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The Prozac Nation author was irresistible and impossible, but her writing courageously opened up the conversation about mental health
Read Guardian articles by Elizabeth Wurtzel
Sometimes when a woman says “I am impossible”, it’s just classic, sappy, feminine self-deprecation. It’s like saying, “Oh, this old thing?” when someone compliments you on a frock you have spent a long time thinking about and even more time saving for. Sometimes, though, when a woman says “I am impossible,” you should believe her.
Elizabeth Wurtzel was impossible. I believed her. I briefly experienced her being so. She came to London to promote Prozac Nation, the memoir that would make her famous, the best book she wrote, which was about the “United States of Depression”. She demanded to meet certain people: writers including Martin Amis, Julie Burchill and Will Self were on her list. She also wanted sex and drugs. She picked at her food in a restaurant in Soho that was somehow not good enough. A lot of things were not good enough for her. We ended up in the Groucho Club, where she draped herself over various men, magazine editors. Huge, kohled eyes; long blond hair; a tiny vest top. She already had an FTW (Fuck the World) tat. She was both irresistible and very annoying and she knew both these things about herself. Continue reading...