The moment I stepped into a group home when I was 12, I felt like it was a mistake. There I was, with about a dozen other teen boys. On my very first day, I got into a fight during a basketball game.
I thought it would be a shortcut to happiness — until I experienced the side effects.
My first week on Zoloft was something totally different. It all started off when I first took my 100mg dosage, I was slowly expecting fatigue to kick in, which would help me fall asleep, but what I got was absolutely unexpected.
I live in Oakland — in the middle of an invisible epidemic. I want to spread a message of hope, but it’s not easy.
While my friends are trying to decide between movies and a house party on Friday night, I’m weighing a completely different option in my head. Should I even risk going out?