Dear Prozac,
This is a hard letter to write – you’ve been good to me and I owe you a lot. I mean, I could do without the extra 20 pounds you brought with you, but I figured it would disappear when you left.
We need to talk.
I think I’m done with you. No, don’t get upset. You’ve known this was coming. We’ve talked about it before. But now it’s official. I’ve booked an appointment with my doctor to talk about leaving you.
But you can’t just let me go, can you? I think you took advantage of me. Weren’t totally honest with me.
You see, my therapist suggested I look into typical approaches to coming off Prozac and possible side effects. So I did – did a search, read some stuff, scanned some links.
And then this one jumped out at me.
“Stopped Prozac – how long before weight comes off/metabolism,” it said. Oh good! I thought.
But what did I find? Account after account after account of people who were on Prozac and came off, only to discover that the weight holds on.
I really didn’t need to read that, Prozac. There was nothing in our relationship agreement that hinted that this would be an issue. Hell, it didn’t even hint that gaining the weight would be an issue in the first place. But I certainly didn’t sign up for this for the long term.
You always knew this would be a temporary relationship. I was clear about that from the very beginning, and at this point I’m just sincerely hoping that I can fulfill my end of that bargain. I need to quit you.
I’m even more determined to leave you – all of you – behind now that I know you’re trying to screw me over when all I did was turn to you for help.
Goodbye, Prozac. I’ll always be grateful to you for getting me through the toughest time in my life, but we’re done. Please take your bags with you when you leave.
Robin
PS Is this superficial? Yes. I don’t care, Prozac. I’m still upset with you.
