Fried

One day when I was sixteen, I was prescribed Prozac. This was my first psychiatric medication. And I made a decision.

I made the decision to embrace the side effects.

Over the years, I have taken more and more of these drugs. Probably more than a dozen total. And with each new prescription, with each swallow, I embraced the fact that my memory might start to elude me.

I made the choice to spend my life happy, if forgetful. That was the trade. My memories as collateral.

I am convinced my prescription drug use has absorbed my memories. My brain is completely fried, unable to contain them.

My memories are somewhere up in the universe.

Untouchable.

Swallowed.