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A review by _bxllxe_
The Glass Eye: A Memoir by Jeannie Vanasco
4.0
When I tell you I couldn’t put this down….
The only reason I picked up this memoir was to see if, through it, I could feel a connection to my own mental health issues. Jeannie Valasco touched on things in this memoir that set little wings fluttering inside my chest. An uncomfortable recognition. She lives with far more serious symptoms than me, and still. I raced through the pages, feeling some semblance of sameness.
When I tell you I laughed out loud…
Jeannie’s Racing Thoughts should be acknowledged as a leading character. I give you this passage as tribute:
“I proceeded to explain that my parents had planned to name me Jeanne after a dead half sister.
‘Without an i’, I said.
I began to tell my treatment team about my recent visit to Jeanne’s hometown.
‘I stayed with a woman named Genie. G-E-N-I-E.’
‘You’re manic,” the psychiatrist alleged in a calm, impersonal tone.
‘But my father died ten years ago. And he named me—‘
‘Your speech is pressured,’ he said.
‘Of course my speech is pressured. I’m trying to condense my life into ten minutes.’
I tried to tell him about my recent visit to my dad and Jeanne’s hometown. I tried to explain why the trip overwhelmed me.
‘Can you hear yourself?’ he asked.
I thought: I here’d myself, I can leave.”
When I tell you I cried…
None of us want to face the things that aren’t right with us. Jeannie’s struggle to appear normal, or to even perceive exactly what isn’t normal within herself, hit very close to home.
This is a love letter to Jeannie’s father, and it is an act of self-love. It is a naming of things and acceptance of them. It might not make sense to some, but it’s a damn good representation of how the bipolar mind works.
The only reason I picked up this memoir was to see if, through it, I could feel a connection to my own mental health issues. Jeannie Valasco touched on things in this memoir that set little wings fluttering inside my chest. An uncomfortable recognition. She lives with far more serious symptoms than me, and still. I raced through the pages, feeling some semblance of sameness.
When I tell you I laughed out loud…
Jeannie’s Racing Thoughts should be acknowledged as a leading character. I give you this passage as tribute:
“I proceeded to explain that my parents had planned to name me Jeanne after a dead half sister.
‘Without an i’, I said.
I began to tell my treatment team about my recent visit to Jeanne’s hometown.
‘I stayed with a woman named Genie. G-E-N-I-E.’
‘You’re manic,” the psychiatrist alleged in a calm, impersonal tone.
‘But my father died ten years ago. And he named me—‘
‘Your speech is pressured,’ he said.
‘Of course my speech is pressured. I’m trying to condense my life into ten minutes.’
I tried to tell him about my recent visit to my dad and Jeanne’s hometown. I tried to explain why the trip overwhelmed me.
‘Can you hear yourself?’ he asked.
I thought: I here’d myself, I can leave.”
When I tell you I cried…
None of us want to face the things that aren’t right with us. Jeannie’s struggle to appear normal, or to even perceive exactly what isn’t normal within herself, hit very close to home.
This is a love letter to Jeannie’s father, and it is an act of self-love. It is a naming of things and acceptance of them. It might not make sense to some, but it’s a damn good representation of how the bipolar mind works.