Word is Weapon
Published by iz on Thursday, August 25, 2005 at 2:29 AM.
Reading Prozac Nation feels like my mind is being dissected like a hypnotised animal and black liquid is poured into it. Liquid that is in its purest form yet so crude. Liquid that covers every groove in my brain and encapsulate every atom of my sanity. My eyes yearn to cry with the unbearable truth of the book yet my mouth itches to laugh at its negativity. It nestles my flaws with its comforting mortar but pounds and crushes my conscience with an invisible pestle.
Everytime I shut the book, the crude liquid congeals and ooze through the cavities of my skull, and exit through my nostrils as phlegm. Sanity embraces me and my head feels lighter. I smile at the phrase Happiness is a choice.
Still, the book haunts me and convinces me to continue reading its contents. And the cycle is repeated. Over and over again.
It’s been 2 days without the pills. I think they really help me.
