is the name of the book I'm reading. In the book, Emma Forrest the author, vividly recounts her battle with mental illness, her attempts to harm herself even going so far as suicide, and the therapist who, with compassion, humour and empathy, helped her find a way out.
I dislike diagnoses of mental illness or disorders. In America, particularly, I find that almost everything is ascribed to an illness of some sort. I feel that this absolves people of accountability for their bad behaviour and their destructive tendencies. I can't help being a selfish asshole, I have Asperger's. I can't stop drinking, I am an alcoholic. I can't prevent myself from seeking attention by desperate acts, I'm bipolar. No doubt, this comes from being the daughter of someone who, quite likely, had a disease. I also don't think that discounts what I believe.
Having laid out that extensively verbose caveat, I must confess that I am completely absorbed in Ms. Forrest's story. I am helped by her brilliant, sharp prose. She writes without vanity or pretense. There is no attempt to artificially make her illness more noble or tragic. She does not try and couch her intentions in something seemingly redemptive like love of family. Emma does not need you to like her and by extension see her struggles as part of some narrative arc where the heroine emerges victorious. The book, while engaging and absorbing, is also very difficult to get through, and yet almost impossible to set down. You find yourself uncomfortable reading about the way she tried killing herself, as if you are peeping on her in a department store changing room. At the same time, you recognize that she wants to tell her story and you want to know more, more, more.
I like my books to challenge me, depress me, elate me and bury me in complex introspection. And 'Your Voice in My Head' has managed to do all that and more.
