Started reading Women and Madness by Phyllis Chester ('72)today. So far, it's reminding me of a wonderful, passionate feeling (anger) I thought I'd lost. It feels good unburying "care", diving back in. Lately I've been really interested in "madness" (schizophrenia-depression-anxiety-personality disorders-etc) and its relationship to contemporary culture-chaos. For example, the multitudes of selves and layers of dishonesty/shame/pressure that come with carrying on such disjointed lives. It's a miracle we function at all. I am this here, that there, on this website one thing, at this job another, and when I am finally alone I am terrified and exhausted but still must find comfort in ONE way of being. For me, this ONE way, reality, the essence of me, is one big fat elusive tease. I'm already feeling like a good feminist read like this might be just what I need to turn my "issues" into my strengths again. Ok, well, I know a book isn't gonna solve things, but so far, one or two captions have inspired me to take some initiative in understanding them...
This one literally brought tears to my eyes:
"Perhaps the angry and weeping women in mental asylums are Amazons returned to earth these many centuries later, each conducting a private and half-remembered search for her Motherland- a search we all call madness, Or perhaps they arefailed Goddess-Mothers, Demeters, eternally and miserably unable to find their daughters or their powers..."
On a brighter, somewhat ironic note... I found an awesome dress for my good friend's graduation party at the Salvation Army today. I went in looking for fabric, but I found this instead (and I am not going to slice and re-dice it):
Now, if I only had some little white shoes...
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