Book Review: perfect chaos

Today’s feature is a memoir, and it’s a tough one.  My review copy of perfect chaos was provided courtesy of LuxuryReading.com, which also hosted the original (shorter) post of this book review on July 23, 2012 (available here).

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perfect chaos

The title really does say it all.  The chaos at hand is the madness (quite literally) of bipolar disorder.

I have read more than my fair share of memoirs about mental illness and/or mental health.  I find people’s struggles with their own brains/heads to be fascinating reading.  Not in a voyeuristic, Schadenfreude-filled way (I don’t think), but from a place of deepest empathy – because I can’t imagine anything scarier in this world than getting lost inside your own mind.

I’ve been pretty lucky in my life – I’m the first person to admit that.  Even with that luck, I have had one full-blown and one partial (for me) panic attack in my day – and they freaked the ever-loving life out of me.  The walls shrank, I couldn’t breathe, everything got over-bright and too loud and too much.  They were short episodes and for the first, more severe, one, I had one of my two best friends there to quite literally hold my hand and tell me I was alright and that things would be okay.  She also paid the check – we were out to dinner at the time that it hit – and walked me through the streets of Chicago in the dark until I could breathe regularly and stand the thought of being indoors again.  Thank you again Lynna!!  The other, partial freak-out occurred when I was by myself in my apartment; fortunately I was able to maintain just enough presence of mind to identify what was happening and talk myself down from the proverbial ledge.

These events look so simple and small written down; I assure you they felt huge and overwhelming and defeating when they happened.  But I know that they were not even a mote in the eye of a giant compared to the feelings of stress, anxiety, panic, fear, depression, mania and wrong-ness that people who suffer from mental illness have to deal with on a regular basis.  I don’t know if I read survivor stories to educate myself enough so that if, god forbid, The Panic strikes again I can somehow deal with it until it subsides or if I read them to remind myself that I am lucky.  Either way, the stories are unfailingly moving – and the strength of the survivors and their loved ones are unflinchingly impressive.

perfect chaos is told in two voices.  Linea has bipolar; Cinda is her mother.  Reading about Linea’s battles with unidentifiable and inexplicable bouts of depression and feelings of pointlessness, about her struggle for diagnosis and treatment is heart-wrenching.  Reading about Cinda watching Linea spiral out of control and then picking her up and carrying her (metaphorically and physically) when she literally couldn’t find the strength or the will to live is almost more so.

The story is presented chronologically, detailing the slide Linea’s health takes as she transitions from childhood to adolescence and then early adulthood, when the most severe symptoms presented themselves.  Eventually, she devolves from a bright, talented young woman with the world at her feet into a puddle of a girl who cannot bring herself to care if she lives or dies, a girl who tries to find meaning in lines of coke, beer, and razor blades.  At that point, her parents literally step in and save her life.

After an in-patient stint in a psychiatric facility that includes electroshock therapy, Linea’s tries to regain control as her physicians and her family try to figure out a plan for treatment and “recovery” – not only from the drugs and drinking and self-mutilation, but from the disease that has laid waste to her plans for her own life.  The disease is always there and always a threat; she has to manage it as best she can with therapeutic treatments, but remain ever-vigilant for the signs of an oncoming episode and make herself ask for help when she needs it.  It’s a difficult road for a young woman of twenty to put herself on, but Linea tries her best – and Cinda is always there, right beside her, no matter how rough the relapses get, no matter how scared her daughter’s mania and depression make her.

Mother and daughter have very different voices, but their stories are presented in equally clear, concise, and incredibly open language that conveys the manic (no pun intended) cycles of episodes and treatment that comprise Linea’s life.  The book required a lot of energy to read; bipolar is emotional and infuriating and dramatic and perplexing and draining – and that’s just when you read about it.  I can’t imagine the strength of character it takes to talk so openly and honestly about the most difficult times in one’s life.  Or to be the friend or family member confronted with the onslaught of an episode – or its aftermath.  Kudos to both women for their unflinching look at bipolar and its treatments, and for doing what they can to raise awareness and understanding.