#she is slowly being driven insane. watching her descent into madness throughout the years......

[eerna]

The way I already lost it not 6 minutes into Cindy's video... But also: have you read the video description? She did not act this time, instead she wrote such a heartfelt speech, I'm very touched, what a queen

OF COURSE I also sent it to my gc bc I was floored. Rest in pieces queen we salute to your sacrifice

[frances-fucking-farmer]

I’ve Had a Broken Heart:

How the revival of Frances Farmer’s story served as a personal revival

During the darkest moments of my life, I discovered the story of Frances Farmer, an actress who was stripped of everything she had known due to her own personal demons. Her complicated narrative is marked by the details of arrests and imprisonment in institutions, but her legacy is much more than that. Almost 90 years have passed since she first made headlines with the controversial essay, “God Dies,” but now I hope to see to it that she is finally making the headline that she never made during her lifetime: one of hope.

The life of Frances Farmer is well-established in the headlines as one of Hollywood’s greatest tragedies. Perhaps that is due in part to the strong desire we have to bury our own problems in the deepest corners of our minds and focus on the pain of others, as told through the tabloids. The real tragedy is that she never had the opportunity to tell her story, but rather she was forced to defend it and portray herself as the media saw fit. Regardless, it was the revival of this character in film and song that I credit my own revival.

I was a sophomore in college the first time I heard the name, Frances Farmer. My public speaking class had been assigned to research and present on the informative topic of our choosing, and I opted to read my speech titled: “Mental Health in American Society.” I spent weeks researching the long-standing crisis, dedicating much of my time to learning about the cruel and inhumane treatments of patients during the early to mid-1900s. It was while working on this project that I became fascinated by her story and though a college assignment had provided her entrance into my life, it was a nervous breakdown during my twenties that truly introduced the two of us.

Known for my adoration of all things Jessica Lange, I discovered one of her greatest films, Frances, during an evening of wine and sadness. While the picture took a creative and exaggerated approach, Lange’s portrayal of Frances ultimately stripped the character down and made her appear as something the media rarely allowed her to be, and that was human. Looking past the outbursts, the anger, and the arrests, I saw a rebellious woman whose only true crime was her extraordinary and tireless search for peace. As I read her book later on, I only felt deeper toward that same belief.

Born in 1913, the Seattle native never had a chance to simply be. With dreams of becoming a writer, the 17 year published an essay titled “God Dies,” that ultimately won first prize in a contest sponsored by The Scholastic, a magazine for high school students. Rather than showing support for the young writer who had just won a national contest, the town responded by calling out the nature of her composition, strictly acting on illiberal fear. She described this as a defining moment in her life where for the first time she “found out how stupid people could be.” The essay detailed how she felt toward God, trying to justify him as a father figure of sorts and raised the question how, if he were just, then why would he help her find a favorite hat she had lost yet allow one of her classmates to lose both parents. How was this fair? She never outright denied God, but rather wanted answers to validate her experiences.

Years later while attending college, Frances won another contest that required selling subscriptions to a leftist newspaper. The town was yet again roused by her decision to accept the prize of a trip to communist Russia, yet her true purpose for traveling was to see the Moscow Art Theater and return to New York. Here she would rent a room with money from her refunded bus ticket to Seattle and immerse herself in the world of theater, which she considered to be true artistry. She soon attracted the attention of a Paramount talent scout, and within the next year she had been cast in two major films: Rhythm on the Range and Come and Get It. It was 1936 and Frances had just turned 23 years old.

Although success was instant, she treated staring in pictures as just another step toward her true desire to perform in the theater. Fighting for a dream is enough to shake anyone, but Frances was also fighting the studio and her mother - physically, mentally, and emotionally. She resented the life that the studio attempted to create for her; the glamorous lifestyle, the parties and premieres, and the constant casting of her in lackluster roles in B movies. Meanwhile in Seattle, her mother was ever-present in keeping up appearances and letting the town know that her daughter was now an alluring movie star.

In 1942, the life Frances was contracted to live collided with the one that she had been living. Alcohol was becoming a friend of the actress, and provided her the comfort of feeling numb. The decade was spent in and out of mental asylums where she was subjected to the many inhumane, torturous treatments used during that era of mental health rehabilitation, something I had learned in my college research years prior. She eventually regained legal control of her life and moved to Indiana where she wrote poetry and hosted her own television show. She passed away in 1970 at the age of 56.

While most desire to know the worst of her story, I feel that the 1940s did not define Frances as much as it defined the cruelty of those around her. As I familiarized myself with her narrative, I realized that did not see Frances as a patient, but as a broken human. She was strong-willed, outspoken, and a fighter during a time where women were expected to sit down and be quiet. Intuitive and fearless, she was stripped of everything she had known and made to believe she was insane, yet I think the true insanity lies within the minds of those who tried to tame her honest rebellion.

I found comfort in the spirit of Frances during the worst time in my life, when I began hiding myself away in the comfort of the four walls that surrounded me. At 18, I was awarded a scholarship to attend school for music; uninterested in academics, I used the opportunity to move to the city I had long desired to reside in. Six years later, I had moved away to find some peace, and to simply be alone. I was living in a top floor apartment overlooking the beautiful Old Hickory lake, yet I kept the blinds closed. The darkness was comforting, as was my new dependence on the bottle. Alcohol had only been an acquaintance up until this point, but had become a dear companion in recent months. During the first 24 years of my life, I had gone through severe bouts of depression, but I knew this time that it was more severe. It felt as if I were standing along the edge of a blade, ready to slip and fall at any moment, to break and to bleed from the lack of balance. And it was balance that I lacked as I overlooked the depth that served as my descent into madness.

I can pinpoint the moment that I felt my world begin to shake: Father’s Day 2017. Throughout my childhood, I regarded the day as a passing thought as I never really found a close bond with my father other than a 60 second phone call every three years. I had not seen him in over two years, but a strong urge took me to visit on this day. He died that night, and he took with him my hope to reconnect with him as well as my three younger sisters. Upon returning to Nashville after the service, I began drinking and it seemed as if I were losing every part of who I had been. What remained was being torn away, piece by piece. I had been refused a job due to my looks, being deemed “unfuckable” by the CEO. My next opportunity was short lived, as the company soon folded and provided a ten minute notice. I returned to retail to make ends meet for the time being. I became infatuated with a man who promised me the world, but instead stole the innocence I held close. After that night, the notion that I had control of anything had diminished to nothing. My depression and anxiety were now running my life, instead of moving within it. I lost my retail job because of my inability to turn it off, and I repeated the process with my next position. The bottle of vodka on the shelf followed me to work, and I began drinking on the job. I could no longer force a smile, and I found myself picking fights with my co-workers and customers just to feel something. I wanted to be angry or sad; I would settle to be anything but numb. It was after the new year that my boss let me go - and I let go of myself.

The loss of my job had been my breaking point. I had nothing left except for my sanity, which was escaping my grasp. Slowly, then quickly. I had pushed away everyone I had ever known, which left me completely alone with the exception of the liquor - I received my first DUI that same week. The culmination of everything was too much to live within the walls of my mind, much less share with my mother, who only offered me the chance to come home. She always heard my words, yet never truly listened to anything that I said. How could I return to the place that tossed me out, that was my first understanding at how cold the world could be? It was in my weakness that I finally relented and spent days on her sofa, realizing that the home I had come home to was no longer my home. I had nowhere to go and nothing left to lose; I broke.

It was during this time that I first saw Frances and I, for lack of better words, fell in love with her. Every emotion I felt in the deepest part of my soul, I watched as she was portrayed by Jessica Lange in the same essence. She was this deeply driven, independent, one way kind of woman who never chose to pick her battles. She fought for what she thought was best, even if it came down to tearing her apart. She knew what she wanted, and she knew that trying to live those dreams would eventually destroy her in the end. Frances had a lot of demons, something I was learning about for myself. I knew what it felt like to be taunted by your entire town, and what it felt like to chase after a dream in the big city. I knew what it meant to live with a rebellious spirit and still be told how to live. I knew what it meant to have those demons control the deepest part of your soul. And to be someone I had never known, much less lived within the same time as, I felt this parallel between our lives.

Truthfully, we are all just actors in this masquerade; I played the part just as she had. I fought for so long to be more than I was, and when I dropped my mask for the whole world to see, no one was more surprised than me.  I believe the world tends to find those who have no boundaries and rein them in, to break them. It is a dangerous place for a woman with determination and a dream; times have not changed from her time to mine. We are all vulnerable, and they often wait until the first thread breaks before they assist in our unraveling. This is how I see the life of Frances Farmer; this is also how I see my own. However, I was given something that she was never granted: a chance.

For the rest of her life, Frances was forced to relive the worst moments of her life for the world to see, most infamously on This is Your Life. An opportunity to defend herself turned into a reminiscing of her greatest tragedies. I truly don’t believe that she ever found peace befitting her efforts to regain control, and sadly that’s where her story ends. But not mine…not yet. Looking back at my own collapse, I realize some will say that I suffered a nervous breakdown, and I would not be apt to disagree. Others would say nothing more than how I must have had a real bad day - I guess they’re right, too. How do you take such a time and give it a single answer that makes sense? The truth is somewhere within it all. The only thing I do know for a fact is that, regardless of our stories, each life matters in the end. As Frances famously asked, and it is with sincerity that I can answer, “yes, I have had a broken heart.”