Prozac is the angel that saved me.
I took every (and I mean every) antidepressant on the market over the last 22 years. (Yup, I took my first happy pill at 11 years old. I was upset about my mother's third or fourth marriage. I was uncontrollable.) I have taken MAO inhibitors, SSRIs, TCAs, antianxiety meds, atypical antipsychotics, anticonvulsants, etc.
I have tasted all of the crazy pills.
Nothing made me happy. The possibility of ECT therapy was discussed.
Then Dr. Smith made the bold move to put me on the most commonly prescribed antidepressant on the market. Fluoxetine was the last resort. It was also the only one that worked.
Yes, my brother killed my niece in a drunk driving accident. That sucks. I'm unhappy about that. My husband is leaving me with two learning impaired stepkids and my own daughter for a whole year to work in Korea. That sucks. I'm unhappy about that, too.
Prozac lets me pick out little morsels of happiness that happen during the day and actually enjoy them. I find relief in sleep, food tastes good, and I can feel the love I have for my family.
I'm firing on a few more cylinders. I'm functioning. I'm not ecstatic every minute, but I'm alive. I'm coping. The synaptic cleft is shrinking and the brain cells are communicating.
This piece of embroidery pays tribute to my dear Prozac. My axons and dendrites thank you. 100 billion cells are now shaking hands.