Many modern Americans are mistrustful of psychiatric drugs, such as Prozac. They're afraid that these medications will change their personal identity, and they think that their anger, angst, and sadness that is caused by a fucking medical disease is somehow 'natural'. That's shit. If you were born with AIDS and somebody offered you a cure, would you turn it down because it would change your nature? I hope not.
Anyway, since it's obvious that medical studies and statistical evidence don't mean anything to the people I'm talking about, I'll give you two anecdotal stories as evidence:
My uncle is manic depressive, and he has been since birth. He's a nice guy most of the time. When my brother and I were young, he was the only relative we looked forward to meeting at family gatherings. He had some psychiatric drugs to help with his bipolar disorder, and as long as he took them, he was fine. But, soon after he got married, in an adorable ceremony, he stopped. The drugs made him gain weight, and he wanted to be slim and sexy for his wife. Well, soon after stopping taking the meds, he went off the wall. He bought a gun, threatened his wife with it, and shot up a whole bunch of mailboxes in the neighborhood, claiming he was Jesus. The police soon arrested him, and his wife soon divorced him. He went into a lasting depression and had to go back and live with my grandparents (his parents) again. He went back on the meds, and was fine again. Recently, he went off of it again, and just up and wandered away from work during his lunch break. It was three days before anyone found him again. I love my Uncle, he's a great man, but his life was destroyed by a mental disease, that he could have kept under control.
My best friend suffered from a case of clinical depression for several years. Not typical angsty Goth, pity me, everything sucks bitchiness, but true depression. She cut her wrists on a regular basis, ran away from home several times, and tried to hang herself once. During the time I knew her, I had to talk her down from the edge several times. She saw psychologists and psyciatrists, and they helped her through her hard times, but they could do no more. Finally, one of the psychiatrists diagnosed her with clinical depression and started giving her some medication. Said medication took a while to start working, but once it did, the change was huge. She had always been, when not depressed, an incredibly sunny, bubbly, and fun person. This was always what I thought of as the real her-the depression was just some horrible disease layed over the top. With the pills helping her, she was like this all the time. She was a real person again, and she hasn't tried to commit suicide since. May the nonexistant gods bless psychiatrists!
Mental illnesses are illnesses, too, and if you deny yourself the tools to cure them, all you're doing is hurting yourself.