Vicktorina

I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong. Like all the drugs put together—the lithium, the desipramine, and Desyrel that I take to sleep at night—can no longer combat whatever it is that is wrong with me in the first place. I feel like a defective model, like I came off the assembly line flat-out fucked and my parents should have taken me back for repairs before the warranty ran out. But that was so long ago.

I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn’t one I’ll have to fight for as long as I love. I wonder if it’s worth it.

—Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel  (via itsallsofragile)

(Source: thechocolatebrigade, via itsallsofragile)