This book seems to be appreciated most by those who have a family member/friend/child dealing with mental illness, or who have dealt with it themselves. Although I would hope that others who are unfamiliar would attempt to understand it better. I was really amazed by the author’s creativity, which was inspired mainly by his teenage son who dealt with mental illness and whose drawings are used throughout the book. Despite dealing with my own two daughters’ mental illness for 6+ years now, I don’t think I could have created this amazing book.
The book is about a 15-yr-old boy’s descent into schizophrenia. He has an alternate reality in which he is part of a pirate crew traveling to the depths of the Mariana Trench. Schizophrenia can in oversimplified terms be described as anxiety on steroids. His path downward, alternating between the real and the unreal, is honest and unglorified, and holds no false hopes for the future.
One of the things I thought was most valuable about the book is that it challenges beliefs that mainstream society is gripping onto with all we have concerning mental illness. Namely, the belief that when something awful happens, such as a suicide, or mass shooting, or other self-harming act of violence or destruction—that there is always some way it could have been prevented.
The need to control is so powerful that few of us, if any can admit that there’s really nothing we can do to directly and perfectly control outcomes with mental health. It’s a horrible, messy, complicated guessing game that continually changes and is different for each person. Let me qualify.
With chronic illness or diseases like leukemia, cancer, Crohn’s, CF, etc, patients and family and doctors work together for a treatment plan—prescriptions, infusions, surgeries, transplants, chemo, lifestyle changes, etc, but at the end of the day, if the patient dies or does not go into remission, or just generally maintains their poor health or slowly goes downhill, we are (comparatively speaking) more easily able to surrender and more readily accept that ‘we did all we could do.’ Generally speaking, (and I say ‘generally’ because I have friends with children who suffer greatly from chronic illnesses who may consider themselves an exception to this) humans seem to accept the limitations of physical health treatment plans much better than the limitations of mental health outcomes. With mental illnesses, we are constantly blaming someone and are obsessed with figuring out what went wrong. The media is especially guilty of this. Where are the articles of the teen cancer patient’s death that discusses all that went wrong and all the ‘clues’ that everyone missed? What typically happens is that we pretend there were no warning signs or symptoms that we were aware of, because being ignorant feels better than admitting that knowing everything wouldn’t have changed anything.
Mental illness is so complicated—it’s nearly impossible to sort out what is environmental, what is genetic, combined with a person’s age, temperament, and limitations and resources within themselves. What works great for one person may do little or nothing for the next person, with the same on-paper profile. As a parent, I’ve rarely challenged the idea that there is nothing else I can do, even if it’s a lie. I think to myself that there must be some new strategy, family dynamic, medicine cocktail, or therapy approach, lifestyle change, that will be the missing piece in the puzzle. It’s draining and exhausting and crazy-making but oh so much easier than surrendering. Except Shusterman helps me want to surrender, because then I might feel peace for once.
‘We always look for the signs we missed when something goes wrong. We become like detectives trying to solve a murder, because maybe if we uncover the clues, it gives us some control. Sure, we can’t change what happened, but if we can string together enough clues, we can prove that whatever nightmare has befallen us, we could have stopped it, if only we had been smart enough. I suppose it’s better to believe in our own stupidity than it is to believe that all the clues in the world wouldn’t have changed a thing.’ (129)
When my daughter comes to me with no eyelashes, or items jammed deep into her ear canals, or deep cuts across her arms—I immediately think–What was missing? What could have prevented this? It’s a place for your brain to rest—in a twisted way—if you keep it focused and concentrated on what you might have missed. Did she not get enough sleep? Did she do mindfulness only once that day and not twice? Was she triggered because she remembered her beloved pet’s recent death? The mean girl at school? Was it my poor parenting strategy? Too hard on her? Too easy? Did she put one of her meds in her cereal bowl in the morning like she’s done before? Did she not get enough one-on-one time with her dad? Caden’s story was an invitation to accept that maybe there’s nothing else I can do.
‘Suddenly I [Caden] realize something terrible about my parents. They are not poisoners. They are not the enemy… …but they are helpless. They want to DO something–anything–to help me. Anything to change my situation. But they are as powerless as I am. The two of them are in a lifeboat, together, but so alone. Miles from shore, yet miles from me. The boat leaks, and they must bail in tandem to keep themselves afloat. It must be exhausting.
The terrible truth of their helplessness is almost too much to bear….Right now it sucks to be me—but until now, it never occurred to me that it also sucks to be them.’ (265-266)
- Goodreads rating – 4.14
- DIGEST – Kristen