Though the book is published in the Nirvana nineties, I can identify with Wurtzel’s thoughts polluted by depression, and I have only finished reading up to page 62. She grew up living a middle-class, generally comfortable life, minus an irresponsible father and her parents’ divorce (my parents are still married). She was enlisted in tennis lessons, went to summer camp where they held prayer by the flagpole every morning and was beautiful and healthy. But, gradually, around puberty, she just started feeling like a burden, like everything was pointless, that life was a painful facade. She also felt ugly and uncomfortable in her own casing: “I felt that I was wrong–my hair was wrong, my face was wrong…How could I walk around with such pasty white skin, such dark,doleful eyes, such straight, anemic hair, such round hips and such a small cinched waist?”. In middle school, I remember feeling big, hairy, pimply and gross, unlike all the skinny,tan girls around me with light blonde hair on their arms. Something was not graceful or beautiful about me, or so I thought. I dwelled on my imperfections, and therefore felt like a beast.
Unlike Elizabeth, I never overdosed on allergy medicine at summer camp, or cut my legs with a razor in the locker room during lunch. I had different ways of coping, some not very healthy and which I choose not to mention here. I am looking forward to reading the rest of this book, and will keep you updated on what I find moving and noteworthy about the book.
Ever read Prozac Nation? Thoughts?
LagoLahMichelle 