![]() ![]() But her nihilism offers nothing new (she wails about loneliness and death's inevitability). But Wurtzel insists on one-upmanship: She's ``a real sicko,'' while the other six million Americans on Prozac are ``all these happy-pill poppers.'' She wants it both ways: to be at once the Head Loony and a representative voice. Just obnoxious.'' She wants to contextualize her experience to give it deeper meaning as some sort of a beacon for her generation. This is all presented with such narcissistic pride that the following comment about herself is true of the book: ``I was so far gone that I didn't even come across as sad any longer. By the time she graduated, she was being treated with Prozac and lithium. When she entered Harvard, she spent her days deep in despair or high on Ecstacy or cocaine. But stints at the psychiatrist and summer camp didn't cure Wurtzel of her depression. ![]() At the age of 11, she carved up her legs with razor blades in the school bathroom and went to a therapist her parents couldn't afford. Born in 1967, Wurtzel grew up in New York City, the precocious only child of divorced parents. A memoir of a depressed, heavily medicated young woman who identifies with Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and other tragic figures-and fantasizes about being profiled as a tragic suicide in New York magazine. ![]()
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