

I like writing. I like talking to people. If I see something that I like, there’s a chance I”ll wanna talk about it, but I rarely ever do that, specially on social media.

So, this morning I randomly complemented a famous girl on Instagram. It’s stupid to talk to the people who’ll never acknowledge your existence, but I do it from time to time, whenever I’m in a good mood.

Because of that, some random woman was rude to me.

She could have been rude to anyone down the street and they’d just ignore her and keep going with their lives. But it was me and I felt like I was attacked.

People are so incredibly mean and they have no idea how they affect others by doing that. The fact that that woman criticized my compliment made me shiver.

I have panic disorder -so they say-. I hate conflict. She doesn’t know that. All she knows is that something was going wrong with her life and she decided to take it out on strangers on Instagram.

Now I am questioning everything. I’m not sure if I’m healthy anymore. I start thinking I have some kind of rare disease that’s gonna kill me in months because that’s the way my mind works whenever I see conflict and I can’t stop it.

And now I’ll suffer. For minutes, hours or even days. It’s hard to say.

I’ll suffer because those tiny words from someone I’ll never meet triggered something on my brain that I fight day and night not to trigger so I can have some peace.

But she doesn’t know that.

None of us know the ghosts the live inside other people’s heads, as we wake them up day after day.

Yes, I am over sensitive and most of the things that disturb me are only inside my head and not actually happening. But I still suffer from that, unfortunately.

You don’t like my point of view, you think that I’m insane.

I do doubt if we are, in fact, from this world from time to time. I secretly wish we are not. Well, maybe I am not that secretive about it.

Sometimes I believe we have a soul. It happens when this world stops making sense. For instance, when I’m staring at the mirror for so long I don’t recognize myself anymore or when I say my own name over and over. “Michele, Michele” what the hell is a “Michele”? What a weird word that is!

Also, there are always those dreams when you see someone you know and they look different, but you still recognize them. Right?

That leads me to believe that there’s something else hidden inside all of us we’d still recognize even without an specific body form. Like an energy.

And that’s probably the kind of crazy shit that’s got the psychiatrist thinking I was borderline schizophrenic. I do emphasize the word “borderline” (as in ALMOST, not as in the disorder!) ’cause she said I was not going to develop it. But don’t get me wrong… I am, apparently far, far from normal.

There’s something on my brain that makes me wonder. I wonder about tiny symptoms that could kill me in minutes like no one else does. It terrifies me. And then it’s gone.

My friends say it’s depression. But I don’t feel sad. I feel terrified. Like there’s a huge black bear running on my direction and a cliff in front of me. Which reads to very little chance of survival and high heart rate! Except, I’m sitting in the office. I forgot.

She suggested medication, but only if I wanted to. That is, only if my mind wonders to the point where I can’t concentrate on life or actually suffer from things I somatize into my body or things that aren’t actually happening.

Which I do.

But isn’t that what makes me, me?

Yes, the crisis suck. But what kind of boring person would I be if I worried about society or money instead of how infinite the infinite is?

Unfortunately, being crazy is not always fun and games. There are always those days when the tactile hallucinations take over and don’t allow you to enjoy a sunset or a board game with your kids ‘ cause you think those are your last minutes on this earth. So, yeah… I guess the medication would be the “responsible” thing to do even though I am torn.

I mean … a medication that controls your thoughts and your personality seems so… so… what? “Controlling” I’d say.

I’d very much like to believe that I CAN control my own brain. Well, at least my thoughts. But hell, no I can’t do that! I can’t even control my weight! And that’s like the mechanical act of putting chocolate into my mouth!

I also need to say I am curious about the medication and what it actually feels like. Will it make my annoyingly happy like a smurf? Or will it have absolutely no effect and I’ll keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking who the f&^% is that person lying next to me and what room is this?

The first week is supposed to be bad – like, people try to kill themselves (WTF?) but, eventually, the sertraline on your brain is controlled and you’re all good.


Yes, I doubt it.

For the record, I’d like to say that I considered the psychiatrist to be very superficial on her analysis BUT since the medication she suggested is also used for a bunch of stuff I absolutely agree that I have (like the hypochondria that I mentioned) , I’ll give it a try. Had she only picked up on the fact that schizophrenia runs on my family and decided that I had something related to that, I wouldn’t agree with the medication. Not ’cause I’m on denial, but just basically because I am pretty sure the radio is not talking to me. The closest I get to that kind of situation I believe is writing here as if someone was reading this and I find it quite offensive to the people who actually suffer from this terrible, terrible illness that is schizophrenia that the disease was even brought up.

Having said that…

Experiences with panic disorder and hypochondria medication, anyone?