The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness

by Elyn R. Saks

Pills? Something chemical to go into my body and muck about with it? No, that would be wrong. That’s what I’d been taught at Operation Re-Entry, that’s what I believed. My father’s voice: Pull yourself together, Elyn. There could be no drugs—everything was all up to me. And me wasn’t worth much.

No pills needed. Such a common and tragic misconception. Thoughts? Yes? No? Maybe I'm the crazy one?

I entered the hospital voluntarily. If I were going to be a mental patient, at least it would be by my choice and no one else’s.

All mind-altering drugs are bad. I am weak, I simply need to get stronger, try a little harder, and all will be well.

Only the craziest of the crazies come to a mental hospital. I am lazy. I have not fought hard enough. If I had really tried, I wouldn’t need to be here.

“What you have is not a fault of will, Elyn,” the doctor explained. “It’s biochemical. Untreated depressions can last a year or more—do you truly wish to wait that long? The meds will have you feeling better in a few weeks. These are not street drugs, they’re a way to get better.”

The very thought of meeting with my tutor to discuss the paper reduced me to uncontrollable sobs. I don’t have anything to say. I am a failure. It is only a matter of time before people see I am stupid. And crazy.

I had that kind of day with my LRW paper. Tomorrow will be better.

I was looking for an explanation for my behavior, which obviously wasn’t acceptable. I thought that if I could figure it out, I could conquer it. My problem was not that I was crazy; it was that I was weak.

So many people believe this and it's absolutely not true when it comes to mental illness.

A woman with cancer isn’t Cancer Woman; a man with heart disease isn’t Diseased Heart Guy; a teenager with a broken leg isn’t The Broken Leg Kid. But if, as our society seemed to suggest, good health was partly mind over matter, what hope did someone with a broken mind have?

Ironically, the more I accepted I had a mental illness, the less the illness defined me—at which point the riptide set me free.