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underestimated Nov 2018
All these sleepless nights
are making me lose my mind.
They told me to take these pills and I'll be fine.
I take them every night,
yet I still toss and turn in my bed,
as all the memories are pounding in my head.
All the what ifs,
all the whys,
all the why nots.
I still have to fake my smiles.
I have to act like I'm okay.
I wonder if I'll ever be truly happy.
It's been two months and the Prozac still hasn't worked...
Ashley Somebody Oct 2018
Won't you keep me dizzy so that I stop spinning
Out of all control when I'm alone

And won't you keep me busy so that I stop snoozing
All the day away when I'm at home

Sing to me, Sera
We're calling you back home
Prozie, Addie, all of our old friends.
Sing to me, Sera
Please don't leave me alone
I want to look at my life through your lens.
Laura Aug 2018
Prozac has the worst aftertaste
Especially when you take it
On an empty stomach
Which you're not supposed to do
But I do anyway
Because Prozac can make you fat
Depression can make you fat
Usually sick people get thin
But I'm the opposite
I get fat
Because I ******* eat my feelings
I don't know how to cope
So I take prozac
To help me out
To help me not sleep all **** day
To help me get up in the mornings
To help me do ****
But it has an awful aftertaste
Unlike anything else
And it stays at the top of your throat
This gross pill capsule taste
That I really ****** hate
But I have to take these pills anyway
Every ******* day
Despite the aftertaste
Because I want to live
Abbie Argo Sep 2017
The medication isn’t working.  I’ve tried to explain to the concerned faces, but the weight has worn me to silence.  I tried my best to give the Prozac a shot, but it was like tying a helium balloon to the top of a boulder; the effort makes for a pretty sentiment, but the burden remains unmoved.
The heaviness makes my brain move slowly, my smiles infrequent, turns my words into mumbles.  I try to think about when this all started, to reach through the fuzz of time past and memories lost.  The concerned faces encourage me to look back and find the ‘why’, to find the big bang of the world that I carry upon my shoulders.  
I remember flashes and feelings, times where things felt normal, where the apples were shiny and red, crunching between my teeth.  There was a time when I trusted the less-concerned-at-the-time faces to help me carry the weight, which used to be far less heavy, the balloon rather than the boulder.  However, no matter how hard I try, I cannot pinpoint the precise time when the heaviness became solely my own.
The medication isn’t working, but there is some part of me that keeps searching for that Heracles drug that’s going to build my pillars again, that’s finally going to help me stand up straight.  Maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s actually the Prozac, afterall - hell, maybe it’s just naivety - but I’m going to keep trying, and for now, that has to be enough.
Marion Jul 2017
fourth day without prozac and i can feel the ancient thoughts of 'pre-medication' time settling themselves back into the holes they chewed out of my brain.
writing this about myself makes me feel selfish. a part of me is telling myself that i am me and all i am is Me meaning my thoughts consist mostly of me but the part of me that had moved back in after being evicted is shouting
'selfish, self absorbed'
and I am confused
because if i am being Me- and me being my thoughts- is selfish
does that mean that I am selfish? Therefore, I am unworthy? Of what, the dusty thoughts are shaking themselves and reminding me exactly what it is i am not worth and i begin to feel ill because it has been so long and now all these first person pronouns are making me (again) feel conflicted i have to use them in order to write my thoughts but my thoughts are telling me not to and i am confused i do not want to be ME i feel as if i'm going mad and i want to dissociate completely but i hate it but i also dont and these stupid pronouns are something so simple yet they are making me lose control and i hate myself why cant I control Myself
I Me Myself My
Selfish.
something i wrote in my notebook at midnight, ,the closest i have ever come to embodying my thoughts
Riot Jul 2017
when the moonlight touches my cheek,
late in night
early in the morning
i can't sleep, i over eat,
and I end up crying in the bathroom,
on the floor,
numb from medication & the thought of failure.
yeah, sorry for this
Penelope Winter May 2017
It took sixteen years to become acquainted with my old self.

The self that:

Could not write on crumpled papers,
Or sleep in untucked sheets,
Played her scales robotically,
Left no word incomplete.
Labelled all the cupboards,
Books were organized by name,
This was the life I led.
I never knew that it would change.

it took 4 weeks to fall in love with my new self

the
self
tha
t

writes on ollld receipts,
   kicks the covers        off the bed
     ~lets my fingers play freely~
         not every sentence has an en-
            stores shoes with coffee mugs!!
               writes in mArGiNs to save time
                  not all rules need to be   f o l l o w e d
                    not all poems need to

                        sound the same

who knew that little pill
would teach me how to live
not erase the 'me' that showed
but bring out the 'me' that hid
16 years of worry
of obsessive, anxious thoughts
who knew that little pill
would change me
I,
for one,
did not
.

- p. winter
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
I met you around the time Zac and I were to be engaged.
It was an arranged marriage,
But he promised me a lifetime of happiness.
They told me some loving would benefit my health.
That he could make me smile again.
So I stuck with him.
Every night.
You and I would meet behind his back.
He wasn't the only one who made me happy.
There was something about you
That made me forget about him.
Almost as if
I didn't need him anymore.
But they said I was commited to this relationship.

They told me Zac would work his magic 3-4 weeks after our first date.
And he did.
I smiled.
I forgot.
I relaxed.
I let go.
It was nice to be happy again.
Everyone around me saw it.
But then it was time to take it up a notch.
I was told to love him in the mornings and evenings,
Twice a day.
Then three times.
Then four.
Until I forgot what it was like to be single.
They didn't know I snuck out to be with you.

Eventually I was a whole new person.
I didn't worry about matched socks.
I didn't cry over spilled secrets.
I didn't retreat when the going got tough.
I learned to laugh at myself
Listen to myself
Love myself
Be myself.
The quiet world of whites and greys began to
EXPLODE
Into fireworks of vibrant colours.
I picked flowers!
I made music!
I flew kites!
The old me
Faded
From memory.

I was happy.
I am happy.

They said my life would never be the same.
That Zac had seeped into my brain
And taught me to see the beauty in life.
To find the rainbows in the rain.
They congratulated us on our marriage.
The couple of the century.
But, you see, I met you around the time Zac and I were to be engaged.
Maybe it was a coincidence.
Maybe it was the timing.
Maybe it was fate.
But I had broken up with Zac a month after he proposed.
I never met him twice a day.
Or three times.
Or four.
All this time
He wasn't the one
Who had taught me
To be happy.

- p. winter
Grace Sjolander Oct 2016
Prozac
It’s my own drug
Like a personalized brand of *******
Bringing me high as a kite
Not on the effects of a narcotic
But on fake happiness

Prozac
Almost as addictive as ****
Leaving me with an ache behind my eyes
When it fades away it leaves me with nothing
No protection, no refuge from the insanity
Only me
Only me
Only me
Only me
Only me.

Prozac
Oh how I breathe for you
I desire to be carried away from this hollow place
This empty room
This cold-hearted house
Fly me away
Allow me to perch upon your pure white wings
And get taken to a place that doesn’t exist
I'm really proud of this one, it took me a while to write it. credit me if posted :) thanks!
B Young May 2016
Pocket full of clacking around benzodiazepines
Xanax, Klonopin, and ******.
Am I late for class? Am I late for work?
Am I late for my own life? (truth)  
Is this really any normal kind of respite or relaxation?
Chemistry really has come a long way to introduce
us to induced relaxation(?) pills.
My Mr. Dr. says it should help with my anxiety,
but it only seems to cloud me in my depravity:
I steal, I lie, and I wake up naked in unknown
bedrooms in unknown cities with unknown
women. Who…did they steal my wallet?
And where the **** are my car keys?
Better yet, where in Allah’s name is my car?
OH! Lord Jesus Christ OH! God of the Jews I cry out,
Forgive me (lie) for I hath sinned.

I suddenly want to do every drug (truth)
ever made, you name it, I’ll try it,
just this once, of course. I don’t have an
addictive personality (lie)
The Dr. says it is OK if I take 4mg of Xanax a day (truth),
hence it must be safe (lie), right?  A Dr. can’t lie, can he?
Wait! Where am I again? And, what are we doing here?

Oh…that’s right, we are kids going nowhere (truth), how
silly of me to forget. If this is Prozac Nation,
then I am the ****** State. My governor is the late
William Burroughs (lie) and my deputy is the late Kurt Cobain (lie).
We are not in this for the fame (lie), a state run by the deceased.
So, how dare you point a finger at me in blame.
This is Drug Nation, America-home of the sedated and land of the overdose.
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