The Story of Channon Rose: Lessons between the Lines by Channon Rose

would become suicidal again. I finally agreed to take the medication after he said I should try it for a week and see how it went.
    Before leaving the doctor’s office, I took my first Prozac pill. The next morning I felt like I was gone. Physically and mentally I just wasn’t there, I wasn’t present in life. I couldn’t talk, I wouldn’t talk, and I didn’t even have thoughts running through my mind. I was almost convinced that I was a ghost and that I was successful with my suicide and this is what it felt like to be dead. The Prozac had stripped away my inner thoughts and feelings. My head felt like it was just floating around. The thoughts that once came naturally were now replaced by empty space. I existed with nothing: no thoughts, no needs, no desires, and no feelings of any kind. It wiped them all away. My mother would talk to me, and I would not hear her or even acknowledge that she was there.
    Because the medication took away all feelings, I could not get angry or happy. Instead, I was just sad. I was sad without any reason because the medication had taken all of those reasons away. It just made me okay with hopelessness. The medication had the opposite effect on me that it was designed to have. But as the doctor said, it took time to work properly.
    By the second day on my Prozac, things got really weird. Not only was I not talking, I was not eating, and I began to do very odd things. I would walk aimlessly around the house at a very slow pace and I would sit in the corner for hours staring at the wall. My mother even started to worry and took notice, but according to my excellent doctor, this was “normal” as it took three days for my body to adjust. The fact that my mom and sister were now scared of me, and that they stopped talking to me or being around me should have clued them into a serious problem with these meds. I was messed up though and don’t blame them for not wanting to be around me.
    On the third day, hopes were high that the medication would magically “level out” and suddenly solve all of my problems. The medication did not help me at all. It did the opposite and made me crazier as almost every kind of psychiatric medication does to people who are given the wrong kind of meds. I hadn’t spoken in three days now and I was like a zombie. By the third day I was walking around the house at an extremely slow pace and I started to do something very strange. I started taking all the family pictures off the walls. My mom and sister were so scared of me at this point that they just let me do it.
    By nighttime, I had locked myself in my room upstairs in my mom’s 3-bedroom townhouse. That night my mother was in the kitchen doing dishes when she started to hear loud noises coming from my bedroom and outside the house. She finally went outside to see where all the noise was coming from. When she looked outside, she found all of my bedroom furniture, clothes, and belongings scattered on the ground in front of the house. It was like the aftermath of a tornado my mom had said. I had thrown every single object that I owned in my room out of my window from the second floor for no apparent reason. I had gone insane.
    She ran upstairs to check on me and see what was going on. After banging on my door for awhile, I apparently calmly opened the door and looked straight past her. She yelled at me, but I didn’t hear anything she said. It was as if she wasn’t there. I slowly shut the door in her face. My mom quickly opened it back up before the door had shut all the way to continue yelling at me, but I continued to ignore her and looked right through her as though she was a ghost. Then I took a step towards her. She backed away, afraid. My sister heard the yelling and ran upstairs to see what was happening. I continued towards my mother, and when we reached the top of the stairs, I pushed her. She fell down two flights of stairs. She tumbled all the way down, her body twisting and limbs flying all which