Author Elizabeth Wurtzel left this world earlier this year.
I read her book, "Prozac Nation" within moments of it being published in 1994. I devoured it like delayed cheesecake from a celebrated kitchen. With cherry-flavored horizontal drizzle and sliced almonds.
I still can recite many memorized paragraphs and chapters. It's that important. "Prozac Nation" affected my life in an unexpected way. My long-held thoughts Xeroxed upon the pages. Her words made me exhale for the first time in years.
She was the airbag to the depressed teenager wishing to understand the world. Her words punctured skin like tattoos sting when you're sober.
I miss her. I miss her words. Knowing there will be no more stories, no more advice, no more deeply held thoughts she shared without abandon.