Narrative of life and death -- in the margins
I'm reading a riveting memoir of mental illness and recovery called GET ME OUT OF HERE by Rachel Reiland. I came upon it when browsing in a bookstore, and the first few pages swept me away. Money being tight, I then checked it out of the library. I started reading in earnest today, and the book's gripping story hasn't let me go yet. Here's what's really fascinating, though. Another story is developing in margin scrawls left -- in ink -- by some previous library patron.
Mostly, it's underlining. Sometimes, the Previous Reader adds exclamation points to what the author has written. I'm noticing that the notes get more personal as I go on. The most marked-up passage comes when the author researches her diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and lists some of the symptoms that have appeared in her own life. "Prescrip. drugs" appears scribbled in the margin. "Overwhelming inclination toward self-destruction" is underlined. Where the author has suffered anorexia, the Reader corrects it to "bulimia." The author refers to her explosive temper with her husband and her son Jeffrey, and the Reader writes there, "Mom." She circles and adds an exclamation point to "Chronic feelings of emptiness and boredom."
When the author's therapist tells her that managing to survive without addressing her disorder would be "enduring life instead of enjoying it" the Reader adds, "tired of this!"
At first I assumed the Reader was enduring a borderline personality in her circle of family, based on the underlining of all the negative effects on the author's loved ones. But with these latest scribblings, I'm starting to believe the Reader is suffering from the disorder herself, and one might assume, wracked with as much anguished guilt as the author.
At times the underlining is distracting -- though, during the highest moments of tension, she's apparently just sucked into the story and forgets to underline -- but I find myself drawn into this drama revealing itself in jotted ballpoint notes.
I haven't finished Reiland's memoir yet, but it's clear from the introduction that she's a survivor of this disorder. I hope the Reader found inspiration, and help of the sort that Reiland received. Because it's clear from this compelling book that people suffering borderline personality disorder suffer unremitting hell, as do the people who love them.
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Belle Yang says:
This is super
I thought your post would be an "ordinary" rave about an author, but you go on to follow the hearbeat of an earlier reader through the marginalia.
Last night, I was reading "Shakespeare: A Biography" by Peter Ackroyd and he speaks of a book, Halls Chronicles, in which annotations in a youthful legal hand are guessed by some scholars to be scribbled by the Bard himself. All the provenance line up, but there is no certainty. Just imagine the first scholar to have stumbled upon this particular book.
Your post would make a great element for a novel.
Kristina Riggle says:
Thanks
Good point about the novel. It might work its way into one of mine someday...
June Casagrande says:
What an experience
I wish I could reach out to the vandal.
For years, I used to hang out in substance-abuse recovery circles (I'm sober), and your mystery reader reminds me very much of conversation typical around those circles -- not to mention the stuff we underlined and noted in our A.A. "Big Books."
We could all relate to the explosive temper thing, either in ourselves or in a close family member (usually a parent). We all talked about being "tired of this" and the contrast between enduring life (often termed "dry drunk") and living it. Eating disorders were rampant.
We were all swimming around the same dysfunction soup, in which distinctions between particular "disorders" were almost moot. One guy might have been diagnosed "bipolar" -- a mere chemical imbalance -- but then you find out his stepfather used to sexually abusive him and his mother shut out his pleas for help. (Thanks for the lithium, doc.)
There were so many different experiences, but the samenesses were the real shocker. Excepting a minority who didn't fit the mold, we all FELT the same.
But we were openly seeking support from each other. The previous reader of that book -- that's different. She (I assume it was a female) knew she was going to return the book. That others would read it.
Sure seems like a cry for help. I hope she gets it!
Thanks for blogging about this. It's moving stuff.
Kristina Riggle says:
I know
I think of her as female, too. The writing looks somehow feminine, and it also strikes me as something a woman would do: turning to a memoir to sort out her own life, making notes as she goes.
She's added lots of question marks too, when the therapist in the story is quoted. I imagine her doubting his words in these passages. Sometimes she'll add, "But how?"