It was fucking stupid of me not to double check that I had some left, but I ran out of Prozac the other day. It's happened before that I missed a dose or two, but the combination of work stress, losing friends and a variety of other worries have really made this withdrawal hell. Is it withdrawal? Or is it just grief? I've begun to question everything, not trust anything that I feel, wondering if any of it is justified, if I am allowed to feel it, or if I'll just be accused again of emotional blackmail.

I've been so on edge these days it's scared me. I dunno what it is - is it just the lack of pills, is it that my resources are drained to the last drop, my capacities stretched to bursting point - either way I feel as if I am precariously balancing on some precipice overhanging an abyss of complete madness, full of those unnameable swirling colours from outer space that Lovecraft used to write about. I've had awful dreams, I have aggression fantasies so violent they freak me out every time someone pisses me off. This old miserable git that rammed his shopping trolley into Kate without a word of apology: I had a mental film tearing through me where I kicked and smashed the shit out of him for being such a cunt. I am mentally screaming at people who block my way, who seem to whinge at nothing, I want to tear my hair out and hysterically curse the idiocy around me, and at the same time I feel that I am as much part of it and contributing to it as everyone else, and it makes me hate myself.
Am I that much a product of my neurotransmitters (or lack thereof) or is it an inherent character flaw? I have no more patience, joy, interest, enthusiasm.
I have repeated suicide fantasies that invade me, and I dunno if they are an alien force or truly part of me, but they are coming more often now, more forceful, prompted by smaller and smaller things.

Lack of Prozac turns me into a bad person. I can't function on my own resources. I will always be this nutcase, and I will always scare people away, and I will always have this need to get emotionally attached just to keep me wanting to live, to fill me up with something good and approaching something like joy, even if it is entirely delusional. But it will always be unrequited, and it will always push those away I care most about, the more I love them, the more they will hate me. Indifference is what saves my relationships, and what empties me so much that I see no point in continuing.
I can't blame them. I don't want to be around myself either.

I want to scream, but I feel totally alone, isolated and suffocated.