Prozac Nation Page #3

Lizzie, I'm gonna f***ing kill you.

I'm gonna f***ing kill you, you b*tch.

Sam told me. He told me everything.

You losing your virginity,

was that another f***ing lie?

You don't understand. Okay?

You don't understand.

It was an accident.

An accident?

You call that a f***ing accident?

It was...

It was sort of, you know...

- Come on, what?

- An accidental blowj*b.

Oh, f*** you.

I could f***ing kill you, Lizzie.

I swear to God, I could f***ing kill you.

How could you do that?

Hemingway has this classic moment

in The Sun Also Rises.

When someone asks Mike Campbell

how he went bankrupt...

...all he can say is,

"Gradually, then suddenly. "

That' how depression hits.

You wake up one morning

afraid that you're going to live.

I can't believe we're back to this.

You think I wanna be like this?

I don't know. I don't know, Lizzie.

I thought everything

was gonna be okay.

I was so proud of you at Harvard.

- Is it because I haven't visited you?

- No, Mom.

I thought this was behind us.

Then I get a phone call...

Mom, this has nothing to do with you.

I mean, it's nothing you've done.

Why did they move you here?

I asked for a single room.

Why?

Reasons of mental instability.

I told them I just...

I can't live with other people.

You told...

You said that?

Oh, Lizzie. Your education.

This opportunity.

I'm sorry, Mom.

You know, I just can't cope with this.

It's just all too much.

It's all so crazy.

I am not going to do this anymore!

No, you listen to me.

I raise her! I raise her all by myself

with no help from you!

No help from me? I'm the one that

does everything, I never get credit!

You make all the decisions,

and they blow up in your face!

- Do they not?

- What are you talking about?

You do nothing for her!

You do nothing for her!

You never even see her!

You don't take her on vacations.

You don't take her on the weekends.

What the hell do you ever

do for her, Donald?

I am her father. I put her in the clinic,

and you're looking in Manhattan.

You son of a b*tch!

Goddamn, I hate you! I hate you!

I hate you, you son of a b*tch!

What is wrong with you?

Nothing.

Oh, God. You're not...?

Pregnant? No, Mom, I'm not pregnant.

Anyway, it's the '80s.

That wouldn't be a problem.

Please, Lizzie, don't speak like that.

What, then?

I don't understand you, Lizzie.

This place is filthy.

I'll help you clean it up.

Mom, no.

I don't have a simple solution, okay?

I don't know what to do, Lizzie.

- I've taken a couple days off work.

- No, you can't.

I wanna help.

- God knows I can't afford it, but...

- I'm much better by myself. Okay?

If I'd known you'd react like this...

Look, I have to study.

You know, I've been working

really hard...

...and I've been having a difficult time.

I just needed a few days.

I'm so worried about you, Lizzie.

I promise I'll take care of myself.

Okay?

And I'll come and see you.

I've seen enough already.

We'll spend time together

in New York.

Please? I promise.

I just have all this work

I have to finish here.

Maybe for your birthday.

Yeah. Yeah.

I promise I will be home

for my birthday.

We can celebrate.

- We'll have a party.

- Okay.

I'll make those pear tarts that you like.

That would be great.

Hey.

Lizzie, I love you dearly.

Really, I do.

But you can only hang out in my room

if you don't drink or do drugs.

Come on, you can't be serious.

Totally.

Just say no.

But, Noah, there's no reason

to be in your room sober.

I wanna explain to Noah

how exhausted I am.

Even in my dreams.

How I wake up tired.

How I'm being drowned

by some kind of black wave.

But I can't write.

And he really doesn't wanna

know about it anyway.

- Here you go.

- Thank you.

Hi.

Hi.

Ruby, this is crazy.

We have to talk.

You know, I'd really rather not.

I'm sorry. You know that.

And I have no excuse.

So then, why? Why did you do it?

I'm just really f***ed up.

I'm like a defective model...

...and you don't know that until

you've been around me a while.

You know, some days I wake up,

and I just feel so flat-out, just f***ed...

...that I'll do anything to feel different.

Lizzie, when we're together,

you're fine.

- You're fun. You're...

- I'm faking it.

- Well, everybody does that.

- Not like me.

Look, we all have bad days.

This is what people say in situations

when they don't know what to say.

F***.

I don't know what to suggest either.

People care about you, Lizzie.

What I want is for someone

to understand...

...but they don't, really.

That makes the platitudes

harder to bear.

They do, people wanna help.

All right? I wanna help you,

but I don't know what to do.

I don't need the company line

right now, okay?

Okay.

Jesus. Listen to me.

All I see is the dark side of everything.

Poor Ruby.

I kill her joy.

Look at her sad, discouraged face.

I don't know what to say.

How about,

"Sh*t, call in the professionals"?

So I guess this is the Freud part,

where I don't say anything...

...and you don't say anything.

All of a sudden, it's:

"Obviously, you wish to sleep

with your father. "

So I'm to take it you don't wish to

sleep with your father?

No.

And I don't wanna talk

about my childhood either.

I don't know why I'm here.

Why might you be here?

I can't write.

And what do you write about?

I write stories, poems, articles.

I'm here on a journalism scholarship.

I've been writing forever. I have to.

How long has it been

since you stopped writing?

About a month.

Do you remember

the first thing you wrote?

A poem.

A poem. About what?

My dad.

Can you remember anything it said?

I told you, I don't wanna

talk about my childhood.

I just... I feel so stupid,

sitting in therapy.

People have much harder

childhoods than mine.

We're not talking about others.

We're talking about you.

I'll give her that much.

I'm the problem.

I worry about being in therapy.

I worry about not being in therapy.

I even worry I'm not entertaining

enough for Dr. Sterling.

I just keep thinking that

if I could just be normal...

...if I could just get out of bed in the

morning, everything would be okay.

Well, what do you think normal is?

Most people, they cut themselves,

they put a Band-Aid on, keep going.

And what do you do?

I just keep bleeding.

So you think being normal is having

a wound, putting a patch on it...

...then go on with your life?

Isn't that what functioning is?

Isn't that what living is?

You know, you keep going,

no matter what happens to you.

Is that the way you wanna live?

Mom.

Oh, come on, now, honey.

Why don't you tie up your hair

anymore? Your face is so pretty.

Here they are.

Come on, now, Lizzie.

Hi, honey!

Is she home yet?

I need someone to shut off my brain

and turn on my heart.

Well, I have long brown hair,

dark eyes.

You probably meet tons of

girls in the men's bathroom.

Oh, yeah, the Ecstasy goddess.

Yes, I can't believe

you remember that.

Lizzie.

Can you hang on a sec?

Grandma and Grandpa are here.

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