“Maybe That’s Normal”: The Normality of Mental Illness in Normal People
Mental illness, self-hatred and self abuse in BBC’s Normal People …
Words: Shelby Cooke
Since watching Normal People, I’ve found it difficult to get the show off my mind …
“There’s this constant dialogue in my head, playing back pivotal and insignificant scenes from the show, reminding me of the six hours that left me sobbing and on a brink of panic. The show struck me to the core, not because it’s groundbreaking in its originality or because it’s technically superior, but because of its honesty and authenticity. It’s the characters of Normal People that provide the show with its greatest asset, as they’re exactly what they pretend to be: normal. They’re flawed in perfectly imaginable ways; they act inexcusably, but understandably. We cry for them, we cheer for them, we get angry at them. They’re just normal people. And in that normality comes the normalness of mental illness.
All too often, the movies and TV shows we watch glamourise mental illness; or takes it to a new extreme, over-exaggerating its effect and impact on the characters (take, for instance, Netflix’s 13 Reasons Why). But Normal People is different: it depicts mental illness as it is - debilitating, suffocating, isolating. It doesn’t glamourise it, nor does it exaggerate it; it portrays it for what it is - hard and painful, but also moralising and grounding. The main characters of Normal People, Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Connell (Paul Mescal), lead us through a journey of growth and evolution, taking us through their struggles of becoming young adults. Their on-again-off-again relationship is the central plot throughout the series, but it’s their struggle with mental illness, self-hatred and belonging that lodges itself into your heart.
From episode one, we are introduced to the struggles Marianne and Connell face: Marianne, bullied at school and abused at home, has little self-worth or respect for herself and her needs. Connell, despite being popular in school, feels isolated from himself and those around him, as he is unable to connect with his emotions and suffers from social anxiety. As the series progresses, we watch as the pair’s illnesses begin to take over their lives. We see Connell and Marianne’s self-destructive nature peak in the latter half of the series, witnessing as their illnesses lead to a mental decline.
“Again, this is all too familiar; the feeling of being a burden on someone, of never being ‘good enough’ or meaning nothing to the person that means everything to you”
In episode 10, after his school mate commits suicide, Connell attends his first therapy appointment, where we watch him break down and admit to the loneliness and detachment he feels from his reality. The depiction of Connell’s journey with therapy is striking; it’s a stark and suffocating experience that places you right there with him.
The episode opens with Connell sitting in an empty, desolate hallway (reminiscent of the way he feels in his own life), waiting for his appointment to start. He is filling in the all-too-familiar mental health survey - anyone who has attended a therapy appointment recognises it. Like any of us, Connell has to be honest with himself: he stares at the question “self-dislike” and circles “I dislike myself.” It’s a powerful thing, answering that questionnaire. It’s you putting into writing, plain and simple, what has been consuming your whole life.
As his appointment continues, Connell releases the pent up anxiety he has been holding on to. In one of the most heart wrenching and authentic performances of the last decade, Paul Mescal takes us through the mind of someone who is suffering from severe depression and anxiety. Sally Rooney’s words and Mescal’s performance, paired with the camera’s unforgiving close-ups, offers us a brutal depiction of the reality of being isolated from reality, feeling as though you don’t belong in your own life and body. The portrayal of Connell’s experience cuts through the melodrama of other depictions of depression and anxiety and creates a retelling that is all too real for a lot of people. Like many viewers watching, I saw myself in that chair, losing my ability to speak through my tears, apologising for admitting to my deepest fears, realising that your anxiety has made you into a shell of a person with no real relationships or purpose for being.
At the same time as Connell’s depressive episode, Marianne begins a relationship based on BDSM and abuse while on her year abroad. She develops a fetish for bondage after dating a university friend, Jamie, who’s abusive and dominating personality is forced on her. But while in Sweden in episode 9, she asks her new boyfriend to start tying her up and, instead of complimenting her, telling her that she’s worthless. Isolated from everything and everyone that she knows, Marianne becomes trapped in a spiral of self-loathing in the cold Swedish snowscape.
“Normal People was a cathartic experience for me; it filled me with an intoxicating sadness and grief that I can’t shake. It was like watching your worst moments play out before your eyes, seeing how cruelly you’ve treated yourself and how cruelly you’ve let others treat you”
Some may call it a cliche: the girl from an abusive family, who is disliked at school and hates herself, enjoys being dominated in bed and called names. But the psychological torment one feels that leads them to ask to be abused sexually and emotional is not a cliche. Marianne’s self-hatred manifests differently than Connell’s; she allows men to disrespect her, she allows her friends to push her around, she doesn’t speak up or act out. Whereas Connell’s self-hate is the byproduct of his social anxiety and guilt, Marianne’s is learned from an early age. She doesn’t have any self-worth because she’s never been worthy.
Marianne’s journey to self-understanding is terribly sad: Connell, the only person she has truly loved and cared for, begins their relationship by being too embarrassed to be seen with her in public; a string of pretentious and privileged boyfriends have no respect or love for her; her brother verbally abuses and manipulates her, while her mother sits and listens. This eventually accumulates in her believing that the only way to be ‘loved’ is by becoming a submissive lover, making her body just a rag doll for her partner to play with.
Again, this is all too familiar; the feeling of being a burden on someone, of never being ‘good enough’ or meaning nothing to the person that means everything to you. Sex becomes a powerful dynamic for Marianne, where she equates love with punishment. And in a society dominated by patriarchal structures and heterosexual normativity, it’s not a shock that many women can relate to Marianne’s anguish - myself included.
Aristotle theorised that by seeing tragedy, despair, pity and fear played out in front of us in art, then we would reach a cathartic state, allowing us to be renewed emotionally and understand the world around us. Aristotle would perhaps say that watching Normal People was a cathartic experience for me: I watched and witnessed the pain I felt, the tragedies I’ve suffered and the despair I’ve experienced happen before my eyes.
Normal People was a cathartic experience for me; it filled me with an intoxicating sadness and grief that I can’t shake. It was like watching your worst moments play out before your eyes, seeing how cruelly you’ve treated yourself and how cruelly you’ve let others treat you. Marianne and Connell’s story dredged up feelings that had buried deep, feelings I thought didn’t bother me or weren't relevant in my life anymore. Watching Normal People was a tragedy - but, as Aristotle said, now that I’ve seen it (and can identify myself and my past in it) I can move on, learn from the characters’ mistakes and do better next time. Or maybe I won’t. But that’s just being a normal person, I guess.”
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Thank you so much to the wonderful Shelby for contributing such a wonderful, in depth and vulnerable piece- we hope you all enjoyed reading and digesting it as much as we did. To see more from Shelby you can find her on Instagram at @shelbscookie or read more of her work via her portfolio: www.uppergroundproduction.com.