I’ve also noticed that these issues seem to be more common in highly creative people. With all of the suffering I’ve experienced, I still wouldn’t change a thing. There’s a wonderful Native American quote, “If the eyes had no tears, the soul would have no rainbow”. I can’t speak to others’ experience of mental illness, but I know that it’s opened me up in magical ways; I not only write, but am a photographer, collage artist and jewelry designer; I’m also a very compassionate person. I often see and appreciate the beauty that others don’t, and I have found this to be a profound gift. At times, I certainly haven’t been able to see it that way, but in retrospect and with my disease well-controlled, I am thankfully now able to. I’ve come to see myself in the Japanese art of Kintsugi, which is the art of embracing damage ( in the form of broken ceramic pieces that have been put back together with the cracks filled in with liquid gold that hardens). These reinvented Kintsugi vases, bowls and plates are, in my opinion, more beautiful than the originals.

Depression has mostly seemed to have a life of its own and has come on pretty randomly, even during some of the most wonderful and unlikely periods of my life. There was, however, one hugely triggering event, childbirth and postpartum. I’d had ups and downs over the years and plenty of anxiety (mostly about performance and public speaking or anything that would show my LD and ADD issues). Up until I had my first child, all of these problems had been manageable. Childbirth changed everything! It was the beginning of a very long period of spiraling in and out of severe clinical depression. I actually have a diagnosis of Bipolar One, but the only indication of that is feeling way too good, to the point where it begins to be uncomfortable, before I finally crash. I can almost always tell when a depressive episode is coming on.

For fifteen years and through three pregnancies, the length and severity of the episodes only worsened. Every treatment was tried and they either didn’t work, stopped working or caused frightening side effects. I even had several courses of electroshock treatment which seemed promising but ultimately also stopped working. I was in a pretty hopeless situation. When I was feeling well, I sometimes felt I was just waiting for the grim reaper to tap me on the shoulder. It’s a horrible feeling to be so out of control in one’s own life. Fortunately, I have a wonderfully supportive husband who also happens to be a fine physician and a problem solver who thinks outside the box (more on him a bit later). I also had a terrific work environment with an unusually supportive boss; I was able to work part-time and take time off when necessary. Whatever energy and positivity I had went into my children and students; I was in a constant state of exhaustion.

Before I go any further, I want to mention that mental illness runs through both sides of my family. My maternal grandfather committed suicide by jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. Throughout my mother’s childhood he had threatened to do that but managed to hold on until his seven kids were all grown. I now see him as a hero supporting his family through all the untreatable pain he must have been suffering. There really were no good treatments back in his day. My sister and several cousins have a severe form of Bipolar One with serious manic episodes as well as depression. My Dad had ADHD, LD and depression too, which seems in hindsight to be similar to my Bipolar and neuro-divergent profile. My mother struggled with severe anxiety. I clearly came by all of this through heredity. A running and pretty sick joke in our family is that our gene pool is more correctly described as a gene cesspool.

At this point I’d like to share how Bipolar Disorder manifests itself in me. I’ve already described the too good mood and subsequent crash. When I am in a full depressive episode, I’m unable to eat anything at all. I’ve lost as much as thirty pounds in one month (and I’m fairly petite). It feels like all joy of life has been sucked through a deep hole in my solar plexus. I can barely get out of bed, though I usually have been able to force myself to do so. Life seems completely worthless, which is the exact opposite of how my healthy self experiences the world. I am by nature a very joyful, enthusiastic and curious person, but those aspects of who I am vanish. It’s an indescribable pain, so horrible that I’ve even at times expressed that I’d rather have an awful disease like cancer. At least people would understand the suffering if the illness had a more recognizable and sadly acceptable presentation. People so often. dismiss the suffering of mental illness. They often believe, that we who suffer are responsible for it. That perception adds on a whole other level of suffering.

I have a few powerful ways of coping with my depression but sadly they don’t always work. I swim in a lake or a river for at least an hour at a time and I find that to be very meditative and calming. I almost feel in a trance while swimming, and actually do about 50% of my “writing” in the water. It’s my muse. Being creative is a major coping skill. I have been writing poetry since I was a very small child and it is a wonderful source of clarity and mental cleansing for me. I find it greatly reduces my anxiety. Creating a photo, collage, poem etc … is the greatest of joys, one that I appreciate all the more for the contrast with those debilitating times in my life. Poetry is who I am. It flows so spontaneously , almost effortlessly from me; most of the work occurring in the editing process that I so cherish. I can’t even imagine how I would have survived without my creative outlets. It’s irrelevant, but my poetry has been fairly widely published, I’ve won several awards for it and I have the pleasure of reading from my work at museums, libraries, and galleries. Fortunately, I’ve finally overcome that performance anxiety that plagued me when I was young.

My husband would hate me saying this, but he’s a brilliant physician and the most loving of husbands. I’ve been far more fortunate than others. Without his unending support and vision I would not be where I am today. We had reached an impasse with my illness, and the doctor I had so admired was concluding that it was all self-imposed. Feeling abandoned by the one psychiatrist I had trusted for so long, I was beside myself. That’s when my husband, an internist, stepped in. Psychiatry is an odd field. Some aspects of mental illness should definitely have been explored further. My husband decided that we should check my serum serotonin levels, which had never been done. It turns out that I had no level at all. Apparently, something was awry in my body’s processing of Serotonin. There’s a big caveat here. Please don’t take what I’m about to share as medical advice. Serotonin is a serious matter and the remedy we found might not work, or could even be dangerous for someone else. I began taking a low dose of 5 hydroxy tryptophan to raise my Serotonin level. It’s a risky business because too much can cause Serotonin Syndrome which can be dangerous. We were very cautious in administering the 5HTP; almost immediately my mood dramatically lifted and it has been stable for the past 15 years. I’ve had an occasional breakthrough episode but they’ve fortunately passed quickly. We’ve had to increase and decrease the dosage but always being cognizant of the potential dangers. I’m no fool and understanding the fickle nature of mental illness and meds, I am fully aware that this could just be a very lengthy remission, but have chosen to live fully and joyfully despite that possibility.

The advice that I would give to others struggling with mental illness, is to never give up (though that can be very challenging at times) and to question your doctors. Don’t take no as a definitive answer. You need to be your own advocate. There are all sorts of alternative options out there. We had checked out Ketamine, which was almost unheard of at the time, but has since been found to be a treatment for depression. So much is assumed or just unknown. High risk treatments are unacceptable but mild to moderate risk is worth at least considering when there are no options left. We had literally run out of conventional treatments. Most importantly, don’t take on others’ perceptions of yourself and your illness and never forget that it is not a flaw, a defect, but an almost invisible disease of the brain, the most important organ in the body.



BUILDING STRENGTH

Fingers of molten hot pain

insinuate themselves

into fissures of a fragile soul

whose suffering slowly hardens 

into sturdy scars

that hold it together

stronger than ever

This poem was inspired by an image of a Japanese bowl whose cracks were carefully filled in with what appeared to be solid gold. It is an example of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of embracing damage. I’m not sure that these repaired ceramic pieces are literally stronger, but to many, there is beauty in both the breaking and the transformative repairs/scars; a beauty that to me equals strength.