This is a twilight post. I think that statement should warn you pretty well.
I read New Moon and Twilight together, consecutively after my Mother in law and sister in law met Stephenie Meyer at BYU for a lecture one day. Had I known then that I would become such a squealy fan girl, I would have demanded I went with so I could lick her face… or ask her to blow her nose in a tissue to so I could make clone. (HAHA, I’m crazy.) In any case, they suggested I read them, because they were (and are) good. So I hesitantly agreed. I’m not good at reading books people suggest and say “Oh you’d enjoy it!” I usually spend months trying to drag my way through suggested books. The therapist I went to recently actually says I probably lack the attention span to read. He’s quite right. I’m not a good reader. I was once an excellent reader. I think I heard too much that I was an excellent reader, and now I’m lazy about it. Anyway, not the point here….
I sat down and read Twilight in a short 8 hours or so. I stayed up to finish it. It was RIGHT up my alley as predicted. I immediately started New moon, which took me days to finish. It was hard. It felt like it was hard to write too. I chalked it up to poor writing on Smeyer’s behalf, but after reading and re-reading and learning and thinking, i realize that it wasn’t hard for her to write because of writers block or poor writing skills or anything like that– it was emotionally difficult to force her characters to do something emotionally difficult. To make the story more complex. It was physically hard for me to read it as it was like looking in an emotional mirror, on some levels.
I, like so many others, saw myself in Bella. In High school, I struggled emotionally with depression. I struggled physically with the energy it took to get out of bed and go to school. To be at school. I felt like I was being smothered… Like I was drowning. Nothing was fun, or happy. (Which I’m sure you can understand is no reflection on the people around me. I could have been at disneyland and I would have felt like this) Even through some of the happiest times, I felt like I was drowning. I wish i could pinpoint what exactly made me feel so horrible. There are a lot of things I could blame it on. Mostly things were bad. They felt bad. I felt bad. And as I turn the pages November, December, January…. last time I read it, I cried. I cried for the years I lost to depression, and I did. The experiences I missed, or couldn’t fully enjoy. For the friends I lost, for the people who stood by me. For my parents who had to watch as I became just a shell of myself. Who couldn’t help me like they so desperately wanted to…. I had convinced myself on several occasions that if God really loved me, and really wanted me to be happy, then it was ok to Kill myself because I would be happier dead. For those who say “I knew that book was no good, See Bella tries to kill herself” I say, what the hell book are you reading? Bella only keeps going because that’s what Edward wants. Also, I say, who are you to judge? Sure she’s a fictional character in an alternative universe, but HEY, have you ever felt so down that you felt like killing yourself is the only escape? That the harshness of this world is too much and you just need to escape. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem… but You can’t judge the people who have done it. Just don’t. You haven’t been where they are. You can be mad at them, and mourn them, miss them… don’t judge them.
I feel as though the new movie (as you may have heard, they’re making New Moon into a movie) is going to spill all my emotions onto a screen with a poor actor who couldn’t possibly understand. I feel like she will be making a farce of all the tender emotions… How can you know? How can you possibly act out the agony of depression? It is not simply moping around with a frowny face or avoiding friends. I felt physically broken. This isn’t some tawdry scene of feeling sad because a boy left. It is the deep agonizing journey to try and repair a hole that someone or something has ripped in you. I am afraid of the disrespect that the actors, writers and directors could pay to this while focusing on wardrobe, chilled beverages, and keeping their primadonna actors in line and doing what they’re paid to do… instead of the emotional weight that the book carries.
Maybe I’m the only one who is that emotional about the book.
Derringer Meryl [Depression claims lives even when it doesn’t kill] Out