Susanna Kaysen

Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy. Maybe it was the 60s. Or maybe I was just a girl… interrupted.

Because you're dead already, Lisa! No one cares if you die, Lisa, because you're dead already. Your heart is cold. That's why you keep coming back here. You're not free. You need this place, you need it to feel alive. It's pathetic.

I've wasted a year of my life. Maybe everybody out there is a liar. And maybe the whole world is "stupid" and "ignorant". But I'd rather be in it. I'd rather be fucking in it, then down here with you.

I don't know. That I was sorry. That I will never know what it was like to be her. But I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in but you can't. You hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside.

How the hell am I supposed to recover when I don't even understand my disease?

When you don't want to feel, death can seem like a dream. But seeing death, really seeing it, makes dreaming about it fucking ridiculous. Maybe, there's a moment growing up when something peels back... Maybe, maybe, we look for secrets because we can't believe our minds...

All I know is that I began to feel things again. Whatever I was, I knew there was only one way back to the world and that was to use the place to talk. So I saw the great and wonderful Dr. Wick three times a week and I let her hear every thought in my head.

Then what's wrong with me, huh? What the fuck is going on inside my head? Tell me, Dr. Val, what's your diag-nonsense?

Is that your... *professional* opinion, huh? Is that what you've learned in your advanced studies at night school for Negro welfare mothers? I mean, Melvin doesn't have a clue, Wick is a *psycho* and you... you *pretend* to be a doctor. You sign the charts and dole out meds. But "you ain't no doctor, Miss Valerie. You ain't nothing but a black nursemaid".

Declared healthy and sent back into the world. My final diagnosis: a recovered borderline. What that means, I still don't know. Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is.

Crazy isn't being broken, or swallowing a dark secret. It's you, or me, amplified. If you ever told a lie, and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child, forever. They were not perfect, but they were my friends. And by the 70s, most of them were out, living lives. Some I've seen. Some never again. But there isn't a day my heart doesn't find them.