**This is an excerpt from the book Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel. More to come**
I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong. Like all the drugs put together- the Lithium, the Prozac, the Desyrel that i take to sleep at night- can no longer combat whatever it was that was wrong with me in the first place. I feel like a defective model, like i came off the assembly line flat-out fucked and my parents should have taken me back for repairs before the warranty ran out. But that was so long ago.
I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and i wonder if it isn't one i'll have to fight for as long as i live. I wonder if it's worth it.
I start to feel like i cant maintain the facade any longer, that i may just start to show through. and i wish i knew what was wrong.
Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don't know.