After unclogging the airways of the literary digestive tract of Lisa Marie, I feel able to put some more updates about my adventures with Prozac.
Currently, I feel that its hit or miss whether I can be in touch with my emotions in the way that I understand. Three weeks ago, shortly after I got clogged up by the heady Abecedarian poem idea, I had two arguments at work with two supervisors. There were ways that I could see myself as justified, but I wasn’t innocent because I was instead defensive. It’s true what they say, the best defense is no defense at all. If you fight back in the moment, that gives leverage to your perceived persecutor. This is why self-control soup is important. But it feels manipulative even if at its best its difficult to manage.
“Living in the moment” is such a fickle pilgrimage if one is honest. Everyone wants to believe that it means that you will always be free, happy, and dancing. But who dances on graves and broken dreams? Some moments of life bring out emotions that are unpleasant such as anger, sorrow, depression, fear, anxiety, and on and on.
So I’m also struggling with my consciousness and willingness to change along with the still and calm that Prozac leads me to engage. Apparently, this might be a reflection of being a vulnerable narcissist. I am sure there is more than a handful of people out there who will slap their knee and say “OH HELL YES” when they hear me say that. It’s not an indictment, though. I have my moments basically. Not sure where to go from there, but currently the meds are keeping the tiny demons in my hand from doing anything drastic.
This just in, Wayne Brady is hosting the LATE LATE show and this is the first time in a LOOONNNGG time that I have been awake long enough to discover it. So you see, I still have the attention span of a fish.
Til next time friends. More poetry coming very, very, soon.