I love this book more than I love Sour Patch Kids

In addition to my ongoing project of reading very self-help book known to man and working my way through an assortment of treatment manuals, I’ve been tracking down autobiographies and memoirs of people who have mental illnesses. Part of that is due to my own curiosity as to what mental disorders that I don’t have are like, and part of me suspects that they may prove more useful to my clients than yet another skills workbook that they will complete three exercises in and then abandon because skills workbooks tend to be largely irrelevant. It doesn’t help that I primarily work with teenagers, who, by and large, refuse to do homework on principle.

my-body-is-a-book-of-rulesMy Body is a Book of Rules is Elissa Washuta’s account of coming to terms with adulthood, her racial identity, her experiences as a woman, and, of course, her diagnosis of Bipolar II. Told in a series of disjointed vignettes, IM conversations, poems, scripts, chart notes, online dating profiles, and research papers, the memoir tracks Washuta’s journey through college and grad school, numerous med changes, and a series of unfortunate relationships. I enjoyed it immensely; Washuta is an incredibly gifted writer and everything she wrote was so relatable that reading it was like having a conversation with a friend.

I’m definitely hanging on to this one.

inspirational quote of “this is why you never ever ever cry during session.”

Also, my life is so stupid I just made my therapist cry when I was talking about stuff. I was talking about the old rape or something and she starts tearing up and then crying and I was like, “Why are you crying?” and she said, “Your life,” and I said, “Is it really that bad?” Because I thought this was just growing up. Maybe not. Maybe I’m special in the worst way.

-Elissa Washuta, My Body is a Book of Rules

Side note: something similar happened to me when I was in college, and it had the awesome effect of me thinking that I was broken beyond repair (I mean, if my story was so fucked up that it made a psychologist cry, it kinda follows…) and therapy would never help me.