There was actually about a year and half where I didn't have any surgeries. But Spirit was still workin', just trying a different approach. I had a nervous break down instead. Blew a fuse and hit an employee. He wouldn't stop what he was doing to listen to me and I punched him in the arm. I'm a sissy ol' girl but that is never ever acceptable behavior, in any environment. The person in my body was not me. I had lost me. Within six months, I was suicidal. But to be honest, I would have had to feel better to kill myself. I wanted to die but I just couldn't seem to find the energy. Less than a week after firing our entire staff and hiring an entire replacement staff (stressful? why would you think that?!), I went into melt down. I spent four hours at work on the phone with the suicide hotline. All I remember was I talked to a lady. I remember nothing else except that she reassured me I could be helped by such-and-such's office, that one of the doctors there would "fix" my broken brain. I couldn't stop crying, I went through an entire box of Puffs tissues.

Prozac. That was the "answer." It's suppose to take 30 days to get into your system. Well, I hardly ever do anything "normal." For me, two days and I felt the effect, two weeks and I was totally possessed. Now I really honestly know what it feels like to be locked inside your own body. The medication is suppose to help me, make me feel better, calmer, more relaxed and I am a prisoner in my own body! Jesus, God, Somebody, let me outta here! And I also know what it feels like to be "the observer." I sat inside of me, watching at first in amazement, and then horror, as my body did things and my mouth said things that absolutely were not me! Hubby asked me for my opinion, and I quote, "Whatever you think, dear, will be fine." Where the f- did that come from? I'll own up to passive-aggressive, absolutely! But this? Rollover and play dead has never been me. So after a month on this drug, I'm talking with the man I love about my concerns. It's taken a lot of courage but I am so concerned for my own safety that I feel backed into a corner and have to talk about it. I tell him about feeling like a prisoner and that I know what I'm doing and saying isn't like me. He agrees with that part and then comes back with, "But I like you like this. You're so much easier to get along with." HELLLLLOOO! Now here's the really wild part. I stayed with him...another eleven years! That's the F-in' amazing part. Sometimes I can be a bit slow.

to be continued...