"And it was never enough"

There’s a scene in the bio-pic miniseries Feud: Bette and Joan, that touches me in sore truth spot.

If you’re unfamiliar, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford were two of the biggest Hollywood stars of the golden age. When people talk about the brightest of that era in Hollywood, they’re talking about them.

They were both difficult women who came from difficult backgrounds. Crawford was far more severely affected; she was a full-on Cluster B. Narcissism and borderline combination. An alcoholic child abuser.

Bette Davis was also difficult and cantakerous, sometimes unreasonable. But I don’t think she was fully personality disordered like Crawford, and I think she was a more decent person.

The two hated each other. Envy, mainly. Joan Crawford was at one time the most beautiful woman in the world without question. Davis was not a rare beauty, but she was the most talented genuine actress of the 20th century screen. Far more talented than Crawford.

In their later years, they made one picture together. They were set to do another—Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte—and they began filming. Crawford was eventually replaced by Oliva DeHaviland after her histrionics cost the film too much money and too many delays.

In Feud, the two actresses confront each other and scream it out. And then they stop, and have a moment of candor. It’s hard to convey the sincerity of the poignant emotion they portrayed in this scene by merely showing the dialogue.

Bette Davis: “Hey, Joan. What was it like being the most beautiful girl in the world?”

Joan Crawford: “It was wonderful. The most joyous thing you could ever imagine and it was never enough. And what about you? How did it feel to be the most talented girl in the world?

Bette Davis: “Great. And it was never enough.”

One of the lasting effects of early and prolonged abuse and trauma is that nothing is ever enough.

This is the dialogue in my head when I’m in the pits with it. I am describing it to you, not endorsing it. It is damaged thinking that I have to work against.

Nothing I do is ever good enough. No work I produce, no matter how high the quality, is good enough. No show, no essay, is ever good enough.

When I was young, I could never be attractive enough. Even when I felt beautiful, it was never enough.

No papers I wrote were good enough. No grades I got, either in public school or university, were ever good enough. I was a straight A student in public school, and I got one B-minus in my entire university time.

It was not enough.

I can never be a good enough friend. I could never be a good enough son. No small mastery of my emotions or cognitive distortions is ever enough. I’ll always know I’m broken and three steps back on the ladder from normal people, no matter how hard I work.

Often I can be funny, entertaining, sometimes even really insightful. But it’s never enough.

What pleasure I take in accomplishment feels nice, but too often, at the end of the day, I’m there alone with myself. And I’m not enough.

There’s a hunger that can’t be sated.

I write this because I’m interested in deeper, rawer, more candid conversations about what we glibly call “mental health.” Not to ask for the reassurance of readers. This is not a pity party (but it describes a kind of mental pity party, though it’s more than mere self-pity). I am not fishing for anything, and it is not your obligation to provide me with anything.

One of the things I’m good at is articulating things that other people believe, experience, and feel, but that they’re not sure how to talk about. Or whether to talk about. Many people feel more lonely and full of self-doubt than they need to.

I know that some of you reading this will have a similar internal experience. You’re not the only one. And you’re not crazy.

Well, you’re a little crazy, like me. But it could be worse. :)