One in six adults and nearly one in ten children in the United States suffer from bipolar disorder. Yet, there remains a stigma associated with being bipolar and being related to someone who is. Never mind that Edgar Allen Poe was bipolar or that President Theodore Roosevelt was too. Or that people with bipolar disorder can lead extraordinary and meaningful lives. Look at Winston Churchill, Virginia Wolf, and Rosemary Clooney. No matter how talented or famous someone is, if they’re in a situation dictated by mental illness, it can at times feel like a runaway train. Jim Carey and Robert Downey, Jr. know what it’s like, so do Robin Williams, Jean-Claude Van Damme, and Ben Stiller.
Dealing with a mentally ill family member is anything but a cakewalk. I should know. My mother, a Christian Science fanatic, refused to take medication to manage her sickness. During my formative years, I lived through extremes; from minute to minute I didn’t know what she might do. My childhood was spent being tossed around like a ping-pong ball. At sixteen, a Harvard-trained psychiatrist reluctantly told me to leave home and never look back because I was living in an incurable situation. Sadly, I hit the road, riddled with pot holes, lacking any parental advice. During those formative years I didn’t have a choice, but now, in 2011, things are beginning to change.
I went on to become an actress and later a novelist. I took it to heart when I read that Ernest Hemingway said, “A writer’s style should be direct and personal” For me, it’s therapeutic to write about the disease that robbed me of my mother and stole any chance I may have had to enjoy a normal childhood. I use larger-than-life characters on a backdrop of big oil and big tracts of land to show life on high octane, which, in my experience, is what it’s like to live with the ups and downs of mental illness.