I love Holden caulfield
the details are off, the tone is weirdly sanitized, and the whole thing has that netflix sheen that makes real suffering look aesthetic-adjacent in a way that’s almost offensive.
i keep coming back to it not because it’s accurate (it’s not), not because it’s comforting (it isn’t), but because it scratches some very specific, very ugly part of my brain that wants to see itself reflected even if the mirror is warped and insulting.
it’s like i only reach for this movie when i’m either at my lowest or when i’m doing “better” but miss the clarity of being unwell.