Icarus

To search, to try, means you're not there. Today I worked hard. I do odd jobs - mostly landscaping - for my Dad, like some kind of groundskeeping negro half-wit. He pays me a few bucks here and there out of pocket, just enough for food and gas. A thoroughly humiliating situation, but work is work. I worked so hard I have blisters on both of my palms, like stigmata. How fitting. After Prozac I was forced to be a martyr.

My Dad called me an "Icarus". An "Icarus" is someone who refuses to take anti-depressants because they feel that their mental illness is part of their genius or individuality. Forget preserving your individuality! Preserve your life. Those drugs are DEADLY. Preserve your brain tissue itself!

I do not want to be mentally ill! I will be a genius whether I'm a non-functioning schizophrenic or Mr. Mental Hygiene. A genius is just what I am - it has nothing to do with mental health or mental illness. I do not want to be mentally ill. I just want to keep my brain. I want to retain my emotional life - not to mention my libido.

But look at the slick semantics. My training under General Zizek has helped me. Look at the absurdity of the semantics: Anyone who DOESN'T want to kill themselves is called an Icarus. That is one heck of an inversion. Sick, sick, sick. Just like our society in general. As absurd as our society.

The only thing that melted my wings was PROZAC.

It may be very funny to my father, but those drugs ruined my life.

One silver lining is this: I could have grown up to be a douchebag if I had continued on my happy path. Prozac took me back to a lonely, tormented state and prevented me from becoming just another mook.

The other silver lining is this: I learned that my true friends are true Christians, in the only good sense of the word. And many of the people I have met since then have been true Christians in the only good sense of the word.