The relationship between Breakfast at Tiffany's and PTSD.

Last night, I sat down with my flatmate and watched the 1961 classic Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I wore my comfiest pyjamas, lit all the candles we had in the house, and ate Indian food (two girls with lactose intolerance ordering butter chicken was a brave and fatal decision.) It really made me think, and i’ve attempted (key word) to put those reflections into this post. I have been dealing with PTSD for over a year now and it is extremely scary and yet extremely liberating to see a character or a writer who can connect to that part of me - a part I am deeply afraid of.

I’ve watched this movie hundreds of times. As a young girl, I never understood Holly Golightly. I wondered why a woman would ever walk away from a man like Paul Varjak. He had cigarettes in bed and a typewriter and perfect hair. Who would say no? At the time, I craved consistency, love, admiration. More than that, Audrey Hepburn’s grace and beauty felt like a currency i couldn’t cash in. My reaction to the movie depicted my naive fantasy of a manic-pixie-dream-girl who eventually settles down with the only man who could tame her. I gorged myself on it.

Years later, with a little more experience and a little less naivety, I found myself mirroring Golightly in my early twenties (who, ironically, is not able to go lightly.) Love and consistency in relationships no longer comforted me, but rather, shed a light on the unpredictable nature of others. The anxiety that comes with lending someone your heart and hoping they don’t give it back to you. As quoted in the film: “But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree.”

I cringed at myself. The language of “wild” or “run” struck a chord in my body I didn’t know I had. The animalism of it all, the lack of humanity. It scared me. Is this really who i’ve become? A small bird flying away and hitting a tree as she looks back -biting at any sign of contact.

It is interesting when you go back to bookmarks in your life. Maybe it’s a novel, or a movie, a song, or a person. It’s like a spotlight has finally shone on you and you can see yourself in the grand-scheme of your development. It is heartbreaking when you look at yourself and don’t like who is looking back. The sweet girl who beckoned Golightly to let herself fall in love is not the same girl who pulls her hair out at the concept of intimacy.

Now, dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I see Golightly in a way I don’t believe I ever could before. She is not an ideal, not a fantasy, she is a human. She is afraid and defensive. She looks at the long lineage of women behind her who have been valued exclusively for their womanhood. And she looks forward to all the women who will have to meet the same traumatic fate.

This is a short post, as it was based on a fleeting thought. However, I will leave you with this quote that has helped me face the fear of the cage. Sometimes, you have to experience the real and the painful in order to let go of the fantasy.

I still think she neglected that cat though.

“You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.”