When I ran out of the final bottle of Zoloft, I didn't take any more. I didn't call Dr. Barney either. I just threw the bottle away and said, "Okay, if i ever feel bad again, I'll remember how good it felt that night on the Brooklyn Bridge. Pills were for wimps, and this was over; I was done; I was back to me.
But Things come full circle, baby, and two months later I was back in my bathroom, bowing to the toilet in the dark.
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