Girl, Interrupted
According to the DSM-V, someone with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) exhibits “a pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, and marked impulsivity, beginning in early adulthood” (American Psychiatric Association, 2013*). Instability could manifest itself in recurrent suicidal behavior, chronic feelings of emptiness, inappropriate and uncontrollable anger, etc.
When 18-year-old Susanna Kaysen had her stomach pumped following a suicide attempt, she was promptly sent to a psychiatrist who labeled her with BPD. The visit was disturbingly short before the doctor directed her to McLean Hospital for treatment. She voluntarily admitted herself to the famous institution (known for treating my girl Sylvia Plath as well as other celebs like James Taylor and Ray Charles) with the incorrect assumption that she would be court-ordered otherwise. The psychiatrist had originally insinuated that McLean would simply serve as a two-week repose from the stresses of everyday life. Kaysen’s stay ended up lasting 18 months and in her memoir, Girl, Interrupted, Kaysen grapples with whether or not she belonged there for that long, if at all.
The memoir discusses the gray areas of her diagnosis, emphasizing its vagueness when compared to something more straightforward and rooted in years of research, like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. Her insights question how we conventionally perceive mental illness and how we delineate sane vs. insane. She had depressive thoughts that clouded her world and damaged her relationships. She experienced visual disorientation that made everyday activities difficult to navigate. She indulged in the freedoms of imprisonment, often viewing the hospital as a refuge because it allowed her to avoid the demands and expectations of society. Yet, she didn't display the sociopathic tendencies of fellow patient Lisa Rowe, an ex-junkie who relished her diagnosis and treated others with a coldhearted lack of concern. She didn't have an addiction to laxatives and an obsessive-compulsive relationship with chicken, like fellow patient Daisy Randone. She didn't invent fantastical stories about her father being a CIA agent or exhibit violence, like fellow patient Wade. Is Susanna like the rest of these crazies just because she’s in the loony bin too?
Kaysen challenges us by questioning what normalcy is. She posits that the patients of McLean Hospital are sacrifices for the “healthy population”, giving them a nice contrast so that they can live comfortably in the knowledge of their own sanity. Alongside her social commentary, Kaysen complains about the rift between psychoanalysis and neuroscience. When she was hospitalized in the late 1960s, there was not much communication between the two fields; psychoanalysts focused on the “soul” and neuroscientists focused on the chemical workings of the brain. Because little was (and is) known about the neuronal activity influencing personality disorders, this separation was particularly problematic for Susanna. How was she supposed to get better? Would there ever be a “cure”? What did recovery look like?
When I read The Bell Jar, I adored Plath’s prose but I had mixed feelings about the ending. I knew that she had killed herself in real life, so the fact that I didn’t buy into her alleged recovery isn’t surprising. I didn’t buy it because she didn’t actually recover. I took issue with this from a literary perspective; I thought that Plath intended to convince readers that she had gotten better and she failed at doing that, for me. Kaysen’s memoir didn’t have this problem because she questions the validity of recovery herself. Her writing style is admittedly less impressive than Plath’s, but I never doubted the sincerity of her experiences.
As many readers know, Girl, Interrupted made it to the big screen in 1999 with an all-star cast including Winona Ryder, Angelina Jolie, Brittany Murphy (RIP), Elizabeth Moss, Jared Leto, and Whoopi Goldberg. The acting in this film… Oh. My. God. Ryder had me simultaneously cheering for her to be freed and deeply concerned that her afflictions were irrecoverable, perfectly encapsulating the tug-of-war mood of Kaysen’s memoir. Kaysen is stuck in a helpless situation where she doesn’t fit in anywhere. She doesn’t belong “outside” because she has these distressing issues and she doesn’t belong “inside” because she isn’t as mad as the others.
I give the book 5 out of 5 flames. I think that Kaysen is honest and careful in documenting her plight and she is able to express her feelings about her experiences in a compelling, heartfelt way.
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