PROZAC NATION

Well, let’s see. After you decide that I’m depressed or whatever, you’ll put me on meds, right? And… I know hundreds of people on them, and they are all doing just fine. Really. I’ll go back to my old life on my new antidepressants, have dinner with my parents, persuade them that I am back to being the normal one that never gives them any trouble. And one day, some guy will ask me to marry him. He’ll be nice enough, it will make my parents very happy. The first year we’ll make love all the time, and then in the second and the third, less and less. But just as we are getting sick of each other, I’ll get pregnant. Taking care of kids, holding on to jobs, paying mortgages, it will keep us on an even keel for a while. And about ten years into it, he’ll have an affair because I’m too busy and I’m too tired. And I’ll find out. I’ll threaten to kill him. His mistress. Myself. We’ll get past it. And a few years later, he’ll have another one. And this time I’m just going to pretend I don’t know because somehow kicking up a fuss doesn’t seem worth the trouble this time. And I’ll live out the rest of my days, sometimes wishing my kids could have the life I never had. Other times, secretly pleased they are turning into repeats of me. I’m fine. Really.