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256 pages, Paperback
First published May 14, 2019
I know that Iris is dead. I know that it was sudden and so shocking that the waves of horror shimmered in the distance for months afterward. I also know that it is my fault, that one second she was there and her heart pumped crimson blood through her veins, and the next she was gone, blood frozen solid, and I could have prevented it, but I did not.Tamar has been admitted to a psychiatric hospital as a result of a recent suicide attempt and history of self harm. She feels overwhelming guilt over the death of her friend, Iris, a death she is certain she is responsible for. During her time at Lime Grove she meets other adolescents who are similarly dealing with mental health issues, ranging from eating disorders to bipolar and psychosis.
“There isn’t a cure. Except me: I am the cure.”
'I don't tell him that the desire for death has been raging through my veins like a stampede of angry bulls, and that every fibre of my disgusting being should be charred and powdered in a dusty crematorium.' (p128-129)
'"Can you tell me what's been bothering you these past few days? You've been seeming quite unsettled to some of the staff, would you agree with that?"
"Yeah, I suppose."
"Why?"
Why? I can ponder that question in my sedated brain for days and I still won't have any answers. It's hard to make space for other thoughts when you only want to kill yourself. In fact, it's hard to make space for anything. It's hard to make space for remembering to eat or piss or smile when it's expected of you.' (p129-130)
'They gave me antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers. Because that's all they could do. Other patients could talk for hours in their sweaty-palmed state about their anxiety disorder. The eating-disorder patients, trapped in their unhealthy relationships with food, some of them emaciated, others not a pound off normal. The patients with such crippling depression that even getting out of bed in the morning was an achievement worthy of more than a pat on the back.
The monster that had swallowed me was different. The experts soon exhausted their options: manic depression, schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder . . . But the monster didn't need a label or a name. The monster was me.' (p170)
'"How can we help you, Tamar?"
"You're the doctor."
He nods. "You're right, I am. I can give a diagnosis, I can prescribe medication, but I can't--"
"What's wrong with me, then?" I say. "You tell everyone else what's wrong with them - Jasper's an anorexic, Elle's bipolar. What am I? Or am I just making all this up to waste your time?"' (p127)
'My illness didn't command sympathy and grapes and bunches of flowers. No sympathy for psychos. People didn't want to have anything to do with that girl, the one who sliced her own skin for fun. But I wasn't trouble; I was in trouble.' (p32)
'"I actually can't believe you, Tamar! You just swan around like everything is so much harder for you, when it's not! It's fucking not, OK? Life is shit for everyone, it's shit for me too, but that doesn't mean we all have to start moping around and slitting our wrists for everyone to see. You're a fucking idiot. You just used Iris as an excuse to get attention, everyone can see it. You weren't even that close to her. She was just some girl in our class."' (p105-106)