The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls has many themes such as mental illness, bullying, moving a lot, death in the family, understanding oneself and where one fits in the world and society, and having an abnormal family. It is clear that Jeannette’s mother has a mental illness that, in some ways, dictates her life and the lives of her children. Jeanette was bullied by classmates for being too smart and they thought she was showing off and “better than them”. Throughout the entire book, and Jeanette’s life, her family did the skadaddle quite often. After moving away from her father’s mother, Erma died rom smoking and drinking.
After living with Eric, she realized that the “richer” life was not for her and she did not belong there. Writing about sports and going to fancy parties was not the life Jeanette wanted. She found out where she fits in with John, her husband. Jeannette was finally able to have a somewhat normal family, even though her mother now lives with her and John. Growing up, Jeanette’s family was as far from normal as Venus was from being a star. In so many different themes, I am able to compare my life to the life Jeannette Walls wrote about in The Glass Castle. I tend to think that I am a very pen person to anyone, except to my family.
I could easily tell my stories and struggles from my past, but unlike Jeannette Walls, I would not be able to write a book about it. The people in my intermediate family have too much control over my present and future and I know that what would bring into the light of the public, or even just their eyes, would upset some people and my whole life could become literal hell. On many levels, I can relate my past, present, and future to Jeannette Walls, the writer of The Glass Castle. The first time I moved was when I was around 1 year old, and then again 5 years later, totally to 14 oves in my life.
I did not move across the country, like the Walls did when they did the skedaddle, just around Findlay and surrounding areas and a couple times in Indiana with my dad and stepmom. My present is similar to Jeannette’s because I am not ashamed of my past and I have learned and become a better person because of my past. During my sophomore year, I took my first college course, psychology. I did not really understand the deadlines and requirements because I was the only one in this online class. I remember my first anxiety attack vividly, but as if I was outside of my body watching it happen nd as if I was in my own body experiencing the attack.
It felt like my world was crumbling around me. My chest felt as if an elephant was sitting on my chest and that there was a ball of energy and anxiety in the center of my chest. My mom’s arms were like serpents around me, trying to suffocate me and crush my soul into dust. I started having more and more anxiety attacks and I started to harm myself in worse ways than before. As a preteen, I had severe anger issues and would punch myself, claw at my skin, and rip out my hair because I was so angry. During the summer between freshman and sophomore year in igh school, I hardly ate anything.
Sometimes I would snack throughout the day but I usually only ate half of my dinner and shut myself in my bedroom. During sophomore year, I started cutting. I never used blades or had intentions to kill myself. I have always feared death. I would just cut deep enough to draw blood. I soon grew to love the burning from the hot water running over it in my shower the next morning. I became obsessed over the feeling of my fingers running over the fresh cuts. My mother thinks that I only cut one time. The time I told her about was real, just not the only one.
She was so angry at e for cutting and then writing about how I overcame it in an essay on the OGT. I understand now how bad of a decision to write about self harm is. By this time in the year, I had become depressed and extremely anxious. What I started to go to therapy for, had nothing to do with my self harm. After a while of going to therapy, my mother told me that depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses run in my family. I never told my therapist about any of the times I cut. I wanted to, but I did not want to be put in the hospital. My mother had stressed how that would be awful and we can not afford it.
My father had asically told me that I was making all of my own problems and making everything worse than it needed to be. I don’t really tell him much anymore, nor my mother. One time when I told my mother that she caused some of my anxiety because of her harping on me so much. She freaked out of me. “So you think I’m a sh*ty parent? l’ll show you what a sh*ty parent is! ” she yelled at me and started throwing all of my now unfolded clothes into a pile on the floor and tore everything out of my dresser onto a pile in the middle of the floor. I can still vividly remember her taking her arm to swipe everything off of the top f my dresser.
Every earring, necklace, ring, and nicknack on my dresser was now on the ground, broken, or missing. I sat on my bed, tears streaming down my face, when she saw the body mirror that I kept in my room. My mother picked it up and threw it at me. The mirror hit me, fell to the floor, and broke. I sat in front of my door so she could not get in and I used a sharp edged piece to slice my skin, in hopes to release the pain that I felt inside. It never released the pain that I had built up. Eventually I stopped and coming up, May 3rd, 2017, will be one year that I have been clean from cutting.
I am better at ontrolling my mental illnesses because I have certain things that I do or think about to help me out of my hole of depression. I do not have the control on my anxiety that I would like to, but then again, who does? “Things usually work out in the end. ‘ ‘What if they don’t? ‘ That just means you haven’t come to the end yet” (Walls 259 ). I have come to the end of my cutting and I no longer feel the heart-wrenching pain that I did a year ago. During the same summer that I hardly ate, summer between freshman and sophomore year, I discovered something about myself that my family does not think is real.
I figured out that I m bisexual, but I never told any of my family members because of their views on the LGBT+ community. I know who I am, even if my blood family does not. I am not ashamed of who I am, similar to how Jeanette’s mother was not ashamed of being homeless. Whenever I feel as if I do not know who I am or why I am here, I remember my passion for inspiring others and the specific things that I enjoy. More times than not, I go to Pinterest and look through my boards. I consider myself very lucky to know my place in the world this early in life. Jeanette got married to Eric before she knew where she belonged in the orld.
My entire high school life has been a roller coaster that is far too intense for Cedar Point. Coming to the end of my childhood and approaching my adulthood, I feel well prepared because of all that I have gone through. I am a better person because of what I have been through. I understand so much more than what someone who has not gone through what I have. I know I will make a difference in the world. We all have a purpose and we all go through rough times, just know that it really does get better. One must allow themself to grow in places they never thought possible.
It is okay to cry and be upset, but I promise that cutting does not fix any problems, only time, hard work, and determination. Find something that helps, for me it was music and art. I feel that I have a better connection with music, art, and myself. Jeanette Walls and I can relate on many different levels. One of those levels being that we have overcome our past. Writing about it really does help and, though, I did almost start crying, it was very helpful. We both found ourselves and grew in new places on new paths. The past did not define us, but still helped us become the person we are today.
