February 5th, Year 20

I consider artificial happiness once more. Manufactured joy. I have decided that perhaps it would be best to start taking antidepressants again. It is all I can do to avoid a nervous breakdown. Not long ago, I rejected the idea of being a slave to medication. They never did much good, even after years of struggling to find the right dosage and combination.

All of my efforts ended in failure. Xanax helped, but is habit forming. Prozac came with a worsening of my anxiety, and an exotic kind of fear, coupled with suicidal ideations. BuSpar did nothing, but make my heart feel odd, as if it was a thing that shouldn’t be there at all. Celexa was utterly useless. Luvox was too weak. Paxil worked immediately, only to stop working just as suddenly. With evidence and experience strongly suggesting my brain rejects antidepressants, there is no other path for me to take, at the moment. I am out of strength to research any other options, and something is telling me I need to be saved. I am in far more trouble than I think I am.

February 5th, Year 20

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