So I’m reading this book, “The Last Time I Was Me”. It was a Christmas gift from my mom, and chronicles the life of a woman who is plunging headfirst into a nervous breakdown. I mean, it’s nothing if not topical. So she has this public freakout, takes off in her car, and spends the next month or so staying at a bed & breakfast getting shithouse wasted every night until she finally wakes up and realizes there’s more to life than alcohol. She buys a house, buys herself nice shoes, falls in love with her boss, ya da da da. And, I mean, I’m liking reading this book because it’s pretty overtly chick-lit, but I don’t really appreciate the nervous breakdown aspect. I felt the same way about Eat, Pray, Love.
Like, this is all cool, everyone has hard times, everyone has nervous breakdowns, but like, what are the rest of us supposed to take from this story? Just after MY nervous breakdown, I found out the true state of our finances, and let me tell you, there were no pretty shoes in my future. No soul-searching trips to Italy, no sir. In fact, it could be argued that I didn’t even have the funds for community-class yoga at Baptiste. Nope, my breakdown landed with me dead broke, unemployed, conscripted to twice-weekly group therapy sessions and a shrink that couldn’t remember my husband’s name. Where was MY guru, huh, Elizabeth Gilbert?
I’m not saying I had it hard. I know there’s a lot out there that had it worse than me. But let’s hear about some of THOSE stories for a change! REAL stories! I want to read about someone NORMAL who’s struggling with a lifetime of pain and regret – someone who CAN’T run away to France and meet Jean-Pierre the lovelorn painter because she can BARELY MAKE THE MINIMUM PAYMENTS ON HER CREDIT CARD! Give me THOSE stories. Then maybe I’ll feel better.
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