Re-reading Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Prozac Nation, I am pulled back into a whirlpool of memories that threaten to suffocate me.  I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting of this nature, looking back at the scars, both literal and figurative.  I suppose it’s the ending of the decade and our transition into the 2010s; there’s an inclination to take stock, to assess and hope that lessons learned will promise a brighter tomorrow.

But there’s no knowing what lies around the next corner.  When Elizabeth Wurtzel wrote Prozac Nation, I’m certain she didn’t anticipate that she would end up an addict, end up writing another memoir.  I can say that I am doing better than I was in the year 2000, unequivocally, but that’s not to say I am not still plagued by negative thoughts and memories at time.  Every armour seems to have a chink when it comes to matters of human emotion.

And so I find myself staring at an old document in Word, unfinished, calling again.  But this time, I sense a new framework or feeling to it.  Is it time?

In light of the autobiographical musings of the day, a song that describes my 2001 with painful accuracy.

Day 118:  Leave The Light On – Beth Hart