Posted by sar on November 20, 2001, at 14:27:06
this is going to be kind of long.
prior to starting prozac, i felt every moment as if i'd been run over by a train, broken sad and desperate, all i could do was slump down with a beer. one of the things that hurt me most was that one of my best friends had stopped contacting me, and he somewhat knew what a rough time i was going through.
our friendship was unusual--for 8 years it was all writing, letters 5 to 40 pages long, we spoke on the phone occasionally but had never met in person. finally, after all these years we did and for many months we had a grand time together...and then i went crazy. that's my own word for it. i moved home and wrote to him that i'd returned to my parents' house to heal, and would he please protect our city and its people while i was away?
i wrote several letters and received no response...then the prozac kicked in and i had energy, i was angry, i reflected on our friendship and how he'd always called me "kiddo," how my psychoanalyst had repeatedly referred to him as a narcissist (and i agreed) *and*--what pissed me off the most is that over beers one night (when i was going crazy last year) he strongly hinted that my writing ability's not up to par--he and i had once had juvenile dreams of being writers, novelists, journalists--and i'd already decided that it wasn't something i'd pursue as a career...and at the same time, he was self-publishing these little books of poems and distributing them to his friends...
one night i took alot of adderall that i'd bought from a friend (i don't need adderall, but it's fun to take, draws me into a deep fascinating tunnel of pure concentration) and reflected on things...by morning time i was sobbing, convinced that our friendship was a sham, that my writing really *was* crap and that since i was going to kill myself anyway (not over this) i decided to destroy all of my journals. i ripped all 13 of them to shreds, poured the blue and white and beige into a hefty cinch-sak and tossed it into a dumpster.
the other night i was thinking about all of this, how much this "friend" had hurt me and helped to destroy my faith in my writing ability...i felt as if someone had lit a fire beneath me. i gathered all of his letters (dozens and dozens of thick envelopes) and gifts to me (books), put them in a trash can, and set the whole thing on fire as i drank wine and listened to the Rolling Stones.
i do not regret this. what i've been wondering is, does this qualify me as a crazy bitch? have all of these meds made me lose my humanity?
i don't know.
poster:sar
thread:14125
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20011117/msgs/14125.html