It has been more than two year now since I got the idea to write about my depression and Prozac experience upon reading Prozac Nation. I mentioned this in this blogpost in 2016. I had not been sure at first if I did indeed want to write a memoir or attempt a fictional novel based on my story. At one point was going to give into the idea of a novel, and write this brief story that I considered using as the basis of a novel (This was originally posted on my blog in February 2016):
The young girl who looked like a princess sat in the psychiatrist's office, expressing why she was there.
"I've been treated like a servant," she said, looking very depressed. "After my real mother died, my father remarried, then he died, leaving me with that awful new wife of his and her two mean daughters." Tears fell from her eyes.
"They made me do all the work," she continued. "They wouldn't let me go to the ball. But then my fairy godmother appeared and granted my wish and when I got there, the prince was madly in love with me.
"But I had to leave before midnight before the spell wore off, and I lost my glass slipper." She paused.
"Did all this really happen?" the psychiatrist asked.
"No, it turned out to be an awful dream. When I awoke, I wanted to harm myself by cutting or making myself fall down."
"I can see you are very depressed," the doctor observed.
"Yes," she agreed. "What can I do?"
"Well, it seems you may need some medication. We'll start you off on 10 mg of Prozac." He entered her information into his computer.
Later that afternoon, she picked up her prescription, to be begun the following morning. She read over the papers she and her doctor had signed and the notes from the pharmacy. It was just the beginning of her Prozac journey.(It should be obvious what this a retelling of ;) There have been many such stories. I've read all but the last one in the image below):
In some ways, the truth can be exaggerated, even in a memoir.