I made a promise to myself in the beginning of the year to read more. This is typically called a resolution, but let’s hold off on the titles for a bit, okay. I was all set until a few bumps in the road of my third year at university got me feeling wobbly and all out of sorts: having my registration mixed up, the new timetable, moving back to res…which is why Elizabeth Wurtzel’s memoir is such a God-send.
The book is a no-holds-barred personal account of depression and anxiety, compounded by the use of drugs that stirred me to the bone. With an honest quote like “In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression” it’s like the pictures in my head finally give themselves names and titles and I had to read that over and over because it finally gave meaning to something that I had been trying to put my finger on for a very long time.
Wurtzel is smart and witty, unapologetic and writes with the sort of bravery that is enviable to a confused 20-something who is convinced she’s going through a quarter-life crisis like me
metahumanlife 