I don't think I'm the intended audience for this book.
literally show me a healthy person is composed of nonlinear sound bytes (calling them tweets feels reductive, but I did feel like I was scrolling through Wilder's Twitter feed for most of it) about loss and sex and drugs and childhood trauma. I could identify specific recurring subjects-- the death of Darcie's mother, her former relationship with dude named Geoff, her father's negligence-- but the book's discussion of them was parsed with bits about miscellaneous sex and drug use anecdotes and grimdark 21st century internet humor that didn't seem to connect to anything.
The book felt very circular. There wasn't a sense of progress or plot. I could identify minor shifts in the narrator's thinking before and after certain events, but it's retrospective and confessional and I didn't come away understanding why any of the information was presented to me in the order it was. I got the impression it was supposed to imitate how like...the constancy of digital information normalizes and numbs us to violence, or something? but because the book is about a very specific set of experiences I found myself thinking, okay, we get it, a lot of things about your life sucked, what else is this book about, which is a terrible thing to find yourself thinking about someone's personal experiences!
On a technical level, there are a lot of plaintive descriptions of sex and violence that are maybe visceral and shocking the first time they come up if you've never read a Chuck Palahniuk novel but by ~ten pages in I was desensitized and again, wanted there to be something more happening, being said.
I'm struggling a little with how to discuss the narrator/author because it's in part a biographical text but it's been published as a work of fiction so the narrator is A Character. I have a lot of personal empathy for someone who experienced the events described in the book. As a character whose journey I was following, I found the narrator unsympathetic. The book was a lot of wallowing, and as often about things the narrator brought down on herself as the events she couldn't control.
Towards the end there's a bit where the narrator muses "i wonder if lesbians get called 'whore' during sex less" which ... I found annoying for a whole bunch of reasons but on a basic practical level: people who communicate that they don't want to be called "whore" during sex, and people who don't have sex they don't want to have, get called "whore" during sex less. Examples like this, juxtaposed with how clearly self-aware the narrator is at other times, made for a pretty frustrating read.
If you've ever wanted your stoned friends' texts to be a lot longer and more graphic then you will probably enjoy this book. Probably also if you can relate to the rich self-sabotaging drug/sex culture landscape Wilder depicts (rich as in both, life is a rich tapestry and if you can afford all the drugs you're talking about and that Times Square apartment there must be at least a couple of good things in your life). I personally didn't enjoy it, which is a bummer because I really wanted to and still think as a concept the book is pretty neat.