Whew. This is NOT an easy memoir at all.

This book is NOT an easy read. Instead, it's heavy as hell. But it's not heavy in the sense of rocket science, but it's heavy in the sense that you feel like there's a weight atop your chest ALL THE TIME when you read page by page. I feel like there is no precise English word to summarize my overall feeling towards this 'memoir situation', so I will just say what youngsters of my country love to exclaim: BJIR.

The earlier half is SO PAINFUL to read and I think I might hate Hannah during those years seeing how she hated herself. Those years are messy, lonely, empty, and I don't know if what makes me angry at her I because I cannot sympathize with her OR because I see a little bit of crumbs that reminds me at my own life. Well, maybe I know, but I don't want to write anything about it here.

I can't even decide if I want to give this book a five-star.

BUT, considering how haunted I am after finishing it, and how quick I was to open my Netflix app and rewatch Nanette show after all these years, the facts speak for itself. This book demands to be rated accordingly, and no matter what I want, it deserves a five-star rating.