Just got my latest issue of AARP (named after one of several unfortunate noises the body starts emitting at regular intervals in middle age). Intrigued by the coverline "GLENN CLOSE: Why she's risking so much to erase the shame of mental illness," I quickly consumed the article. Turns out that the actress best known for boiling a rabbit is not herself mentally ill. Her shame (insert sarcasm here), it seems, is in having relatives with bipolar and schizoaffective disorders.
The article--through no fault of the fabulous and lucid Ms. Close--is ironic at best. Here the Oscar-nominated Emmy winner is "headlining a campaign intended to diminish the stigma of mental illness" and the writer makes mental illness seem indeed to be a stigma. You'd think she had confessed to a virulent case of chlamydia or to offering Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder.
Exactly what Ms. Close is risking "so much" is unclear. Ostracization from Hollywood--at the tender age of 61? It is clear how the entertainment world treats the mentally ill: They're given a Grammy Award and chauffeured to the Sony/BMG after-party. (Note to Britney Spears' folks: Erratic behavior in early adulthood is a classic sign of several disorders. Get her diagnosed and treated NOW.)
Ms. Close is lauded as one of 10 "heroes who inspire us," and her cause is certainly worthy. But what about her relative who had to make the choice between a new coat for her child or a visit to her therapist? We don't learn what her final choice was and how it affected her and her family. (I'm hoping Ms. Close just wrote her a check for both. Not that that solves every problem.)
The most heroic people I know get up each morning to face a battle raging in their own heads, with little relief. I don't know how they do it. Some choose not to do it after a while. Over 90% of people who die from suicide have one or more psychiatric disorders. Just ferreting out the proper treatment, if that ever happens, would test the strongest mental health.
But like Ms. Close, I am still surprised by how uncomfortable most people are talking about these issues. It's estimated that 5 percent of the population has some form of MI, from severe depression to schizophrenia, and it affects one out of four families. If not you, then someone who shares your bank of work cubicles, sits in your pew at church, works on the same PTA committee. In this let-it-all-hang-out world of reality shows, why does dealing with mental health issues merit less attention than Jeff Conaway screwing up in rehab?
In discussions about my novel, only a few readers/reviewers comment on Cat, the bipolar twin sister. Those that do confide about their own family members. They speak of them with much affection, not shame. Mental illness doesn't take away our loved ones' sense of humor, intelligence and straight-to-the-heart observations.
And sometimes they cope better then the rest of us. When I admitted to my brother that it's hard for me to be happy when people I love are in pain, he said (actually, he yelled), "I'm not in pain! I'm bipolar! Get over it! Enjoy your life!"
That's why I love him and why I agree that, as he always says, he can't be killed by ordinary weapons.
