I was seven years old the first time I thought I might be fictional. I remember laying in bed when the thought appeared, and, like a weed in a garden, it continued to grow and take over. I pinched myself so hard that I broke the skin, but the thought went away—until it came back. I spent most of my adolescence and teen years grappling with the idea of whether or not I was a real person, pinching myself or digging my nails into my skin as a way to convince myself that I was real.
When I was twelve, I started picking at any blemish or imperfection on my skin, to the point that I still have scars, convinced that if I didn't open and re-open every scab on my body that I would get an infection, I would have to go to the hospital, and then I would die.
When I was fourteen and started high school, I learned from my science teacher that almost 50% of your body is made up of bacteria, and less than 50% of you is made up of human cells. It was supposed to be a "fun fact," something that you could tell your friends and family and feel smart about, but for me, it sent me into a spiral so bad that I couldn't even do my homework and was convinced that I wasn't real, that I wasn't even in control of my own thoughts if 50% of my body wasn't even mine.
When I was seventeen, I used to cry myself to sleep, wishing that I could rip off my skin, convinced that no matter how hard I had scrubbed my body in the shower, it never felt clean.
I later learned that these were all symptoms of OCD, which I was diagnosed with this year, along with anxiety the DASS-21 classified as "extremely severe." My anxiety always manifested itself in ways that I (and my family) didn't understand - instead of "typical" panic attacks, mine would manifest itself in bouts of anger, mainly directed at my family, and as a kid, I never understood why I was always so angry at them. I had never wanted to be, but I was always frustrated that no one understood what went through my brain, but I was too scared to say it out loud. Even as a kid, I was utterly convinced if I had said any of my thoughts out loud, someone would think I was crazy and send me away. My emotions became like a stretched-out rubber band - with every spiral, they were pulled tighter and tighter, and eventually, the rubber band snaps, even with the littlest of tugs.
Even now, at twenty-four, explaining what runs through my brain makes me feel crazy because, logically, it doesn't make any sense, but it's not something I can just turn off, no matter how many times I prayed that I could.
Four months ago, a friend and I were talking about books, and she told me that John Green's latest novel, Turtles All The Way Down, had been turned into a movie. I remember reading it years ago and enjoying it, but I didn't remember much else about it. But I, like many other people my age, had grown up with John Green and his books, movies, and TV show adaptations, so I found it on HBO Max and pressed play.
Three months later, I had my first therapy appointment.
John Green is the voice of a generation. (I was a big The Fault in Our Stars fan, and it was the very first book that ever made me ugly cry. My copy literally had tear stains in it.) I've read every book he's ever written, some I enjoyed more than others, but nothing has ever topped Turtles All The Way Down since I first read it. After watching the movie for the first time, I remembered that I had discovered it in my school library when I was in high school & would spend my lunch periods there, too overstimulated by the cafeteria. I remember I didn't finish it in the library, but I had fallen in love with it so quickly I ended up getting a copy of the book to have at home, and I read it so many times that it started to fall apart.
I remember feeling so connected to Aza, and it was the first book I remember reading where I felt so seen it made me cry. (This didn't happen again until I read Out on a Limb, which I talk about here). The way John Green managed to portray the inner workings of my own mind was nothing short of remarkable, and I remember thinking that he must've snuck inside my head somehow and pulled out all my thoughts.
This book had always been in the back of my mind since then, but then I got rid of my copy, went to college, and only read it again recently when I watched the movie. So, obviously, like any sane person, I proceeded to watch it so many more times that I can now recite it word for word, beginning to end. I got the ebook on my phone, read it, cried, and then decided that the ebook was simply not enough, and I needed to own (another) physical copy. I've annotated it to death and have remembered why I loved it so much in the first place.
If you're not familiar with Turtles All The Way Down, it follows (my beloved) 16-year-old Aza Holmes, who is struggling with anxiety, OCD, and grief while also simultaneously trying to help her childhood crush solve the mystery of his missing father. So, obviously, girl is going through a lot.
Although I have personally never had to try and help my childhood crush find his missing father, I related to every other part of Aza's character and story. Her thought spirals were written so well that it felt like they were my own, and her fear of contamination and bacteria and getting sick mirrored my own fears in a way that I was convinced that she was created just for me. So many of her thoughts were my thoughts, her feelings, my feelings, her actions, my actions.
When I first started therapy, I didn't know exactly how to explain the way that my brain worked without feeling like I sounded like an insane person. So, when my therapist asked me to try and explain, I offered one simple question instead.
"Have you ever heard of Turtles All The Way Down?"
(She had, thankfully, heard of the book.)
It allowed me to open up a conversation that I'm not sure I would have been able to have without the existence of this book, in a place I'm not sure I would have ever gotten to if I hadn't re-discovered my love for it. It gave me an outlet to explain what went through my head on a daily basis without feeling so crazy about it.
There are so many moments in this book that had me in tears. Flipping through my copy to find quotes for this review was difficult, as almost every page is annotated in some way. But that shows how deeply this book connects with me, and quite honestly, I don't see a problem with that.
There are moments of the story that just stick out to me. Like the scene where Aza, Daisy, Mychal, and Davis are at Applebee's, and Aza is so zoned out that she realizes that she hasn't been a part of the conversation. "...and even though I laughed with them, it felt like I was watching the whole thing from somewhere else, like I was watching a movie about my life instead of living it." Or, when Aza describes herself as "...one of the least observant people I'd ever met," or when Daisy tells Aza that she's so stuck in her head and "It's like you genuinely can't think about anyone else." Or, when Aza is with Davis and watching a movie, she says, "I couldn't make myself happy, but I could make people around me miserable." One scene in particular that's always stuck in my brain is Aza and Daisy's "big fight." Lines like "You could take three seconds away from your nonstop fucking contemplation of yourself to think about other people's interests," or "But you are... extremely self-centered." Or "I knew I was being selfish by making a big deal out of it."
My OCD has made me a lot of things. It's made me selfish, mean, oblivious, forgetful, a bad friend, a bad student. It's made it impossible for me to have a boyfriend, to go out to bars or clubs, or to do most things that people in their twenties should be doing.
When Aza described her OCD as her feeling "...like a perfectly normal person, who was... cohabitating with a demon that forced me to think thoughts I hated thinking," that felt like the perfect way to describe what was happening in my brain, too. Most of the time, it felt like the devil on my shoulder, telling me things I knew weren't true or didn't make sense, but it wasn't something I could just shoo away. It's like someone else lives in my head, taunting me every second of the day.
I remember being fourteen, starting high school at a new school that was triple the size of my middle school, and being so overwhelmed by the people, bacteria, crowded hallways, and lunchrooms that I couldn't even focus half the time in class. (It wasn't until ten years later that I actually admitted it, and only to my therapist, and I still felt crazy, by the way.) I loved how John showcased how all-encompassing thought spirals could be and how Aza felt "crazy" when she would try to apply logic to them. Because that's exactly how I felt, and it would just go on and on.
I always tell people how grateful I am for Turtles All The Way Down. Discovering the book at a time that I needed it as a teenager was nothing short of life-saving, and finding it again as an adult has really, truly changed my life. I am a strong proponent of books creating and opening important discussions, and Turtles All The Way Down is the perfect book for that. It's a book that helped me feel less alone and led to me feeling sympathy for Aza when I couldn't feel it for myself, which in turn helped me start understanding that my brain worked the way it did because I had an illness, not because I was crazy or a bad person. It's a book that shows the ups and downs, and it doesn't glorify or romanticize mental illness in a way that many books do. It's real and raw, but you get mad at Aza and Daisy, and you feel for them too. It's a wonderful book that can open up real and raw discussions for people who live with OCD or anxiety, and it's a beautiful showcase of how someone with these mental illnesses can also have a fulfilling life.
My OCD has made me many things, but I've still been able to lead a fulfilling life. I've traveled around the United States and abroad, spent time with friends, seen Broadway shows (by myself!), gone out in NYC, and have a job I love.
I am so eternally grateful for John Green, and Turtles All The Way Down, and the beautiful existence of Aza Holmes.
If you haven't read this book yet, you really should.
all my love,
gab <3
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