Prozac Nation, by Elizabeth Wurtzel – excerpt #3


I’m figuring, if I can just become poor white trash, if I can just get in touch with the blue collar blues, then there’ll be a reason why I feel this way. I will be a fucked-up Marxian worker person, alienated from the fruits of my labor. My misery will begin to make sense. That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful. The idea that a girl in private school in Manhattan could have problems worth this kind of trouble seemed impossible to me. The concept of white, middle-class, educated despair just never occurred to me, and listening to rock and roll all day was probably no way to discover it. I didn’t know about Joni Mitchell or Djuna Barnes or Virginia Woolf or Frida Kahlo yet. I didn’t know there was a proud legacy of women who’d turned overwhelming depression into prodigious art. For me there was just Bruce – and the Clash, the Who, the Jam, the Sex Pistols, all of those punk bands talking about toppling the system in the U.K., which had nothing to do with being so lonesome you could die in the U.S.A.

I think it’s important to note here that guilt can be a component of anxiety and depression. I feel it’s something that should be acknowledged and moved past – spending energy feeling guilty isn’t going to help the situation. So I would say don’t deny it, but don’t dwell on it either.

Also, note the familiar names mentioned in this excerpt. I find it reassuring to know famous people have dealt with these sorts of issues too – not because they are famous, but because they are PRODUCTIVE and that’s why we know them. Maybe I can be productive too.

I plan on posting more about both of these topics in the future…


Prozac Nation, by Elizabeth Wurtzel – excerpt #2


It was like sawdust, the unhappiness: it infiltrated everything, everything was a problem, everything made her cry – school, homework, boyfriends, the future, the lack of future, the uncertainty of future, fear of future, fear in general – but it was so hard to say exactly what the problem was in the first place. -Melanie Thernstrom, The Dead Girl

This quote resonated with me. After years of trying several SSRIs, therapy, journaling, supplements and lifestyle changes while the anxiety only seemed to increase, I found myself thinking about water – and how it can flow into every nook and cranny, no matter what preventative measures you take to stop it – it flows in and does its damage.


Prozac Nation, by Elizabeth Wurtzel – excerpt #1


You see, until I really cracked up, at ten or eleven or twelve or whenever it was, you most certainly would have described me as, well, as full of promise. That term is loaded with irony to me now because I know how false that appearance of promise is. I know how much latent discontent and sorrow that visible determination can mask, but still I am sure that at one time there was a ruddiness in my cheeks, a beaming excitedness in my eyes that suggested so much posibility. I was an astronaut who was going to fly so high, so far beyond the moon, so far beyond the whole wide world. But then I never had to worry about a crash landing because I never even took off.