More of old journals

May 19th, 1995, I was 27

I am on Prozac, still, and I am not doing too good at all lately.  The only thing that cheers me up is eating or buying something, but that only lasts for a couple of hours.  My husband, and my two daughters are the only ones that make life worth even trying to bare it.  I feel worthless, tired and bored and I hate life.  There must not be any hope for me, if prozac doesn’t work.  When is life going to get better?  One day I am going to tell this rotten world goodbye for good. (It may be sooner than everyone thinks).    ~~~~~I was so miserable, and didn’t even know the real reason why.  That’s the reason for the book I wrote, I don’t want anyone to think they’re crazy, if you’ve been through sexual abuse, you won’t be happy until you face it head on.

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