Once, in college, I decided to give modern dance a try, to see if that which was less physically demanding on my body might provide abstract, imaginative insight to me, too. The student choreographer explained that she saw each of our roles as representing one of the mental illnesses portrayed in the movie adaptation of Susanna Kaysen’s Girl, Interrupted, a memoir of time spent in an institution following a suicide attempt. We were to portray a schizophrenic, a pathological liar, a woman with OCD, and a sociopath. I was assigned Kaysen’s own borderline personality disorder. For the performance, we were to wear hospital gowns the color of Easter eggs. I dropped out of the production, popped a Vicodin, and went to a ballet class.